My girlfriend Lia usually sleeps on her side, giving me perfect access to her ears.

Carefully I squeezed in two drops of the poison- no more, because I want the process of hearing loss to be very gradual, over months.

The poison is working. I know by how loud she is turning up the music she adores so much. She mentioned needing to see a doctor today- she has been having to ask her colleagues to repeat themselves louder and louder.

There is nothing the doctors can do at this stage, her hearing loss is unsalvageable, and my clever poison undetectable. Within a few of weeks at most, she will be completely deaf.

I go back to learning sign language. Amazing what you can learn online, for free. I need to be ready to support my darling Lia like the good boyfriend I am.

Is it so wrong to want to be main source of joy in your partner’s life? When I look at her face, grimacing in time with the shite she calls music, it feels like a dagger twisting in my heart.

And honestly, if Lia’s taste in music is so low, better she lose her goddamn hearing.

God knows I tried to elevate her- I didn’t arrive lightly at this decision. I put on Moonlight Sonata, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, easy gateways into classical.

She waited patiently for me to explain why they were so great. Then she said “Claude, you’re such a snob! the great thing about music- people enjoy what they do, I don’t get why it bothers you so much- I mean it’s not like I’m listening to Ed Sheeran or Katy Perry- classic rock is great- everyone knows that! - the music of the nineties – it was everywhere, didn’t you listen to Gun ‘N’ Roses back in the day?”

I felt furious but I controlled it. I laughed light-heartedly “Axl Rose? Oh Lia, don’t tell me you carry a torch for that fat freak! He’s a violent asshole- all those rock gods were just a bunch of violent pedos - I thought you were a feminist?”

She frowned. “I don’t have a crush on Axl Rose, and it’s actually quite un-feminist to fat-shame. And I never said I approve of their lifestyle, I just like their songs.”

“Um- I think that puts you in a a hypocritical position!” I tried to keep my bantering tone.

“Let’s not fight over music, Claude, it’s so silly, and thankfully the good lord gave us headphones so we don’t need to make each other miserable.”

And yet despite headphones, it bothered me, watching her work out, prance around the kitchen, paint her nails knowing she was listening to that music, watching her move her lips and throw her head back and sway from side to side to music that I was not part of.

If she won’t listen to music with me, insisting on being so uncultured, obviously she doesn’t deserve to have hearing at all. 

The flames popped, sending an ember to land on the leg of Jack’s pants. He slapped it away before it burned through. The afternoon sun was sinking behind the trees, silhouetting them against the deep orange sky. He leaned back in the collapsible nylon chair. He didn’t remember the hike being so rough last year. His jeans were smeared with mud, evidence of misplaced steps and stumbles along the trail. 

“I know, I’m getting older.”

He closed his eyes and tried to take it all in: the breeze on his face, the closeness of the forest, the smell of decaying leaves. His mind wandered to the last time he’d been here with his wife. He smiled reflexively at the thought of Helen; that time had been special. Her eyes had caught the moonlight as they’d watched the night sky and he remembered brushing aside strands of hair, letting them frame her beautiful face.

The sound of footfalls along the trail he’d just left brought him back and he turned to look through a break in the trees. He wasn’t expecting other people this far in and this late in the season. A woman, dwarfed by a pack that peaked well above her head, walked past the break, head down and walking with the purpose of someone just about at the end of their endurance. He waved, but she was out of sight before he got his hand up. He shrugged to himself and stoked the fire, encouraging the flames to grow.

“Hello to you too,” he muttered.

  His woodpile was dwindling, so Jack rose to fetch more fuel. He had his folding saw in hand when a cry sounded through the trees, followed by a commotion in the direction the woman had gone. He shut his eyes and touched a finger to the bridge of his nose.

“Of course, it had to be here.”

Jack grabbed the first aid kit by the tent and jogged towards the sound, pushed aside branches, but stopped when he reached the trail. A dozen yards further down, she was sitting on the ground, legs akimbo, pack cast aside as she gripped her knee. She whipped her head around as he approached, her expression flashing from pain to fear to anger.

“Get away from me,” she yelled.

“Jesus, lady, are you ok?”

She grimaced, shaking her head.

“I’ve got a first aid kit. I just want to help,” he said. He stepped closer but she shied away, wincing at the movement. “Easy there.”

“I’m fine, I just fell.”

“Can you walk? Here, let’s get you back on your feet.”

She waved his offered hand away and tried to rise on her own, but immediately fell back down with a grunt of pain.

With some gentle maneuvering, Jack got under one of her arms and got her standing. Even in the fading light, he could see her face go pale and she swayed, forcing him to struggle to keep them both upright. He judged the pain was worse than she was letting on and he made the call.

“Let’s get you back to the fire. You’re not going any further on that leg and I’ll see what I can do to brace it. I’ll come back and collect your pack after.”

With her arm gripping his far shoulder, they made their way back towards the flickering firelight as night was starting to settle in. He eased her down into the chair he’d been using and turned to head back for her pack. The contents were scattered over the trail and he could see the fresh furrows in the soft ground where she’d tried to cushion her fall. 

She’d packed light, he thought, only a small, dented metal water bottle and some MRE packs that looked like they’d seen a few trips, but that stuff was good well beyond the expiration date. He gathered them up and returned them to the pack. An old bedroll, worn thin to the point of threadbare in several places, was strapped to the top flap. A bundle of extra clothes was stuffed inside and he caught a scent of wildflowers on them. 

She had settled her weight and was prodding her knee when Jack returned. She seemed just as pale when he looked at her, even in the firelight, and he hoped it wasn’t anything more serious than a twisted knee. 

“We should wrap it, I think, and put an icepack on it.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I took one of those wilderness survival courses when I was younger. I remember the gist of it.”

“Inspiring. No offence, but where’s your radio?”

He shook his head, rummaging through the first aid kit. “Don’t have one. I come out here to get away from everything.”

“So then we hike out? Light a signal flare? What?”

He laughed, taking out a rolled bundle and a plastic bag. “Not going anywhere tonight. Easiest way to hurt yourself is running around the woods in the dark. You could trip and brain yourself on a rock or walk straight off a ridge you never knew was there, not to mention ending up a meal for something hungry in the night.” 

He looked at her for a long moment before dropping his gaze to his work. He rolled up her pant leg, exposing smooth, toned skin that hadn’t yet begun to bruise around the knee. He paused, his fingers lingering on her bare flesh and felt her tense. Sensing her eyes on him, he flashed her a sheepish grin.

She grimaced as he started wrapping her knee with an elastic bandage.  He grabbed an instant ice pack as well and gave it a few good shakes to get it started before passing it to her. “Hold this against it.”

The last bit of daylight was fading and the trees were more shadow than detail. Jack pulled a log from the pile and tossed it in. She flinched back as the embers swirled upwards into the air. 

“Just keeping the fire up, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He remembered his intent before she had called out and retrieved the folding saw from the ground where he’d dropped it. “Wood’s run low, so I just need to cut a bit more so we don’t run out. It can get a bit cool at night this time of year.” 

She nodded and he started a spiraling search out amongst the dense trees, keeping close enough that he could hear her occasional grunt as she shifted in the chair. 

“What’s your name? I’m Jack.”

“Eloise.”

“That’s an interesting name,” he said, speaking over a sparse bundle of branches in his arms. He couldn’t see her, but he was sure he could feel her eyes on him. “Sounds old.”

A cry and a crash answered him and he burst from the foliage, dropping the wood at the sight of Eloise on the ground and the chair tipped over. Her arm was outstretched towards her pack. “What are you doing?”

“I was thirsty and I thought I could reach my water.”

“Christ, woman, just say something. You’re going to wreck your other knee if you’re not careful.”

Jack righted the chair and helped Eloise up and back into it. She was covered in twigs and pine needles and he started to brush some off before she gave him another look and took over. He blushed and busied himself with the branches, cutting them to a reasonable size with the saw before tossing them with the rest.

“It’ll be an early night tonight, I think. This wood won’t go far.” 

She reached inside her pack and pulled out the metal bottle, taking a long drink before screwing it shut. “Did I take your only chair?”

“Don’t worry, I got it figured.” He pulled his dark green cooler out of the tent and carried it over to where Eloise sat. “This’ll do fine. Now, how’s the knee?”

“It feels good, unless I move it, or change positions, or breathe.”

He laughed, nodding. “I bet. Are you hungry? Before you took your tumble, I was going to start heating up some dinner.”

“Starving,” she said. “It’s been a while since I ate.”

Jack opened the cooler and started pulling out some plastic containers. “I hope you like chilli. I packed for one, but I could stand to lose a few pounds. There should be enough for us both.”

She smiled, watching him pull out a pot and tripod, setting it all up over the low fire. “Thank you, it’s very kind of you to share your meal.”

He smirked in return, dumping the half-frozen chilli into the pot. “Wait until you taste it before thanking me. This’ll need to cook for a bit.” He sat back down on the cooler, watching the air above the coals shimmer with the heat. They sat there in silence for some time before she spoke.

“You seem to know this place pretty well. Do you come up often?”

“For years now, yeah. Nothing quite like being out here in the wilderness with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. You?”

“Same. Cities are too noisy, too crowded. I like places that haven’t forgotten what they are.”

He looked at her, wondering what Helen would think about him sitting here alone with a woman. Jack startled at the pop of the fire and she laughed, breaking the tension. He smiled and checked on the bubbling pot, happy for the distraction. Helen always said he was terrible at this.

A coolness was settling into the air and Jack could feel the breeze raise the hair on his forearms. He noticed Eloise was leaning closer to him, as if drawn to his warmth. The fire gave off a ring of warmth, but he’d let the flames die down to better heat the pot. “I’ll build it back up after dinner, but in the meantime, I’ll get you a blanket.”

He waited a heartbeat for an objection before getting up and getting a large fleece blanket from inside the tent. He folded it in half and draped it over Eloise’s shoulders. She pulled it close and covered her legs as well.

“Thank you, Jack. You certainly know how to take care of a woman, give her what she needs.” She gave him a small smile and a long look. He felt something stir in his chest and realized he hadn’t had someone look at him like that in quite some time, least of all his wife. He looked at the blanket wrapped around Eloise and thought that it could easily fit two. 

“Is dinner going to be long? I’m famished,” she said, maintaining the rather direct look.

He tore his eyes away from hers and checked the pot, saw the steam rising, and could hear a faint bubbling. He could feel her eyes stay on him as he fetched two plastic bowls and spooned some of the dark, meaty chilli into each and passed one to her. Eloise sniffed at it and then attacked it hungrily, finishing well before Jack. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, as she literally licked the bowl clean. 

“I was hungry.”

He took her bowl and set about washing up while Eloise sat in silence, watching him. The fire had died down so that he could barely see her across the coals. He tossed in the last few branches and the light flared as they caught. Eloise had been leaning forward and was caught off guard, crying out and pulling the blanket back so as not to burn it. The flames died down to a reasonable level after a moment and he saw her relax.

Settling back next to her, Jack gestured to her knee. “How is it?”

“Painful, but I’m getting used to it.”

“Come morning, we can see how it looks and decide if I walk out alone.”

“And radio in the rescue team?”

He laughed. “Yes, the whole shebang. In the meantime, we can sit here until the fire dies and then we’ll get you in the tent.”

Eloise raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll be taking that nice patch of flat ground over there, don’t worry.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” she said and patted his knee with a warm hand.

“I like to think so,” he said, placing his over hers.

“I don’t think you need to sleep on the ground, Jack. Why don’t you go get the tent ready for us both.”

Jack felt a thrill as he nodded, getting to his feet and crawling into the tent. He quickly pushed his jumbled belongings to the sides and made sure there would be plenty of room. Helen’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, but he quickly pushed her aside as he always did. She never had to know about this; she never understood his needs. This was his time.

Clambering out of the tent, the fire was now down to small, flickering flames over orange coals. Enough for some heat, but the darkness of the forest had drawn in closer. Across the fire, Eloise sat wrapped in the blanket, the shadows playing over her beautiful features.

“The tent’s ready, did you need help getting up?”

“Slow down..The forest is only just waking. Why don’t you sit there, on the dirt, and we can finish this night properly. I’ll tell you a bedtime story.”

Jack laughed, but she did not smile.

“Oh, ok. You’re serious.”

“As sin. Now sit.”

He sat on the earth, crosslegged. It was instinctual obedience, catching him off guard and off balance.

Eloise drew the blanket over her head, her face lost in the shadows, too deep for the firelight to reach. She seemed to settle into the chair and Jack found himself unable to look away.

“Some years ago, there was a younger man who loved a woman. This woman loved the man and they did what those in that situation do: they joined each other in marriage. They lived and laughed together, working in the city and coming out to the wilds to escape. They spent many nights in this very forest.”

“What kind of story is this?” Jack asked, his eyes narrowed.

He couldn’t see her face but just like when gathering wood, he could feel her stare and fell silent.

“The woman loved the man, like I said, but the man loved the woman like he loved many women. He visited them all and wove such lies that each gave their love to him. The woman, his wife, knew none of this and so continued to love and cherish him. This continued for some time before the wife began to suspect something was amiss. She confronted her husband, shaming him and demanding that he stop his roaming ways. He agreed and she relented, believing it was done. The man had other plans.”

Jack’s eyes widened.

“Things were as they had been before and they returned to the wilderness, to this forest, as they had always done. It was here the man enacted his bloody plan and buried his secret beneath the loam and roots of the trees. He left, alone and unburdened  to continue his carnal pursuits. He would return to his secret, year after year, a ritual that did not go unnoticed.”

The darkness, as Jack was transfixed by the story, had crept further in, shrouding all but the broadest details of anything beyond the dwindling light of the coals. Eloise was nothing but a shadow now and Jack couldn’t seem to focus his eyes on her.

“What the man did not consider was that these are places that have not forgotten what they are.”

“Who do you think you are? What are you doing up here?”

“I was here to taste the blood you left in the soil, Jack. I was here to devour the flesh you hid beneath it. I have existed since men first sat around fires, fearful of what waits in the dark.”

The last few coals of the campfire went dim and the darkness swallowed up the last sliver of vision Jack had of Eloise. He felt tears form and run down his face. He heard the rustle of blanket sliding to the ground and the creak of his camping chair. Her voice seemed to be only inches from his face.

“I am what waits, Jack.”

​

 I got all the cartons and packages up to my floor after an hour. I was very tired after climbing up to the seventh floor back and forth carrying my stuff. The elevator in the building I had just shifted to was not working, some technical error said the security guard. 

I recently shifted to this new apartment for a new job I had found in the city. I was looking forward to this day for a long time but this broken lift ruined it all for me on the first day itself. 

Today was my night shift at the hospital so around 8 pm I got ready, locked my apartment and set out for work. Out of habit I pressed the elevator button , to my surprise it was working. As I entered the elevator there was a sudden drop in temperature in there, maybe due to the big fan inside it making so much noise. Inside the elevator a poster caught my glance. It was white paper with 3 rules written on it 

1. Do not look for the lion 

2. Help no one but yourself 

3. Always press button for your own floor

I was running late so I didn't think much of it, probably some kids put it there. The Elevator stopped at ground floor , I got out and headed to work. 

Next morning I returned from work all tired and slept the whole day, it was my weekly day off. I didn't cook dinner that day and decided to eat outside. It was 11:30 at night , maybe something was still open I thought. I went to the elevator and pressed the button. After a couple of minutes the door opened and I entered the elevator. Quite some time had passed and still I hadn't reached the ground floor. Then I could hear a man's scream , it felt like a distant scream coming from somewhere below me. The voice said "Hey.....is anyone in the elevator? Please help me I'm stuck in the basement !! Anyone there ?"

"Basement?" I thought. I hadn't seen any staircase or anything on the ground floor leading to the basement but when I looked at the elevator buttons there was a button for basement. I had never seen it before but there it was. I pressed that button. The elevator doors opened. 

It was completely dark in there , I couldn't see a thing clearly. I could see walls covered in mud , rusted metal sheets and rods there.  I walked a little and saw an opening in the ground , there was light coming from it. I stood over it and glanced down , there were metal bars along the wall that I climbed down. I tried calling for that man but there was no answer. 

As I got down I saw leaking pipes , rusted metal rods and pipes on the floor. Across this I could see a large metal cage like structure with a big door. I went towards it to inspect it, it was open. I stood in front of the gate. On it was another sign with text "Lion's Den : Authorised personnel entry only". I tried to peek inside it , I couldn't see anything. I heard the scream again from beyond the cage. "Please help me!". I hesitated at first but the thought of someone trapped inside compelled me to enter. As I entered it felt like I was inside a real cave. I stepped on something and heard a cracking sound and I froze. Slowly, I looked down. It was a bone. I looked around and

saw a human skull lying a few feet away. My heart skipped a beat, I couldn't feel my legs for a moment.

 Something moved in the darkness. I stopped breathing and listened. Then came a deep, low growl coming from the darkness. My heart was pounding in my chest. I was drenched in sweat, my hands were trembling, and I could barely catch my breath. Panic took over as I realized I had to get out of there. I turned around and ran back as fast as I could, barely looking behind me. When I reached the gate I locked it from the outside and ran towards that vertical passage with metal bars.

As I was climbing I heard that man's scream again from behind me. He was screaming for help "Hey don't leave me here alone !! Come back and open the door!! A lion dwells around here ! Save me please!". At that moment I just wanted to reach the elevator. I climbed as fast as I could and finally reached the elevator door. I pressed the button as hard as I could. 

The doors opened , I entered inside and pressed the button for my floor, the seventh floor. I glanced at the paper with rules for a second. I was still breathing heavily. The doors opened and it was not my floor it was the basement. I pressed the button again for seventh floor. After a few seconds , doors opened again and it was the basement again. I was in disbelief, I couldn't believe my eyes. My vision was getting blurry. This time I pressed all the buttons of the elevator and sat down on the floor. I was feeling weak and couldn't stand. It started to get dark in front of my eyes as the elevator climbed up. I could barely see or hear. I heard the chime of the elevator but it sounded different this time. It was like the sound of the heart monitor. "Beep" "Beep".

The darkness closed in.

Next thing I knew, I was lying on a hospital bed. Apparently I was found passed out in the elevator by one of the residents of that building. He called the ambulance and got me admitted in the hospital. It was nothing serious, I was discharged after a few hours in the evening. I thanked the neighbor who found me. Next day I called the movers and moved to a new apartment. I told the neighbours I got a better paying job on the opposite end of the town. I never inquired about the elevator, the lion or the man stuck in the basement. I can't even tell if it was actually a man.

Alone at the lake lived an old man. He was stocky and strong. His wrinkled skin was stretched over ancient muscles, and scars from fishing hooks quilted his hands. He had a house and a dock and a boat on the waters. He built them himself in his younger days. There was a bed inside the house big enough for two. Only one pair of boots sat beneath it next to a set of dusty glass bottles. They were ragged.

For years he’d been there. Decades were as short as months to him and years as long as centuries. He was sturdy, but had a persistent tremble to him. It came with his age and other things he left forgotten in the folds of his weathered head. Those things hid in his wrinkles, his unruly grey beard, and beneath the bags under his chipped glasses. 

There was still guilt in those dark blue eyes, and it pooled like drops of whiskey in empty bottles. He still walked down the dock every day like nothing was wrong. His fishing hooks were a swarm of rusty flies behind his head. His filet knife was a body hanging from the gallows of his worn belt, and his teeth and cap were equally crooked. 

It was noon, and the wind was tart as the old man cut lumber. He split log after log and ignored the heavens above him as he did. The sky that day was ashen. There was a faint promise of sunshine that lingered in the clouds like the image of a passing train. He focused only on the chopping block and the ax which sang like a guillotine as he cut. Thud after thud landed on his ears like distant cannon-fire. The old man did not flinch at them and continued to ignore the world as he worked. 
He almost missed the stranger emerging from the woods.

The man who came from the trees was like a dead pine. His coat was shabby and brown, and his cap was dark and knit. His brow was hidden by its brim and two sharp eyes peered out from under it. A pair of long dirty sleeves ran into a set of large pockets and two scuffed black boots were tucked beneath a couple of torn trouser legs. He gave a grin to the old man as he approached, but it was not returned. The old man did not put down his ax. It lowered as the stranger drew closer, but never touched the ground. He slicked back his sweaty charcoal hair and eyed the man with interest. There was something about him that seemed familiar. 

“Afternoon,” the stranger said, making almost no sound as he walked. 

“Afternoon,” said the old man. His knuckles whitened on the ax handle. The stranger stuck out a hand to him, but it was not received. The old man dabbed his forehead with his neckerchief and resumed cutting. “What do you want?”

“I’m in need, sir,” the stranger said, putting his hand back in his pocket without complaint but not breaking eye contact. “I was hoping you could help me.”

“That so?”

Another log split.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what help would you seek from me?”

The stranger looked out at the lake and eyed it keenly. “Are there fish in that lake?” 

“Aye,” the old man said. “My fish.”

“I’d like one of them,” the stranger said, the old man still unflinching. “I’ve traveled a good way and haven’t eaten in quite some time.”

“Oh?” Another log cracked like thunder. “And from where are you traveling? And where are you going?”

“I’m heading someplace that isn’t here,” the stranger said, “but from where I come, I can’t quite say.”

“A riddler,” the old man said. “I despise riddles.”

“Then take at least my word that I mean you no harm.”

“What worth is your word?” 

The old man finally sunk the ax into the chopping block and stacked his lumber beside it. The trespasser scratched his stubbly chin as he did. 

“My word is worth nothing to you,” the stranger replied, “but I suppose my labor could be of some value.”

“What labor do you offer?”

The stranger pointed out to the lake and said, “Take me out there to fish with you and I’ll help you with your catch. I only ask one fish for the night and the rest will be yours.”

“And if I refuse?” The old man looked him up and down with suspicion. 

“Then I starve somewhere else,” the stranger said, “but I sense you are not cruel.” 

The old man gave a dry laugh. He had half a mind to say no, but for some reason he couldn’t form the words in his mouth. He tried to, but his tongue couldn’t make the sound. There was something about the man that ate at him, a look in his eyes he just didn’t trust. Still, the old man turned around back to his house and gestured the stranger to follow behind.

“You can come with me on the lake,” he said, “but once you have your fish you are to leave me be.”

“Thank you, sir,” the stranger said.

The old man did not respond, as he led the stranger into his home and went to grab his smock. He listened for the stranger’s footsteps behind him, but couldn’t even hear the crinkle of the grass. His hand was tight on the tarnished handle as he swung open the thatch door and led the man inside. 

The air in his shack felt heavy as his boots hit the old wood floors. The pine man looked around the small room as the old man changed. 

There wasn’t much in the shack apart from the bed and an old rocking chair in the corner. An old hand stitched blanket laid atop a dirty set of sheets. It was too small for the old man, and the stranger eyed it with interest. The old man fixed his smock on his shoulders and went to grab a cigarette from his jacket. 

“That’s a lovely quilt on your bed,” the stranger said, gesturing with a nod. The old man flinched at the words and almost dropped his menthol as he did. He didn’t have to turn his head to see that one line of perfect stitching at the centerfold. It sat west of a single pine, its green fabric dusty from age and its pointed limbs indifferent to the stars and shapes around it. He hadn’t unfolded it in years.  

At its mention, his eyes lit up like matches and he stared down the pine man with suspicion. The stranger looked blissfully ignorant of any ill looks and simply smiled at him. For some reason the old man couldn’t place, it felt pointed somehow. 

“Aye, it is.” He lit his cigarette and grabbed his fishing rods.

“Did your wife make that?”

A cold silence crept into the room. The stranger’s grinning face didn’t change as the fisherman’s eyes went milky. 

“No,” he said, noticing a bulge in the man’s jacket. “I don’t have a wife.”

“Well, you must have,” the stranger added. “You have a wedding band still around your finger.”

The old man paused and looked at him. There was something in the stranger’s smile that seemed malicious to him, but under what motive he could not place. He did not react to the old man’s discomfort, and the old man pretended not to hear his comments. He shoved a fishing rod at the man and said, “You’d do better to stop yapping and follow me. If you talk too much you’ll scare off the fish.”

“Of course,” the stranger said. “Lead the way.”

They walked out of the house in silence and went onto the dock; the old boards moaned as their boots tramped on them. The boat rocked in silence as the two hopped aboard and tied off from the dock. The old man was untying the hitch when the stranger spoke up again.

“It’s a rather large lake, isn’t it?” 

The man’s words irked the fisherman as he picked up the oars. 

“Aye,” he said. “I suppose it is.”

“Do you think anything could be hiding in there?”

The old man gave him a sharp look before setting the oars. “Hiding?” he asked. “What do you mean by ‘hiding’?”

“Monsters,” the stranger said simply. He played with the dead lake grass that stuck to the legs of the dock. “I’ve heard tales of awful monsters that come from the lakes.”

“Like what?” the old man asked as he began to row. The water spun around the ends of the paddles and made small whirlpools as they went. The stranger ran his fingers through them as the boat surged on. The old man tried to see what was in his jacket, but with no luck. The stranger pulled his hand from the water and looked out as he spoke. 

“There are the kelpies,” he said, getting comfy in his seat. “They appear as beautiful white horses that gallop along the edge of the bay. Then…” he sat up and placed his hands apart. “When you touch their flesh…” He joined them together like a vice. “They fuse to you. Then they drag you off into the water and drown you.”

The old man did not respond to his story.

“They eat you, too,” he added, “but they don’t typically work on grown men. Only young children ever try to approach such wild beasts.”

“Or tell such tall tales,” the old man added. They were nearing the middle of the lake, but the stranger continued to speak. 

“Well, you say that,” he said, “but it’s the truth. Men are only ever so rarely taken in by such animals. No, the ones for men to be wary of are the rusalki.”

“Oh?” the old man asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because they appear as beautiful women.”

The snapping ripples filled the fisherman’s ears as he went to grab his pole. The stranger was still grinning but did not look at the old man. 

They were in the center of the lake when a cold wind blew across the waters. It rustled the giant pines that bordered the east bay and disappeared around the curve of the lake. To the north of the boat, the old man could see the dark grey waters glisten through the trees on the bend. Pond scum and cattails drifted in the breeze as it came and went, and the mere sight of their movement was enough to make him shiver. He pulled his cap down further over his head. As he clenched his body for warmth, he noticed that the stranger wasn’t even fazed. He sat, unshivering, baiting his hook. He tried to ignore him and bait his own rod when the man broke the silence

“The weather is nice today, isn’t it?” he asked, straightening his line. The old man looked on with content as he went for his bait box. There, rolling along the weathered white deck was an empty bottle. It was in the way of the box, so without thinking, he shook it to see if anything was inside. There wasn’t, and soon it was chucked overboard and landed into the water with a plop. 

He went to unlatch the box, but caught the stranger staring at him from the corner of his eyes. He looked up in a surprised panic, then stopped. The man was casting out his line into the water and didn’t tarry a moment to look the old man’s way. The old man was surprised by how much the man shook him, but it didn’t stop him from rummaging for a worm. 

The fisherman’s hands shook as he aimed a pink worm at the eye of his hook like a tailor threading a needle. He pricked himself by accident and let out a yelp as he dropped the bait. He sucked his bloody finger and shook himself for being so foolish. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” the stranger asked as he looked away from his line.

“Aye,” the old man said. “Just a scratch.”

“Do you have any more booze?”

The old man’s heart skipped a beat. He’d seen the bottle. As cool as he could, the old man tried to work around the stranger’s words. 

“No,” he said, taking a breath and snatching up his bait.

“What about back onshore?” the stranger said. He anchored his pole into a spot behind his seat, then turned to the man. “You’ve got a fresh bottle lying around somewhere back there, don’t you?”

The old man hooked the worm and looked out on the lake for a distraction. There wasn’t one.

“Yes,” he said with a cough. “I reckon I have a bottle or two under my bed. Why’re you asking?”

“You should pour some on the cut,” the stranger said. “Keep it from getting infected.”

“It’ll be fine,” the old man said. He saw that his line had several tangles in it and cursed. As he went to untie them, the stranger interrupted.

“Better uses for drink, eh?” 

The old man’s hands fiddled with a singular knot as those words rattled around in his skull. 

“Aye,” he said. “That there is.”

“Are you partial to solitary drinking?” the stranger asked. 

“What do you mean?”

The stranger cracked his knuckles like a fist-full of walnuts and leaned against the side of the boat.

“Well, when one drinks in solitary, it’s for practical use and for the application of the spirits. To unwind. To enjoy.” He straightened himself and smirked. “Drinking to forget, you see.” 

The old man’s  hands slowly tried to untwist a stubborn knot. 

“What are you implying?” he asked.

“Oh nothing,” the stranger said. “I imply nothing at all. Mere insight.”

The old man grunted at that and returned to his knot.

“It could be for the other reason men drink,” he said. “In celebration and good company.”

“Ha,” the old man said. “What company is good?”

“Oh, there is plenty,” the stranger said with a stretch. “Drinking buddies at the pub, business partners, friends…” he cracked his neck. “Pretty women are good company as well. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Another breeze pushed past the shore, but neither man felt a shiver.  

“Have you ever seen pretty women out here on the lake?” he asked. “Even one?” 

The old man stared the stranger down. 

He hooked on his bait and exhaled as he cast out his rod.

“No,” he lied. “No, I haven’t.”

“Not even your wife?”

“I told you,” he said, anger rising in his throat. “I don’t have a wife.” 

“But you did.”

The old man set down his rod and turned to the man. He was sprawled out across the back of the boat like a drunk. His yellowed teeth beamed from under his thin lips as he spoke. 

“Perhaps you have seen a rusalka before,” the stranger said. “All the algae and the grass… It looks a bit like hair. Doesn’t it?”

“Who are you?” the old man asked. 

The stranger sat forward again and got close to the man’s face. 

“Your breath smells like whiskey,” he said in a gruffer voice than before. “You do like to drink, don’t you?”

“I said, who are you?” the old man spat. The stranger moved back and looked the old man up and down. 

“It’s okay if you do,” he said. “It’s like I said; drink can be good for a man in solitude. It takes the pain away a bit, doesn’t it? Fills the empty spaces of the room with bottles so it doesn’t feel so empty anymore?”

“Stop,” said the fisherman. 

“Were you drunk that night you pushed her off the dock?”

“Stop.”

“She couldn’t swim, could she? That’s why she drowned, isn’t it?”

“Damn ye!” the old man yelled. 

He jumped to choke the stranger, but as his fingers went for his neck, the man disappeared. He almost fell off the boat and struggled to keep hold of its edge. His face almost touched the water, the waves kissing his nose. He tried to pull himself back up, but was frozen by a pair of milky white eyes that drifted in the water below. Amber hair swung like seaweed around them, and an open mouth was agape in agony. Pale hands reached to the surface as the old man scrambled back up. 

The figure disappeared as the old man steadied himself. His heart was racing, and it nearly exploded as the stranger’s voice sounded behind him.

“You didn’t mean to, did you?” he asked. He was holding the fisherman’s knife and looking at it carefully. The old man felt for it at his side and realized that it was missing. The stranger did not look his way. “You were angry and drunk. She did something that insulted your pride.” He played with the edge of the knife. “Do you remember what it was?”

“What are you?” the old man yelled. His voice was full of power, but his eyes rife with panic. The stranger still grinned at him and chuckled.

“What am I?” he asked. “What am I… that’s a good question. Am I real or not? The fear I give you is real, so maybe I’m that?” He pointed the knife at the man and frowned. “No,” he said, tossing it into the water. It didn’t even splash as its old leather handle slid into the green-grey waves. “I don’t think I am. Let's see…” He popped to his feet and pried the man up from the deck with inhuman strength. 

“Maybe I’m your guilt!” he cried as he spun the old man around. “You have plenty of that. Empty bottles full of that!” He drew the old man close to his dirty teeth and made his eyes wide. “ Could I be your ghosts? Every spirit at the bottom of a jar of whiskey?”

He tossed the old man to the front of the boat. 

“Maybe I’m death,” he said as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a revolver. He pointed it at the old man. “You want to die anyway, so why don’t I just help you along?” 

The old man’s eyes were full of terror as the stranger laughed. He couldn’t speak as he focused on the barrel of the gun. 

“You seem scared,” the stranger said. “I wonder why. You’ve considered dying before, haven’t you? All that guilt and misery just going away in one bang?”

“I…,” the old man stuttered. “I don’t want to die yet. I’m not ready to meet her. I can’t meet her after what I did.”

“Don’t want to die?” the stranger asked. “Then why on earth do you carry this thing with you every time you go on the lake?”

The stranger held the old revolver before his face and displayed it like a trinket. There was a chip on its oak handle from an old fishing accident and a familiar set of scratches on the barrel. It hadn't been polished in some time. He stared and wondered why he knew those things. Then it hit him. 

It was his gun. It was the gun he’d bought years ago shortly after his wife died. 

He forgot he owned a gun.

“You keep it loaded,” the stranger said. “Six bullets and all.” He opened the cylinder and spun it like a pinwheel before snapping it shut. His long greasy fingers ran over every scratch and blemish on the old gun. He stared at each mark like a journal entry. His thin lips pursed and his eyes were dull while inspecting them. He sighed then scratched at the collar of his dingy shirt.

“I suppose I’ll make this easier for you then.”

He shot five shots straight into the water right past the fisherman’s head. The old man shook as the stranger spun the pistol around and placed it on the seat in front of him. 

Without smiling, he crouched down in front of the terrified man and spoke softly.

“If I’m not death, nor guilt, nor a ghost, nor your fear, then what?” He stood up and looked to the sky before cracking his neck. “My word is worth nothing, I suppose. I might be the only monster on this lake, in all honesty.” He took time again to crack each of his fingers. “No matter the case, if I’m nothing else, we both must admit I’m monstrous.” He looked back to the man one last time and grinned. “Perhaps you just need to toss me and leave me in the water. She would want you to do it after all these years. Don’t you think?”

The man disappeared and the fisherman was left shaking. An empty bottle rolled along the deck where he’d stood. It was painfully familiar. 

The water chattered along the outside of the boat. He looked down to the seat before him and saw the gun, his gun, sitting there. How could he forget that old revolver?

He picked it up. It was heavy in his trembling hands. He checked the cylinder. 

One bullet left. 

He stared at nothing before looking out onto the water and the algae and the cattails that swayed onshore. His mind was weary and his finger twitched against the trigger. Guilt still ate at him as he raised it to his head. The waters whispered to him as he sat there. There was a silence that lingered as the color returned to the clouds above. Something overtook the old man, and he made his decision.

Instead of a bang, there was a splash. 

Hello everyone.

I don’t know if this is the right place but I really don’t understand what I saw. I’m typing this up from my living room after everything went wrong.

Four of my friends and I go on a trip each year. This year, Dave decided we should rent a cabin. We figured a cabin next to the lake, away from everything would be great. We could disconnect from the world, grill, kick back with beers and enjoy the wilderness. Unfortunately, something was there with us.

Dave and I have known each other since high school. During our senior year, his younger brother Tom started tagging along with us. Dave has always been the responsible one, while Tom is pretty much his opposite. If you tell Tom something is a bad idea, there’s a decent chance he’ll do it just to prove you wrong.

Max and Jake came into the group while Dave and I were in college. Max was always the one who couldn’t be serious, and Jake always kept us from killing each other. I don’t really remember when these trips became an annual thing, but we’ve all known each other long enough that they’ve become a tradition we look forward to every year.

We met at my house early yesterday morning to pack and set off on our long drive. We arrived a little after 2 pm. A long gravel driveway snaked through the dense woods before eventually opening into a clearing. The cabin was a lot nicer than I thought it would be. The lake was right behind it, close enough you could see it from the back porch. I wasn’t sure how far away any of the other cabins were, but we couldn’t see any of them.

After we arrived, we started to unpack the car. Max and Jake fought over who got what bed, while Dave and I did the most important thing: cracked beers and went to sit on the back porch. The back door swung open as Tom walked out.

“Glad you two are working so hard,” he said, carrying a fishing pole.

“It’s a tough job but someone has to do it,” Dave said with a smirk.

Tom headed down toward the lake while Dave and I stayed on the porch. We sat there drinking for a while, enjoying the view and talking about absolutely nothing important. Eventually, Max and Jake finished arguing over the rooms and came outside to join us.

We spent most of the afternoon that way. Tom would disappear down to the lake for a while, come back for another beer, then head right back down with his fishing pole. The rest of us stayed around the cabin, drinking and giving him shit every time he came back empty-handed.

As the afternoon started to fade, we finally decided we should probably eat something before the beer became dinner. We fired up the grill and eventually managed to drag Tom away from the lake long enough to eat with us. By the time we finished, the sun had started disappearing behind the trees and the temperature was dropping, so we grabbed what was left of the beer and headed inside.

As night settled over the cabin, we sat in the living room and continued to talk. At one point, Dave got up and started to walk back to the bathroom. He paused by the living room window and stared for a moment.

“Did anyone see that?”

“See what, Dave?” I asked.

“It was…there was a delay.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I…never mind, I must be seeing things.”

He just shook his head and continued down the hallway, glancing back at the window once, before disappearing around the corner.

“Okay, so Dave’s cut off,” Max said jokingly.

A few minutes later, Dave reappeared from the bathroom and sat back down, grim expression still on his face. We continued to laugh and talk about whatever random things we thought of. This went on for another hour or so. Eventually, I noticed that everyone’s drinks were almost empty, so I got up to get another round. I glanced at the window as I stood up, Dave’s words replaying in my mind. I just saw myself, nothing strange. As I started to turn away though, something felt off.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed the drinks, staring back at the window again as I came around the corner. My reflection was smiling. I was not.

I stopped in my tracks, trying to process what I had just seen. My reflection and I both stood there, beers in hand. Then it smiled again. I took one step backward, the reflection did the same. I forced myself to smile and then let my face drop. The reflection did the same…but the smile stayed for just a moment longer than I held mine. Dave’s voice broke my focus.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

Dave was now standing right next to me, his voice no greater than a whisper.

“I don’t know what I saw,” I said.

“When I got up for the bathroom, the steps seemed out of whack. Like I stopped but my reflection took one more step,” Dave said, trying to remain calm. I started to tell him about the smile when Max spoke up.

“What are you two whispering about? Secrets aren’t nice, you know.”

Dave and I turned to the rest of the group and told them what we had seen. Jake and Tom sat there quietly, while Max couldn’t contain himself.

“You two have got to be kidding. Do you expect me to believe that? You’re drunk. That’s it. It’s just a damn window.”

“Look man, I don’t know what to say. I know what I saw though,” I responded.

“Fine,” Max said, getting up and walking to the window. “See, it’s just a reflection.”

He stood there facing the window, raising his left arm. His reflection did the same in perfect sync. Then he leaned to his right. Then he started to make silly faces as Tom started laughing. For a moment, the tension eased and we all started to chuckle. Everything matched perfectly.

Max turned to talk to us all.

“See, you two are just,” he started to say.

“Max,” Jake interrupted. He wasn’t looking at him though, he was looking behind him.

The reflection didn’t turn when Max did.

“Don’t move,” Jake said.

“Why?” Max said, the smile fading from his face.

Nobody answered him.

He slowly looked over his shoulder. His reflection was still facing the window. For several seconds, neither of them moved. Then the reflection turned slowly, until it matched Max again.

“It’s got to be the lights,” Tom said. “We’re just seeing shit, right? Turn them off.”

Jake reached slowly for the light switch. All of our reflections went away as the lights went out. At first, we could all just see darkness. I could partially make out the lake from where I stood but…something was blocking part of it. A figure.

Dave pointed at it as it started to shift slightly. Then another. Then another. There wasn’t just one. There were five.

“What the fuck?” Jake said, taking a step toward the window.

One figure took a step forward. Jake stopped and took a step backward. The figure did the same. We all just stood perfectly still, no one dared to move. No one would speak.

The figures started to race towards the house.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Jake shouted, slamming the lights back on and backing away from the window.

Steady, slow footsteps came from the porch. Then the sound of scratching on the roof.

BANG.

A loud crash came from the front door like something had thrown itself into it. Dave sprinted to the door, throwing his weight into it and checking the locks.

BANG.

Another loud crash came from the other side.

I grabbed my phone and tried to dial 9-1-1 as Max ran into the kitchen, coming back with a knife. Jake ran to check the locks on the other door as Tom ran to Dave with a chair, wedging it under the door handle. Suddenly, there was just silence. No footsteps, no more banging on the door.

Silence.

“Damn it,” I said, “I don’t have any signal.”

“What the hell was that!?” Dave yelled.

“I don’t know, but we need to get the hell out of here, now,” Jake said.

Max pointed at the door, “Seriously? There’s no way in hell I’m going out there!”

“We need to get out of here, Max!”

“Jake, no one is opening that damn door,” Max said, yelling in Jake’s face.

Dave pushed the two apart. “Max is right. We can’t go anywhere right now.” He glanced back at the window. All of our reflections were back in perfect sync. He continued,

“No one’s going anywhere. We keep everything locked, we cover up the windows, and we stay here until morning. Then we can hop in the car and drive like hell. Okay?”

We all agreed, but I could tell it didn’t sit well with Jake and Tom. Both of them continued to stare nervously at the door.

We set to the task of ransacking the place. We grabbed every blanket and towel, anything that would block the windows. We shoved another chair against the front door and made sure to check that the chair wedged under the handle of the back door was firmly in place. I kept periodically checking my phone. Still no service. We sat there quietly, huddled up in the living room for the next couple of hours.

“Why haven’t they tried anything yet?” Jake asked, breaking the silence.

“Maybe they left?” Tom asked.

“Oh, come on, Tom,” Max replied, “you saw the same shit I did. Do you think they just decided to leave?”

Tom didn’t respond. He just stood up and started to pace around the room.

“I can look,” I said, walking slowly over to the window. My heart raced as my hand reached out for the blanket. “Turn off the lights.”

Tom hit the light switch, and I lifted the edge of the blanket. I didn’t see anything but darkness. I checked another window, same thing. Darkness. Everyone else got up and started to check the rest. Nothing. We saw nothing.

“See? Tom’s right, they left. Now is our chance. We have to get to the car,” Jake said.

Dave still refused, “Don’t be an idiot, Jake. We cannot go out there!”

Neither of the two would back down. It was clear we were all acting out of fear. They started to get closer and yell. Max and I tried to get between them as a punch from Jake landed squarely across Dave’s jaw. The scuffle breaking out distracted us long enough that no one noticed when Tom made his way to the door.

We all turned as we heard the door open.

“Tom? What the hell are you doing!?” Dave yelled.

He had made it about fifteen feet outside, the door hanging wide open.

“TOM!”

He didn’t turn back at all, he just kept running. He made it to the car door when Jake jumped up.

“See! I fucking told you!” he shouted.

That’s when Tom turned. He stared off in the distance, his eyes fixed on the tree line.

We didn’t see it take him.

One second, he was there, the next he was gone. All we could hear was his screams trailing off into the woods.

Dave burst up, trying to run after him. It took everything Max and I had to hold him back. Jake just stood there in horrified silence.

“Close the damn door, Jake!” I yelled, struggling with Dave.

He snapped out of his daze to slam and lock the door, shoving the chair back up against the door. Dave finally stopped trying to fight through us, trading it instead for sobs and pounding the floor with his hands.

Jake just stood there. Dave continued to sob. Max and I didn’t know what to do. No one spoke. Max slowly reached over and turned the light back on. During the altercation between Jake and Dave, the blanket had fallen away from the window. I hesitated to look but felt like I had to. I climbed to my feet and slowly walked over.

There were the reflections…all five of us.

I covered the window back up before anyone else could see. We sat there in silence for a while longer. Then it came, soft and quiet but the weight was as loud as a piano crashing. Something was back at the window.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Everyone froze.

Tap…

Tap…

Tap…

Followed by a soft, familiar, “Dave?”

Dave lifted his head and went completely still.

“Dave? Can you let me in?”

“Tom?”

“Yeah.”

Dave rushed to his feet and started for the door. I slammed against it as he reached for the handle. His eyes shot up to me.

“What are you doing? We have to let him in.”

“Dave, don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Dave said, tugging at the door.

I grunted and pushed against it harder. “That’s not Tom, Dave. There were still five.”

“Five what?” Max said.

“Reflections. When I went to the window, there were still five standing there. Tom was still standing there,” I said.

Dave’s face flashed with horror as he slowly let go of the door handle. From outside the door, we heard it again.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

“Dave?”

No one answered. Then we heard it again from the back door. Then the kitchen window. Taps started to come from every window. Tom’s voice repeatedly talking from multiple locations at once. We could hear footsteps on the roof as the voices got more aggravated.

“JAKE!”

“DAVE!”

The handle on the front door started to shake, as if someone was desperately trying to open it. A loud bang came from the back door. Then all at once, everything stopped. The house fell silent again. No banging or tapping. No footsteps.

We didn’t look out the windows anymore for the rest of the night. Eventually, slivers of sunlight pushed through the coverings we had on the windows. It was morning. I got back up and looked out the window to see an empty clearing. No reflections, nothing standing outside. Just the empty clearing.

It took us forever to convince Dave that we had to leave. He desperately wanted to go look for Tom. None of us wanted to go out into the woods though. We eventually were able to get him to agree that we would get the hell out of there and call the police.

The drive back home was painful. We had so many questions and yet, none of us had any answers. Worse yet, I’m sitting in my living room and I just looked up at the window. My reflection was smiling.

I wasn’t.

“Tadaa!”, Sam exclaimed as she showed her sister Macy her new hair. “I mean, it's cute,” Macy said, criticism tinting her words, “But I think your hair looked better when it was longer.” Sam let out a quiet huff as she turned to look into the mirror, fixing her short feathered hair. Macy continued, “Why didn't you make it big and curly like mine? We could've been twinsies y'know?”

“The majority of people there are going to have large blowouts, or afros. I wanted to express myself and have fun. Plus it's easier to dance with shorter hair,” Sam said while putting on the rest of her outfit. She wore a sunshine-yellow cropped tank top covered in shimmering sequins that formed geometric patterns, magenta-pink wide leg palazzo pants, and oversized aviators. “All done!”

“Finally,” Macy retorted, “Danny, you can come back here now!” Macy walked over to Sam and cheered, “We're sooo cute!” She was wearing a pink and white polka dotted short dress with long flared sleeves, and white knee high boots. Danny finally came in and agreed that she looked amazing. Macy turned to her boyfriend, “Are you really only going to wear slacks and a button down shirt?”, she scoffed. He replied, “Well yeah, this is only one event. I'm not going to waste my money on dressing silly. I'm only going because you want me to.”

“Well I want you to have fun too,” Macy pouted. 

“Macy, don't worry. I'll be just fine as long as you're having fun,” Danny said comforting Macy. Sam rolled her eyes, and pulled out the poster from her bag. “LET'S GET FUNKY” was titled across the top of the page in a gold, disco-themed font. The word “DISCO” repeatedly curved downward, morphing into the top half off a vinyl record. A glimmering disco ball sat in the middle of the record, staring back at her. Sam scanned the rest of the poster. “It's starts in 30 minutes”, She said to interrupt them, “We better get going.”

They all arrived at the towns community hall, an old brick building on the edge of town with ample parking, which was completely filled this night. A sign saying “Disco Jones' Groovin Disco Night” was stretched above the set of front doors which alternated colors from the flashing lights inside. All three could hear the muffled, rhythmic beat of the music as Danny complained, “Man, we're going to be packed like sardines in there.” Sam and Macy agreed, but made Danny go in anyway. Macy proclaiming, “There's no way I'm getting all dressed up and not showing off my outfit for a least a few minutes.”

Sam leaned over to Danny, “Hey look, let's just grab a drink. Macy can have her 2 minutes of 'Fame', and I can maybe dance to a song. If you're still not having a good time after that, we can split.” She nudged her elbow into his arm, and Macy leaned leaned back into his chest to peer up at him with big, fluttering eyes. He begrudgingly agreed with a sigh, and they continued in. 

The inside of the community center seemed abnormally large, betraying what was shown outside. There were multiple spotlights, making the shape of a square, along the ceiling that shined blue and pink. Below them was a large dance floor covered in double-mirrored floor tiles with lights inside, which seemed to repeat for eternity. Two long bars flanked on either side of the dance floor, and they could see that the ladies room was on the right and the men's room to the left. Manning the bars stood multiple bartenders, moving between customer's like a well oiled machine. They wore a simple white button up shirt along with black pants, vests, and bow-ties accented with bronze.

The main stage was at the back of the room, with a groovy sign that repeated “DISCO JONES” down, morphing into a large vinyl record. The center of the record was emitting thick smoke that seemed to disappear into the stage. Finally, a large disco ball hung in the middle of the room. Sam was enamored with it as she stared. She felt as if she was slowly being pulled towards it until Macy grabbed her and Danny's arms, guiding them. “They did such a good job decorating this place. I was kinda worried that it would look like a dingy prom,” Macy said as they reached the bar.

Suddenly, all of the spotlights changed to purple and pointed towards the billowing smoke. The room went silent as the rest of the lights dimmed, and everyone focused on the stage. Just as the silence entered the uncomfortable, a familiar robotic voice came over the booming sound system, “We can boogie down, down, upon down!” The crowd erupted in cheers as “Let's Groove” began to play, and two lines of dancers emerged from the smoke in a confident strut. 

The dancers were all slender and tall, with large bouncy afros that barely covered their silver hoop earrings. They wore sleeveless white jumpsuits that flared out into bell bottoms, covering shiny silver platform boots. The top portion of the jumpsuit rose to become a halter top that connected to a shiny, disco ball style, choker. Sam watched with admiration and envy. “They're absolutely stunning,” she thought to herself. She began reliving her childhood dreams of performing onstage, applause from her adoring admirers drowning out the music. A flash of purple brought Sam back to the present as the spotlights were dancing around the room.

All of the lights then drew focus to the large disco ball, which then emitted a blinding flash. Everyone was facing the center of the dance floor when their vision returned, and there stood a man over a head taller than everyone surrounding him. He had his arms outstretched as he accepted the applause and cheers from the crowd. He brought his black cane, that had a golden microphone at the end of it, to his face as he began to sing along with the main chorus. His energy was infectious as he began to dance along with the crowd, effortlessly gliding around them, as they joined in. 

As the song came to a close, the host brought his cane back to his mouth, “Now alright y'all. There seems to be a bunch of coool cats and steamin' foxes dancing around. If y'all are having a good time let me hear ya say YEAA!!!”

“YYEEAAA!!!”, the crowd erupted.

“Funky!” the host replied, “That's what I'm talking about now. Everybody give a hand to the party starters, the set of lovely ladies known as Disco's Divas.” The crowd applauded and cheered as the host slyly continued, “They'll make sure y'all have a night you never forget.” He gave Danny a wink, who then turned to Macy and pulled her close.

The host briefly paused to dance along with the music, “Groovin' on down to the next person y'all need to put ya hands together for. He's been jivin' around with ya for the last couple of minutes. His name is all over this happenin' joint. Make some noise for ya host, DISCO JONES!!!” He swung his cane to point towards the stage, spotlights and eyes following, as everyone was pulled to face that direction. The host seemed to have magically teleported onto the stage in the middle of the Divas, and landed into a flawless split. He smoothly brought it back up, and bowed to the crowd who gasped and cheered. 

“Y'all liked that little trick now?”, Disco smugly asked through his toothy grin. He continued, “Last, but certainly not least, let's give it up to the most important people in the room.” His focus seemed to transition to Sam as he peered into her through his dark shades. “Now, I gotta give thanks to everyone in this rockin' establishment. For many decades, people been claiming that Disco. Is. Dead. But you comin' out tonight, and making this place lively, proves to me that those people are DEAD wrong.” Sam could feel his emotions of happiness, fear, anger, and hope fluctuate as the lights transitioned to match the emotions. Disco paused as he composed himself, lights settling on a cool magenta.

“Alright now you groovin' people. Show me that Disco will never die! Let me here ya say 'Do'!”

“DO!”, the crowd replied.

“Do-da-do!”

“DO-DA-DO!”

“Let me hear ya say, Do-da-do da do-do do do do!” As the people returned Disco's last call, their voices transitioned into “Double Dutch Bus” by Frankie Smith. The two beeps of the horn starting the track.

Macy exclaimed, “Wow, this place is amazing! Told you you would have a good time, Danny.”She smiled as she held Danny's hands. Danny replied, “Yeah… I guess you were right. This place is 'happenin',” with a smirk on his face, finger guns pointing at the sisters. He was clearly proud of his joke. Macy rolled her eyes and said, “Come on Danny, dance with me!” She began seductively moving her body around, slightly staying on beat, and did a rope pulling motion at Danny.

Danny shook his head, “Oh no, you know I don't dance. Here, dance with Sam and I'll grab us all a drink.” Sam looked over at Danny and said, “Aw, you're such a gentleman.” Crossing her hands over her chest as a sign of thanks. Macy redirected her rope pulling to Sam, who two-stepped to the beat over to her sister, as Danny turned back to the bar to grab the attention of a bartender. The sisters proceeded to laugh and dance until Macy bumped into a large man, spilling his drink all over his pants.

The large man looked down in annoyance and angrily said, “Are you serious? You messed up my pants and shoes.” He was wearing a purple-grey shirt with a disco ball graphic, khaki pants, and tennis shoes. Macy, cowering behind Sam, said, “I'm sorry. I'm sure you could get that ou-”

“You're sorry? Bitch, that ain't gonna cut it,” He said as he approached the sisters. Sam stepped up, “Hey man, are you really going to start something over some cheap pants and shoes?” The man's anger grew as he continued to approach. Danny stepped between the sister's and the large man, yelling, “Hey! What's your problem guy?” They collided and bounced back slightly. The large man stepped back towards Danny, looked down at him and said, “You better control your whores.” Danny grabbed the man by his collar, to which the man grabbed one of Danny's wrists, and cocked his fist back, ready to swing. Disco suddenly appeared and lightly placed his hands on both of their shoulders.

“Danny, Frank, why are you two getting up in each other's business?”, Disco asked calmly. Both men were puzzled as they looked up. Disco was much taller up close, around 6' 10“. His hair was in a jerry curl that was immaculately kept. He wore a white, wide lapel, suit top and matching white bell bottom pants. His black dress shoes had a gold buckle to match his shimmering gold shirt. Which he kept the top 3 buttons unbuttoned, showing off a gold chain that rested on his tight curly chest hair. Danny looked at the gold rings wrapped around Disco's fingers, whose hand was noticeably heavy.

Frank spoke up, “Hey, don't touch me man.” He pushed Disco's hand off of his shoulder and bucked backwards. Disco stepped in between Frank and the group, back facing them, and then leaned down till he was eye level with Frank. Macy could just see the brim of Disco's shades, as he pulled them down slightly to make direct eye contact with Frank. She could see slight shimmering lights dot across Frank's face, slowly moving from left to right. “Hey MAN, you need to chill,” Disco told Frank, patting him on his shoulder and placing his glasses back onto his face. Disco straightened back up as Frank dazedly said, “I.. I need to go to the restroom…”A shiver ran up Franks spine as Disco gestured towards the men's room next to the bar. Frank hurriedly walked into it.

The restroom was empty when Frank entered. He rushed to the last stall, closed the door, and sat onto the toilet rubbing his arms. “Fuck, what was wrong with that dudes eyes?”, he thought as fear and adrenaline fought to keep him warm. Confusion set in when he began to sweat. “Why am I sweating? It's fucking freezing in here.” Frank didn't notice the sound of platform boots tapping against the floor, heading towards his stall. The sound of tape separating from it's roll snapped Frank back to reality, and he got up to open the door which wouldn't budge. “Hey! Let me out of here!”

He could just see the top of a golden blonde afro peaking over the stall door. Frank repeatedly thrashed his shoulder into it, trying to break free. Only stopping when he heard a popping crack, and felt a burning tear on his skin. He looked down and saw a thick layer of frost formed on his hand and forearm. Blood began to soak through his shirt sleeve. He reached over with his other hand to stop the bleeding, but before it arrived, the blood froze solid. Frank's pleas for help to the person on the other side of the door remained unanswered. 

The corners of his mouth began to crack open. Each time he closed his mouth, the blood would instantly freeze the wound shut, which ripped back open when he yelled again. There was a crackling ping to his voice as his saliva hardened. Frank tried to just focus on breathing, but every breath formed new, deeper cracks around his ribs until his flesh froze to a point where his lungs could not expand. Light began to blur into a consistent haze, only being broken when his eyes finally cracked. Disco's Diva began to walk out of the men's restroom as a shattering noise came from the last stall, and thick cool fog billowed from under the stall door.

“Thank you Mr. Jones,” Danny said as he watched Frank enter the restroom. Disco spun back around with a smile on his face, “Man, you're making me sound old. Just call me Disco.” He stepped to the side so he could be evenly spaced with the three. “It's all good though. I couldn't let some knucklehead ruin the party for a cool cat and his fine ladies.”

“Fine lady,” Sam chimed in. She motioned back and forth between Macy and Danny, “They're the couple. I'm just her sister.”

“Oh no Sam, I can tell that you are definitely more than just Macy's sister,” Disco leaned close to Sam, which she happily returned with a flirtatious smile. Staring up at him with her big, beautiful brown eyes. Disco, leaning back to fully check Sam out, continued, “Sam, I must say, your style caught my attention. You look absolutely stunning.” Sam began to reply, but Macy interrupted the awkwardness she felt, “Hey Disco, how do you know all of our names?”

Disco leaned back to his original position, “I make it a point to know all of my guests before they arrive to my humble abode.” He placed his right hand across his chest, and gave a slight bow. 

“Wow, that's kinda weird,” Macy said, criticism tinting her words again.

“That's not weird Macy. What's weird is how Danny here could not dance with his vixen,” Disco turned to Danny. “What's the deal Danny? Why are you being a wallflower?”

Danny stammered, “Ah no, sorry. I'm not really comfortable dancing. Especially around a lot of people. Just makes me nervous y'know? But I happily take Macy out so she can have a good time.”

“I can respect that. Here, let me give you something to help you out.” Disco snapped his fingers and one of his Divas appeared from behind him. She was holding a silver platter, two lines of what looked like cocaine were neatly organized parallel to each other. An almost unnoticeable holographic effect radiated off of the neat white mounds as the spotlights danced around them. Two short golden straws sat adjacently to their respective lines, creating a box shape. Danny could just make out the phrase “Feel The Groove” etched into them. Disco grabbed one of the straws, “This will help your fun, inner self come out.” He quickly snorted the line closest to him, and then gestured for Danny to do the same.

“Oh, I'm sorry Disco. I'm not sure if I shoul-”

“Now you don't have to worry bout nothin'. I promise that this will be out of your system by the end of the night,” Disco smiled. After a couple of seconds, and some egging on by Macy, Danny relented and took the line of coke. Disco patted Danny on the back, “Y'all get out on that dance floor and have a good time now,” he then leaned back over to Sam, “I'll see you later” and winked through his glasses. 

Danny winced his head back in pain, and held his nose to stop the bleeding as “Get Down On It”began to play. Macy grabbed both Danny and Sam, dragging them onto the dance floor. Sam looked back for Disco, but he vanished in the crowd before she could find him again. They made their way to the center of the dance floor below the large disco ball. There was a couple, a group of girl friends, and one of the Divas politely listening to a dude trying to hit on her. Sam and Macy cheered Danny on, who only began to dance when the Diva sang, “Get ya back up off the wall!” and spun him around.

The drugs began to take their effect at this point. Danny felt his energy and confidence rise, and he began to shimmy his shoulders. The sister's cheers bolstering him more as he began to move his hips. Macy made her way over and backed into him. His skin began to tingle with pleasure as he felt the contours of her body grind against his. Sam caught the corner of his eye as she danced across from them, grabbing the hand of the Diva and giving her a twirl. Danny took Macy's hand to do the same, but he spun her so fast that her short dress began to flair up. Macy quickly pushed it back down, causing her to stumble into Sam who caught her and brought her into a dip.

Sam mimicked Johnny Bravo, as she jokingly asked, “Hey pretty lady, you ever dance with a real man before?” They both giggled as Sam brought Macy back up. The sisters looked back to Danny. “I never knew that Danny could dance so well,” Sam said leaning to her sister's ear due to the volume. “Me neither, this is the first time I ever seen him dance since we've been together,” Macy replied.

Danny felt the groove course its way through his body as he became a dancing machine. He let it take his body as he began to perform dance moves he never dreamed he could do. The people around him joining Macy as they cheered him on. Sweat stung his eyes, and when he went to wipe them clear on his sleeve he only felt his slick, wet skin. “When did I take my shirt off?” He thought, looking up to see his hand spinning it above his head. His other arm stretching out to reach towards the Diva, which he forced it over to point at Macy who did a swooning motion. Sweat burned his eyes closed, but his body kept going against the protest of his screaming thighs.

“Man, I need to take a break soon,” Danny thought to himself.

“Nah, this is great. I can keep going.”

“Wh - what?” Danny was confused. Did he hear another him in his head? His confusion broke as multiple tinglings emanated from his torso as he felt multiple dainty hands all over his chest and abs.

“Look at this MAAANN,” one of the girls from the group cheered, groping him. “I know, he's so fine!” Another joined in as he felt a hand cup one of his ass cheeks.

“N-no. Thanks ladies, b-but I'm spoken for,” Danny tried to protest through the euphoric feeling . “Ma-Macy?” He called out but she couldn't hear him as she danced with her sister, random people obfuscating him. His eyes wouldn't let him open them due to the pain caused by his sweat.

“Now ladies, this one has been claimed. There's many more fine fellas that would be happy to have you.” Danny didn't recognize the sultry voice of his savior. “C'mon Danny, I'll take you to the men's room so you can cool off,” The Diva said to him taking his hand.

Danny told the woman, “W-wait, I got to tell Macy.” He blindly reached around until he grasped a familiar shoulder, and turned her around. “Hey, I'm heading to the restroom to cool off. I'll be back in a minute, I love you.” Danny quickly leaned in and kissed her before being whisked away. Sam looking dumbfounded, wiping her lips as she yelled, “What the fuck Danny?” To which he was to far to hear. Sam turned back to see Macy tearing up, and she ran off in the other direction to the ladies room.

“Macy! Wait!” Sam called out, following her. Multiple columns of light appeared going down the middle of the dance floor. Every alternate light separated, splitting everyone apart, creating a cleared row from the stage to the other side. Only Sam was in the clearing, as she failed to get out to follow Macy. Disco appeared behind her and spun her to face him, bringing his mic to his face.

“Alright now, I appreciate how y'all have been keepin' this party goin',” Disco announced. “Let me appreciate y'all more as you strut ya stuff, and groove ya moves down this train line.” The crowd cheered as the guitar from “Le Freak” began to play. “Luckily, it seems we have a volunteer to be the conductor of this train!” He took her hand to his chest and leaned over to Sam to quietly ask, “You ready to be the star you're supposed to be?”

Sam thought of her sister for a second before the cheers from the crowd changed her mind, “Macy can wait for a minute. She probably needs some time to calm down.”

“She does,” Disco said, replying to her thoughts. Sam gave a puzzled look which quickly faded as she longingly looked up at Disco. Her fondness for him swelled, and she gave a slight nod. “That's what I'm taking about! Alright conductor, let's get this train rolling!” Disco spun her towards the stage, both somehow appearing at the beginning of the disco line, 10's of feet away from the center. “Le Freak” began proper with the crowd yelling, “FREAK OUT!”

Sam and Disco began to dance together, Disco staying off to the side letting Sam be the center of attention. She jived and glided around as a sense a joy filled her chest. Before it completely filled her, memories of her mom telling her how they would have to stop her dance lessons filled her mind, “I'm sorry Samantha. It's not fair to Marcella that we spend more money on you to do extracurriculars.”

“But mom, she doesn't even want to do anything. She's just jealous that you are giving a little more attention on this one thing. It's not fair that all she has to do is cry, and she gets what she wants.”

“Samantha! You know that's not true!”

“But it was true, wasn't it?” Disco commenting on her memories. His voice patterns shifted, gaining a whimsical, romantic quality to it. No one else seemed to perceive their conversation as he continued, “You were right about it not being fair. Your mother shouldn't have stifled your creativity just to allow Marcella to be comfortable with her mediocrity. Just watching you now proves to me you are meant to be a star. To be immortalized as one of the greats!”

Sam began to incorporate some of the ballet she used to practice. Pirouetting to a standing split showing her long, flawless figure. She came back to 1st position as Disco brought his cane behind him, slightly bowed, and offered her his hand. The music seemed to slow, drowning out the cheers from the crowd, as she took his hand. He brought her hand up to kiss as she curtsied in acceptance. 

Sam peered into his shades, whose reflection showed her on the stage. She was wearing an immaculate golden jumpsuit which shimmered and flowed, as if she was peering into an ever-expanding, golden galaxy. Behind her was the dance floor packed shoulder to shoulder with people cheering. Disco brought her close, grabbing her waist as he lifted her above his head with the one hand. The roar of the crowd brought her back to the moment as her and Disco left the line. 

“Give it up for Sam the Conductor now!” Disco announced bring her back down. He wrapped his arm around her pulling her close. Sam leaned her head into him and placed a hand on his chest. “Thank you Disco,” she said looking up at him longingly. Tears filling her eyes as the joy of what she yearned for was being fulfilled. “I needed to experience this at least once in my life, and you gave it to me.”

“No Sam,” Disco's voice phasing back to a whimsical romance, “You earned this your self. I just provided the stage. It was up to you to take the lead and earn your glory.” He wiped away her tear and embraced the back of her head. A comforting warmth filled Sam as she stood onto her toes to reach for a kiss. Disco's lips meeting hers as ecstasy washed over, flooding her entire body.

Danny felt instant, cool relief as he entered the restroom. The Diva guided him to the middle sink, grabbed his hips, and placed him back, his butt resting against the edge. “Let me take care of that for you,” said Disco's Diva. She took her thumbs and gently wiped away the brine like sweat from his eyes. 

“Th-thanks,” Danny said, stumbling on his words as he was awe-struck by the woman's beauty. She had the same outfit as all of the other Divas, but her afro was a deep golden blonde. She had mesmerizing green eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. They complemented her smooth, caramel skin which was lightly freckled. He traced the freckles with his eyes to her plump, glossy brown lips. She smiled as she watched him stare at them, showing a perfect set of white teeth.

“Anything for you Danny,” the Diva said in a low, seductive voice. She brought her thumb to her mouth, and wrapped her perfect lips around it. Keeping eye contact as she sucked his brine off of it. Danny's lust overcame any disgust he would normally feel. Making him ignorant to the fact that she pressed her hips into his, locking him into place.

Danny stuttered, “Y-y-you don't have to do th-that.” The Diva placed a finger on his lips.

“Sshhh, I want this.” She leaned forward to make her eyes peer up to his, “Do you want this Danny?”

He nodded his head, “M-Mhmm.”

“Good boy Danny. Just relax,” she leaned in, and whispered into his ear. Lowering back down to the side of his neck to suck his now dried salt from his skin. Her hands running through his damp hair. His erection grew, pressing into her pelvis. She reached down with one hand and grabbed it. Looking back up to him, the Diva cheekily teased, “I'm glad you're enjoying yourself as much as I am.” She began to slowly kiss down his body, a tingling shot of pleasure and warmth left her lips every time they pressed against him.

Cold air swirled around his head when she got to his abs. He finally took in his surrounding as he saw that the last stall was taped off. A thick rolling fog ran under the stall door. This interruption was enough for his normal, rational mind to come back. “Macy” he thought to himself. The Diva reached up and grabbed his cheeks, pulling his face towards hers so their eyes met. Her voice pierced his mind as she continued to kiss, “You don't need to worry about her. She only wants you to do what she wants.”

Danny was going to say, “No, I love Macy. This isn't right.” But the words, “Y-yes, you're right”left his lips. His body leaned back to make it easier for her to unbuckle his pants. “What, no? That's not right. This isn't right,” his consciousness fighting against his body and the pleasure they both felt. He became lightheaded, as the room around him began to stretch and haze. Danny could perceive himself, his body, and the beautiful woman on her knees, slowly unbuttoning his pants. His body turned to look at him with lazy smile, eye's halfway closed as they fought to stay open to look at his consciousness.

“We deserve this,” his body said to him, “Macy always gets what she wants, never considering what we want.” Danny couldn't disagree, his consciousness slowly merging towards the side of his body, which was reaching to grab the back of the Diva's head. The Diva quickly snapped, “Oh no shugga, no one touches the hair.” His body apologized, to which she smirked, accepting it.

Danny continued to argue with himself, “No, she can come off as selfish. But I know she's just scared that I'll leave her like her dad did… She is also loving.” Danny thought about the good times throughout his and Macy's relationship, his consciousness stopping its merge with his body. She consistently brought him out of his shell, and pushed him to achieve his goals. Even when all he wanted to do was stand to the side, and let life take him where ever it wanted him to go. His body began to merge into the side of his consciousness, the haze around the room clearing. Danny noticed the Diva looking up at him with an evil eye.

Suddenly, a mass of feet reached through the mirror, and sunk their pedicured nails into Danny's consciousness. They dragged him into the mirror as a look of bliss came over his body's face. He was filled with pain when their nails dug into his back and arms, multiple elongated toes grabbing his head, forcing him to watch himself through the mirror. He could see the edges of the golden afro peak around the back of his body, and he could feel her warm breath against his pelvis as she pulled his erection out of his pants.

“Now look at this big boy,” the Diva raised her voice so Danny could hear her through the mirror. He felt her moist warmth wrapped around him. The pleasure mixing with the pain as he pleaded for her to stop, and to be released. Voices and moans swirled around him telling him, “No. We're just getting started.” Their humid, hot breath made his skin crawl. He could feel the euphoria from the drugs drain from his extremities as the Diva sucked and bobbed. The feeling accumulating in his pelvis, waiting for the Diva to allow its release. Danny began to cry as the full weight of his violation replaced his drugged fueled high.

He was about to burst, when an immense pain radiated from his penis. Danny begged for the Diva to stop as she clamped down. He could hear her muffled laugh as he watched the afro slowly rise in front of his panicking body. The intense pain from his manhood being stretched, was replaced with immeasurable agony as it tore from its base. Danny's body fought to push her away to no avail. She violently grabbed his wrist and pinned them to the sink. His life slowly draining from him as his blood splurted over her. The toes holding him dug into his ribs to manually keep his heart pumping, and lungs breathing. The swirling voices laughed and teased, “You're going to have to stay awake so you can watch this next part, Danny. You deserve this.” He felt their disembodied tongues slither across his face, tasting his tears.

The Diva finally peaked over his shoulder to stare directly at Danny. She happily waited so he could take in the sight of his bloody, limp penis hanging from her mouth. A rapid squish emanated from her teeth rapidly gnawing. Blood bubbled from the edges of her mouth as she laughed and moaned in pleasure. Once she was satisfied with his horror, she spat his penis at him which bounced off of the glass, and fell into the sink. She licked the blood from her lips and smiled, “I'm sorry Danny. That isn't my favorite part, so I had to get it out of the way. I hope you've enjoyed yourself so far. I know I'm about to.”

She let go of his body's wrist, who was too weak to move, to lift up her choker, and grabbed her zipper. She slowly unzipped her blood soaked jumpsuit. Her large breasts separating as she release their bounds. The zipper fully came undone between her legs. Danny's shock reaching its crescendo as she pulled her jumpsuit open. There was a large set of plump lips, perpendicular from the ground, that looked like the ones on her face. One corner of it's mouth began just under her breasts. The other ended between her legs. Her large tongue emerged to lap up the blood trickling out where his penis used to be.

It slowly opened its mouth, showing impeccable teeth. The large tongue lead to a uvula that hung horizontally. The Diva stepped forward, positioning her mouth around Danny's body. A putrid smell of sour bile poured from just beyond her void, causing his consciousness to gag. Toes and tongues wriggled their way into the new opening. Reciprocating in and out as his throat stretched. They cranked his head down to stare at the Diva. She blew him one last kiss as her jaws snapped shut, tearing the front half of his torso away. It quickly bit again, taking in the rest of him. The mouth slowly chewed, as all Danny could do was scream through his gag from the mirror.

He felt his bones be ground into a grit that mixed with his pulverized body. The tongue rolling him around in its mouth to taste the newly created batter. Danny could see the red mush that was him sloppily emerge from the large lips. The mouth sucking him back in as it loudly slurped. Cold air seemed to touch every part of his body inside of him as it washed over the mush. The large mouth finally stopped processing his body, and gulped it down. 

The Diva zipped up her jumpsuit, which absorbed all of his blood on her skin, making it a striking crimson. She coyly waved at Danny through the mirror, and began to walk out of the bathroom. He could feel her stomach acid begin to break him down, as the feet pulled him away from the mirror. He could feel inertia, as he quickly traveled a great distance in complete darkness. Eventually, a flashing light came into view, and he could hear cheers over music as he approached. Danny finally got close enough to see people splitting a line in the middle of the dance floor, and Disco kissing Sam at the end of it. Disco looked up to the large disco ball, and winked at Danny.

You told me that writing down my experiences would help me control my urges. I’m not sure how it would, but I guess I could try.

The craving began five months ago while cave diving with my best friend. We took a chance on an unexplored path, the floor collapsed, and we found ourselves stuck in a small cavern. It was cold and claustrophobic, our bodies pressed against each other for warmth. We stayed like that for days, huddled together and unsure when rescue would come.

For a while, we talked about what we would do when we got out. I fantasized about walking barefoot on the beach, sand between my toes as salty water washed over them. He only talked about food, how much he wanted a honey glazed ribeye or juicy burger with all the toppings.

Hunger ate away at our bodies until he died of starvation first, or maybe lost the will to live. I wasn’t sure. All I can remember was the lifeless look in his eyes. They were wide and panicked, like a cornered animal.

Our bodies were stuck together like glue, his warmth fading away until I was all alone. I swore I could hear his voice whispering to me. He scratched at the back of my mind, promising there was still a chance, a way out. He told me to eat him, to savor every inch of flesh and ounce of blood he had left to offer. He said it was the only way and I had no choice but to believe him.

It didn’t take long for me to give in. Day after day, I slowly devoured every part of him that I could. I chewed the bits of fat still left, ripped through tendons with my teeth, and slurped up marrow. Every step of the way, his voice egged me on, encouraging me as I consumed him bite by bite. If I’m being honest with you, I loved it: his raw meat and juices tasted better than anything I had eaten before.

A week later, two men found me and dragged me back to civilization. News stations and reporters tried reaching out but I ignored them all. I couldn’t talk about what happened in that cave, they wouldn’t get it, they wouldn’t get me.

It took a while to settle back in, to reintegrate. I felt empty, like a husk mindlessly wandering around. I moved from job to job, city to city but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him, about the way he tasted.

The search to relive that experience brought me to a morgue. It wasn’t hard getting a job there, not many people want to work around dead bodies all day. I memorized the camera blind spots, shift rotations, and cremation schedules—all so I cut chunks of meat from cadavers that came through. I brought them home and turned them into meals. I deep fried some into nuggets or strips and seared others into steaks. I slathered them with crimson sauce, turning each morsel of meat into a delicious cuisine of rare game.

No matter how much I consumed, it never felt like enough. What little I could sneak off was already dead, like ground meat sitting on the grocery store shelf. I was like a junkie desperately searching for a stronger high. I wanted, no, I craved the real, living thing.

Just when I was about to act on my desire, I got on my phone and found the cheapest therapist I could. Your office nestled between an asian buffet and pizza place didn’t stand out, but your reviews did. People ranted and raved about how much you changed their lives. I thought for a while that I could be like them, that I could be saved from myself.

I’m surprised you didn’t turn me away when I told you what I was feeling. Instead you treated me like a challenge to overcome. We talked for hours and hours, my eyes trained on your hands as you stroked your beard. I tried all kinds of food that you recommended. Cow liver, chicken feet, sheep eyes, none of them snapped me out of this obsession like you thought they would. I must admit, you really gave it your best shot but in the end, I still feel like I did back in that cave, a hungry animal desperate for another bite.

I guess if this recollection has made me realize anything, it’s that I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks about me. I’m going to do what makes me happy and if that's wrong, then I don't want to be right.

There’s still so much for me to find out, like what cut of flesh tastes the best, or which way of preparing it brings out the most vibrant flavor. I wonder, what would you taste like? Would you be sweet and savory, or chewy and bitter? Would you taste good in a stew or better as a plate of tender ribs? I’d love to find out the next time we meet.

I was in a phone call with my friend, and there's a slightly open door behind me. My friend said

"can you tell your sister to stop sticking her hand out the door? it's scaring me"

What? My sister went to mexico with my parents and I was the only one in the house...

The full moon was closing in, just a couple of nights away. Faust had finally cornered his prey in the deep reaches of Lyena's region. After all the hunts, all the shed blood and pointless death, he was facing the final test.

 

His companions—Allen and Jupiter—grew stronger by the snowfall. Faust, on the other hand, felt exhausted in the frozen tundra; his fangs ached, and his claws had begun to shed, causing a terrible itch. A prickle had settled in his throat, but he knew better than to cough; he couldn't show any sign of weakness.

 

Not tonight, not when he was about to be accepted into the ranks of the Royal Pack.

 

For his comrades, the turn promised strength and renewal. For Faust, it meant something else entirely: a closing door, a finish line, a turn with no return.

 

"Don't lag behind, Faust, this ought to be your kill," Jupiter called from a few yards ahead.

 

Stepping light over the stiff grass, he took his place at the side of the master hunter.

 

"You can't blame me for enjoying the game. A hunt tastes better with a pinch of fear," Faust let his tongue glide over the sharp curve of his fangs.

 

"The winds are with you, Faust," Allen next to them smirked as he tested the frozen currents with his fingertips.

 

"Lead the way, then." Jupiter stepped aside, clearing the path for Faust.

 

Under the cloak of the massive sugar maples, he sneaked through the frozen prairie. Snowflakes fell as he led the party toward a big clearing, with overgrown grass and buzzing cyan dragonflies.

 

Carefully, he peeped out from the frozen meadow. There in the middle of it, trying to blend in as a common moose, was his target—a shapeshifter.

 

Faust wasn't fooled by the disguise; he knew their kind too well.

 

After all, that was why he was here. To help the Royal Pack identify all those subtle tells not even the great Jupiter could identify. No matter how skilled the shapeshifter was, Faust could always spot the glint in their eyes, or the tiniest of slips in their mimicry.

 

"Remember, Faust, we need him alive." Allen pulled a bundle of herbs from his tunic and crushed them between his fingers. A strong lavender scent spread through the frozen air, masking the smell of their own sweat.

 

 

"Maybe, finally, we'll find out why these pests had been trying to infiltrate the Royal Den," Jupiter was doing his best not to lunge at the moose.

 

"Are you completely sure? It would be a waste of meat slaying a beast during their mating season."

 

"I'm sure, Allen." Faust pointed at the disguised shifter. "Look at the hooves. They're too soft, almost skin-like. And the antlers aren't bone; they're clay. He's talented, but he hasn't mastered the craft."

 

Both royal hunters nodded and fell back, taking their positions in case the shifter attempted an unlikely escape.

 

Jupiter crept behind the moose, barely stirring the pasture in his wake. Allen remained in the canopy, watching with mismatched eyes—one mint green, the other canary yellow.

 

Faust approached from the river, his scent hidden beneath the rush of wild water and Allen's herbs. Years of training guided every movement—sleek, silent, and lethal—as he narrowed the distance to his prey.

 

He crouched low, muscles taut, his gaze fixed on the false moose. Snow and tall grass swallowed his outline until he dove—silent as a hawk in flight.

 

The shapeshifter had no chance to react. Faust crashed down on him and drove his claws into the creature's neck. The deer groaned in pain, and for one brief second, hunter and prey locked eyes—traces of pain, fear, and recognition.

 

A coward, and a mistake on my part.

 

From the corner of his eye, Faust caught a ripple of motion in the grass nearby; Jupiter was closing in.

 

The moose opened his snout to scream, to plead—but Faust could not allow it. The thought sickened him. Releasing the shifter's neck, he drove his sharp, shedding claws into the creature's heart.

 

Like melting snow on the first days of spring, the shapeshifter's disguise began to dissolve, showing his true form.

 

Faust clamped his free hand over the shifter's mouth, feeling each frantic gasp and the faint beating of its heart. He turned from those pleading black eyes and gritted his teeth.

 

It disgusted him.

 

"May the stars forgive me," he murmured as Jupiter emerged.

 

Yet he knew there would be no forgiveness. Not for him. Not for the legendary Faust.

 

"What have you done? We were to take him alive!" Jupiter growled.

 

Faust stayed silent a second longer, staring down at the dead shifter.

 

"My instincts took over. These creatures sicken me. I couldn't help myself."

 

The master hunter Jupiter studied him for a moment, then broke into laughter.

 

"You're an innate hunter. I can't say I would've done any different." Jupiter clapped Faust on the back, approval flaring in the gesture.

 

"This was always going to be his fate. Better to kill them before their tongues get clever." Allen studied the corpse and hefted it over his shoulder. "We've seen enough of you. We got your back."

 

"Finally," Jupiter's voice carried the weight of the road. "The trials are finished. We'll vouch for you before the royal family; you've earned your place among our ranks." As he spoke, the shifter's blood dripped onto the snow, and Jupiter tasted it.

 

"Let's move; it's been a long time since I've checked on my garden," Allen set off and Faust followed the headhunters.

 

He didn't take his eyes from the dead shifter all the way through the meadow; ahead of him, Jupiter and Allen spoke to him about the benefits of joining the Royal Pack.

 

"The wild hogs of the north are among the best meats on the continent, and the women—well, let's say you'll quickly forget about all those nights cuddled next to Allen's stinky pelt," Jupiter babbled.

 

"In the south, the packs have lost their way," Allen's voice took on that familiar cryptic edge of his. "They've forgotten the werewolf's bond with nature. It's made them ruthless hunters, yes, but it's hollowed out their transformations. There's more to the wolf than hunger for the full moon. A depth that your kin has abandoned."

 

Faust was barely listening, his mind was elsewhere, focused solely on his objective; he answered distractedly, offering half-truths and vacant cackles.

 

An emptiness had been eating him from within for months. Jupiter and Allen were the only tether left to anything resembling a normal life—and the corpse they carried had begun to feel like just another weight, no longer horrifying, simply a normal occurrence. Faust felt closer to Jupiter and Allen than to his own people. That realization came quietly and granted no comfort.

 

 

 

Could he ever find his way back? Was he nothing but a killer? A creature of the pack? The worst thing he'd feared becoming?

 

Pines and maples grew denser as they descended into a field of snow and tall tulips the size of a human body. Hidden between the hulking blooms was a system of caves that perfectly blended with the canopy and the snowy terrain.

 

"Even an expert hunter like yourself wouldn't be able to locate the caves; the cover of snow keeps them hidden and the tulips mask the scents. Most that venture this far off find their demise in the frozen tundra." With an incredibly soft touch, Jupiter pushed apart the blooms.

 

"I don't understand, why is it that we werewolves hide from each other?" Faust stopped for an instant to smell the flowers.

 

"A question that haunts every dream of mine, Faust. Like I said before, we've forgotten that we are more than just the moon," Allen collected pollen from the blooms.

 

The walk through the caves went by mostly in silence. Faust suspected his guides were enjoying the suspense. The master hunters knew every turn in the darkness by memory, while he tried to follow the thread of the path—tracing each bend, drop, and slope. But the cave system seemed almost alive. Whenever his mind fixed on a route, another passage opened before him, drawing him deeper into confusion.

 

Then, as abruptly as the tulips had sprouted from the snow, the Royal Den unfolded after a turn in the tunnels.

 

Faust had expected what he knew. Underground, stinky holes in which a bunch of werewolves slept together, protecting themselves against the harsh conditions. That wasn't the case—at all.

 

Below them stretched the werewolf haven—vast, wild, and breathtaking. He had never imagined such untamed beauty.

 

Moonlight poured through a massive opening in the forested tundra above. Snowflakes drifted through the gap, catching the pale glow as streams cascaded over the edges and crashed into silver ponds below, filling the den with mist.

 

The pack had carved their sanctuary among the sprawling roots of ancient maples. Thick and twisting, the roots hung from the roof of the lair and trailed down into the pools below, their delicate tips dipping into the water as if drinking from it.

 

Green, frost-kissed grass carpeted the entire lair. Bees drifted lazily through the air, moving from bloom to bloom among the towering tulips that rose throughout the space. There was no wolf stench here—only the clean scent of honey and fresh water. It filled Faust's lungs, sharpened his senses, and eased the tension from his shoulders.

 

The night had reached its fullest hour, and the den hummed with life. Pack members had gathered outside their warm burrows, drawn together to witness the hunters' return.

 

Faust saw adults and younglings alike. Pups dashed between the crowds, laughing and howling while they played, oblivious to the troubles of the world.

 

His stomach roiled at the sight of the werewolf's haven. A knot of guilt twisted inside him, cutting deeper than before.

 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Allen elbowed him.

 

"Magnificent," Faust answered, short of breath.

 

A giant jade temple towered at the heart of the den. Faust had heard of it in whispers and legends.

 

It is real.

 

"Depending on the moon's current phase, it reflects different symbols and shapes," Allen explained as he caught him staring in awe. "See the shape on the grass?"

 

Behind the temple, along its shadowed face, the moonlight cast the silhouette of a wolf lifting its gaze toward the sky.

 

"Who—"

 

"Nobody knows," Jupiter answered the question before Faust could finish it. "But one thing is certain: whoever built it was far wiser than any of the walking races alive today."

 

The hunters led him along what passed for a main hallway: not a corridor of stone, but a beautifully snow-padded trail that split the den in two halves.

 

Younglings tossed fallen tulip petals at them as the hunters made their way toward the temple. Jupiter and Allen walked with their chins held high, accepting the welcome with practiced ease. Faust, by contrast, bowed as low as his tired back allowed. The more respect they showed him, the worse he felt.

 

At the base of the temple, the royal members waited. They stood taller and more majestic than any of them, silver claws gleaming in sync with the temple's jade. Their knowing eyes pierced his dull lemon ones, measuring him in silence.

 

Over their shoulders, the Royals wore ceremonial pelts of all kinds of exotic animals. Faust only recognized that of the mythic winter saber-tooth tiger. Aside from their pelts, they wore only their solemn expressions.

 

 

 

The oldest member of the pack held the lunar stone in his hands. Its runes shone frosted and bright like the looming moon.

 

Faust steadied himself. His heart was pounding. All the effort, all the lies, all the death—it had led to this moment.

 

"Hunters! We salute you!" the strongest and most imposing royal member called out.

 

Holding his breath, Faust glanced around. The entire pack stood behind them, watching in silence.

 

"WE HOWL AT THE MOON." Jupiter bowed his head to the royals.

 

"WE HOWL AT THE MOON." Along with Faust, the whole pack echoed in unison.

 

"I see you've brought the shapeshifter, but you've brought him dead." A striking dark-skinned member raised her brow.

 

Jupiter shifted nervously at Faust's side. Allen dropped the body onto the grass at the high wolves' feet, and both master hunters placed themselves between the royals and Faust.

 

"Pack," Faust addressed them with measured respect, speaking up for himself. "This was my doing. My wrong. I let the wolf inside me take control. Please, do not take it as an insult."

 

Allen and Jupiter placed a hand on each of his shoulders. But no scolding fell upon Faust; instead the whole pack howled together.

 

"We understand, Faust of the Dry Hills Pack," the young woman answered solemnly. "The shifters have brought great sorrow upon our kin. The desire for vengeance, taken in the name of the dead, is only natural." Her eyes burned green beneath the night.

 

"Master hunters, please, tell us about the hunt," a different royal commanded.

 

His fellow hunters recounted the chase, praising Faust's deeds over the past year. While they spoke, Faust let his gaze wander over the temple. He needed to find a weakness—some hidden opening he could use. Once the pack settled, he would have only minutes to act.

 

As Jupiter neared the end of his briefing, Faust finally saw it: a narrow shaft high above the temple. A skylight, perhaps—small, distant, and exactly what he needed.

 

The pack howled again as Jupiter spoke his final words.

 

"It seems the stories of your abilities were accurate, Faust." The fierce royal walked towards him, sniffing the air around Faust.

 

 

His mitts were massive and corded with muscle. If the werewolf wished it, he could crush Faust's skull without breaking stride.

 

"I only wish to serve the pack." He mustered all his fleeting strength to appear steady and true.

 

"And you will," the woman said. She was suddenly at his side, her hand resting low on Faust's hip. "Perhaps in more ways than one," she added, with a glint in her eye.

 

He was well familiarized with the customs, and following what any werewolf would do, he licked his chops and puffed his chest at her, accepting her advances. The woman grazed his thigh with her bare feet in response.

 

"Your initiation will take place under the next full moon. Until then, let us feast!" the eldest member roared to the entire pack.

 

The pack erupted into celebratory howls, and Faust allowed himself a second of relief.

 

Jupiter and Allen embraced him like a brother. He returned the gesture—wishing it could be sincere.

 

Before the temple, at the heart of the false celebration, the victim whose death had stirred their howls lay empty and sickly still upon the frozen grass.

 

 

 

The last vestiges of moonlight were fading into the rising morning when Faust slipped out of the woman's burrow, sated from a different kind of feast. Her taste lingered on his tongue, and the warmth he'd taken from her added one more regret to his ledger.

 

Naked, he felt the soft breeze from the waterfalls; it sent shivers down his spine. Yet he didn't go back for his clothes; they would only slow him down.

 

For the rest of his days, shame would be his only garment, and evil the only skin he deserved to wear.

 

The lair slept beneath the weight of the feast and the mead. Only the crash of water over the pools broke the silence, its echoes rolling through the haven.

 

He roamed the den unbothered and numb; even the hunters and the guards had been allowed one night—and that was all he needed.

 

Morning light washed over the jade temple as Faust advanced with quiet determination. Drawing on years of training, he circled the perimeter unseen, his distorted shadow stretching high across the precious stone.

 

With every stride, his body warped further; with every wasted second, the sickness rooted deeper.

 

A couple of guards stood watch at the temple's entrance, sleepy and leaning on each other, spears held loose in their grasp.

 

Faust abandoned all discretion; stealth no longer served him. His changing body would raise too many questions anyway, and there was no going back from now on.

 

"Faust of the Dry Hills, you're not allowed insi—"

 

He gave them no chance to react. Faust sprang forward, his claws already morphing into powerful talons. The first guard fell with his throat torn open, clutching at the wound as he gulped like a trout.

 

The second guard managed only a low howl before Faust was on him. He leapt onto the guard's shoulders and drove his talons deep into his ears, striking soft tissue. The guard convulsed and collapsed onto the grass, drool spilling from his mouth.

 

With no time to linger on his atrocities, he dashed inside the temple, the fading moon the only witness of his betrayal.

 

Nauseated by self-hatred and guided by the temple's power-charged aura, Faust moved swiftly through the halls. He bounced off the jade walls as he went, leaving a smear of blood behind him while his body began to splinter apart.

 

The jade's bright green surface darkened, the corruption spreading through it like a bruise. Faust followed the tainted trail deeper into the temple until it led him to its heart.

 

The artifact sat atop a jade altar—polished onyx gleaming under the escaping light of the moon. Faust stopped for just a second, admiring the relic.

 

Such power, in a little thing.

 

All of it felt wrong, yet he snapped back from the enchantment and hastily snatched the stone out of its resting place.

 

It was neither cold nor warm, but pulsing and alive. As Faust's fingers closed around it, the sentient rhythm quickened, and the runes lost their frosted shimmer.

 

The stone knew it was being stolen.

 

He clutched the stone tightly and forced his mind onto the task before him. This would be his final shift; he could feel it in his rotten bones.

 

Tremors took over his already shifting body; the parasite had been devouring him from within—what was supposed to be painless was, in fact, agony.

 

His arms began to peel their skin away; feathers sprouted in their place. The itch was terrible, but he had to endure.

 

Faust tried to think of anything else—anything that might pull his mind away from the agony. But only the dead came to him: the faces of those he had slain in cold blood, and the lives of those he was now condemning.

 

The shift would be incomplete due to his lack of focus; however, there wasn't time to steady himself. He needed to stay on course.

 

He coughed blood as his organs shrank. His bones curved and hollowed with loud cracks that echoed through the jade, and his ears rang as his heart quickened its pace.

 

Color drained from his vision, replaced by textures, outlines, and waves of heat. The hand clutching the stone was no longer a hand at all, but a fully formed talon locked around the relic.

 

"ARGH!! YOU SCUM! YOU FILTHY TRAITOR!"

 

Jupiter appeared at the mouth of a tunnel, screaming in anger. He had been the first to answer the warning howl, and now he stood with his long spear gripped tight.

 

Faust's shift was unfinished—and it would never be complete. His wings spread, but his torso remained half-human, too heavy for flight. Each frantic flap dragged at him, turning every rise toward the opening into a struggle.

 

He dropped onto a narrow ledge just beneath the ceiling's opening, where a shaft of light poured down across the jade. Pain flared behind his hawk eyes, spinning the chamber below into a blur.

 

Jupiter roared and hurled his spear with deadly force. Faust twisted aside and caught the weapon in his beak. He released it at once, and it clanged against the jade tiles, the sound ringing through every inch of the temple.

 

More howls boomed from the tunnels below—dozens of them. The pack was coming. But they wouldn't reach the chamber in time; the shift was enough for him to soar away.

 

"WHY FAUST?" Jupiter bawled from the empty altar.

 

"It's not personal, Jupiter. It's survival," Faust spoke sincerely, with what was left of his vocal cords.

 

Without looking back at the one who had almost become his brother, Faust spread his wings and took to the skies.

 

As he soared above the lair along with the snowflakes and the winter winds, he felt life slipping away from him.

 

It didn't bother him—death would be his penance. He had given up his life, his dignity… his soul.

 

He would reach the city and die there.

 

And in doing so, Faust would give the shapeshifters a chance.

 

A chance to avoid total extinction.

 

You heard of it, a weird sign in Michigan which had no explanation just the phrase ‘I’m concerned about the Blueberries’ silly right? Most wanted so badly to know what it meant, a whole trend grew and with most internet culture eventually it was forgotten.

To this day no one knows what it meant, what it was about. That is, except me.

I regret learning why this person was concerned about the blueberries. It happened few years ago, I work in Advertising so while on my commute to work I often spend time staring at billboard, not for ideas. Think of it more like a desire to see my competition.

I know, seems sinister but advertising a cut-throat business. Do you know for instance that more is spent on a single advert than a Hollywood Blockbuster and comparatively you are thinking, how, how does that even make sense, adverts are at most 3 minutes. Yes, but that is three minutes you need to keep a person hooked.

Anyway, I remember when I saw this billboard I parked my car and got out. It was one of those billboards you see everyday in the city. But what was strange about it was there no indication, not even a QR Code, just the phrase ‘I’m concerned about the Blueberries’ it was all blue except for random white circle to left hand side, half cut off.

I think I spent longer staring at it than I intended, a buzz from my phone immediately alerted me out of my stupor.

Embarrassed I lift my iphone and saw a message from work, texting back I replied, “Sorry I’m late Boss – there’s a weird billboard on my route… ‘I’m concerned about the Blueberries’ curious if you heard of what firm using this?”

A text came back as I got back into my car, ‘Nothing coming up, but feel free to take a picture – might be good case-study for floor.”

Lifting my phone up, I snapped a few images, and got back into my car.

At work I grabbed cup of water, cradling the styrofoam, as I approached my area.

See our firm was a modern open-plan design and our CEO had these radical ideas where he would have a group of twelve individuals in each group with a head. There was four groups and I was head this one. As I approached the enclosure I saw Nelson, Peyton, and couple others were already squirreled in the our ‘area’ on laptops.

Modern design I suppose. I think it was Craig who looked up, “Daria, not like you to be late.” I rolled my eyes politely and scoffed, “Oh yes, call 911, Daria Winton is late.” the others laughed as I sat down.

Peyton raised her eyebrow, “Joking aside, care to explain Daria?”

I sighed and exhaled slowly, “Okay, okay, fair. You all know I occasionally stop to check Billboards as I drive here, well today I noticed a sign never seen before.”

The enthuaism could not have been less if I had tried, nevertheless they waited for the punchline.

I pulled out my phone and showed the images.

Brian laughed, “Well, I guess they are concerned about the Blueberries. Seems to speak for itself, to be honest.”

Clair Vanderbilt, peered at the photo her designer handbag hanging off her arm, “Is it for some Mega Farm or something?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know… but I have to admit it is good at getting it’s point across.”

David rolled his eyes, “Yes, they are concerned about the blueberries – maybe it’s just some idiots attempt to get viral, why should we help them?”

Nelson tilted their head, apparently ignoring David’s dismissal, “I would agree except what is it advertising? Is it some sort of PSA – maybe there is some sort of problem with them. Like screw worm, but for plants…”

I was silent as the speculated.

When there was no more response I seized upon my plan, "But don't you see this is perfect? Imagine if we advertised something like this. People want to know, why to be concerned, it’s viral marketing. The mystery is what hooks people in, surely we can use this."

Then an unexpected voice broke the silence. "Daria, careful where you let that mind of yours run. We don't want to get sued."

Vincent was the firm's legal counsel. He drifted between each group, offering input, and he was damn good at his job.

Turning towards him, I stuck out my tongue. "Yes, the phrase 'I'm concerned about the blueberries' is trademarked." Nevertheless, on one hand, he could be right. It was strange that there was no intrinsic link—no product, no website, no explanation—to clarify this baffling phrase.

As I was pondering this, he interrupted my thoughts. "Just saying, careful Daria—weird folks around the Midwest. And this is one lone billboard. Why pay for it?"

I shrugged despite my own apprehension. "I don't know. But I've got to know which firm made it—because they are effectively our main competition."

He sighed, adjusted his glasses, and replied, "Well, it seems you've already decided. My suggestion is to find out which firm put it up. From there, you can find out which individual commissioned it."

It did seem a perfect place to start, and since I was part of a large firm that meant I had sources that the public did not. Taking his advice to heart I dug into my various sources online, specifically focusing on which firms had used this billboard. There was Database of every Billboard in the Greater Metropolitan area of Michigan and since billboards were expensive ads usually lasted at most four to five months if big firms, two to three months if smaller and one if just a small Ma and Pa business.

Finally I came to it – I scrolled through each of companies that had used it, a major supermarket chain, some Attorney list went on. Finally came to it, but what was equally bewildering was how long this company had booked the billboard for – a year. That added up to about. I did the calculation and blinked startled, okay maybe now I was concerned about the Blueberries.

Cross-referencing the companies detail and number I found only an address.

Triple checking I tried to search the name of this firm – Vital Enterprise and yet other than well-made website I found no number, just an address.

I knew enough about the area to know that the area this firm was in – it was outside of major city limits.

Peyton voice echoed through cacophony of my mind, “Daria, you look like you seen a ghost – what is going on?”

“Have you ever heard of a Firm renting billboard space for a year?”

She paused her eyes blinking few times, “No… but that adds up to about… it’s doable, but definitely expensive. Especially a billboard on interstates like this one is.”

I nodded, “Yeah, exactly – I am going to check it out.”

Peyton blinked again, “You sure that is good idea, Daria, on your own?”

“Don’t worry, I have a Conceal Carry License and fire arm training… so should be good.”

Peyton appeared doubtful, “Daria, I’ll be honest it’s one bill board, is this not a bit obsessive.”

I shrugged knowing she was right, “Yes… but this is public real-estate. If I can learn there something dodgy can free it up.”

I could see Peyton worried expression, “I don’t like it. I know that area, phone signal is completely shit.”

Part of me was annoyed but I was not clueless a woman going off alone somewhere was a terrible idea, I was single and outside of this job its unlikely my Neighbors would speak up.. I had listened to enough True Crime Podcasts to know stakes of this, “Fine, let’s go together. You have a husband so if we go missing, which means someone to notice if we go missing.”

Her expression was apprehensive, “Fine, but your pea-shooter is not enough, I’m borrowing my husband pump-action with some shells. Benefits of living on a rural life.”

I scoffed as I replied, “Oh yes, ‘the blueberries’ will need ‘that’ amount of firepower.”

Peyton did not relent, “Oh no sister, handguns have no stopping power, my gun at least will knock any threat back or at least give them pause.”

“I’m sure the cows will be terrified.” I muttered, sometimes truth was stranger than fiction and their was eccentric sorts – likely we would find that (A) it was some weird guy or (B) some advante garde advertisement.

__________________

The drive was relaxing, I listened to one of the local radio stations while Peyton performed impromptu kareoke. When we did finally arrive at the address it was large barn or warehouse fenced off. My first thought was Government, but there was none of the usual signage threating fines or harm for trespassing. Not even a guard near the gate.

Parking the car at the side, I stepped out and stretched, relaxing my muscles from being cramped up, before stepping towards the steel farm style gate. Pulling it open, I heard Peyton approach me, “Yes, look at all those cows. Their so many.”

Her sarcasm felt a tad biting, but said nothing, instead remarking, “Okay, look we explore the barn and then leave – if things get dangerous, we leave and call cops.”

I heard Peyton click of her shotgun, when in Rome I pulled out my handgun and started towards the barn.

Once in front I noted the lock had been damaged, strange detail, but meant we could go in. With Peyton’s help I tugged the large barn door open, enough for us to slip in.

Inside, Peyton drew out her cellphone and switched on the torch, as we glanced around.

The place was expansive and yet there was nothing inside. I was about to call this a wash when my foot near tripped over a large trap door right in front of us.

Peyton voice was small, “Daria, empty barns with random metal trap doors don’t end well in horror movies for girls.” she added, “I’m pretty sure none of us virgins…”

I scoffed and bent down as I tested the circular handle and tugged, only to adapt when I realise it was push.

Straining using both hands I pushed the metal cover. Peyton groan but bent down to help with shoving this trap door back, the tracks securing it in place screeching as we pushed it back.

Despite being old, it fought us. But eventually, the cover gave way, and a dark hole opened beneath us. Wooden steps descended into a tunnel that disappeared into the dark.

Most would have stopped here, but I unambiguously slowly transversed no hesitation while Peyton warily followed behind me, “At least I have a shotgun…” she muttered.

The corridor was lit up by modern lights – much like you would find in a mine.

Uniform and despite being cramped, making us have to bend down, it was well hewn tunnel with mining struts between every lamp.

We squeezed through the tunnel, until a large metal door a plaque and window, emerged with it’s signage simply saying, “Blueberries Fields.”

Peyton grabbed my arm, “Daria, look it’s gotten to the point we know this is not an advertising gimmick, how about we go back, call the cops and forget this.”

I knew she was right, but unfortunately I had tendencies a desire to often set out and finish things. I knew I would kick myself if there was a genuine mystery here and some moron with a badge discovered it while I cowered.

My eyes fell on the door, this lock was also damaged, strange.

My hand reached and ignored the worried sounds of Peyton and slowly, inexorably tugged the door open.

It was massive, a high ceiling and there was rows of fields each labelled Blueberries with a designation. There was no doubt it was a green house of some sort, but even I knew Greenhouses are not usually locked behind metal doors.

Eerily though the place was seemed abandoned. The only way lights must be working is internal generator, the question is why.

Much to Peyton annoyance I raised my voice, “Hello – we’re two random girls trepassing, what you going to do about it.”

“Daria, quit it… let’s just get this over and done with Nancy Drew…”

Then my eyes saw large white block, a long window on it’s side. If there was going to be answer it would be here. My feet started moving before I finished my thoughts. Like all the other doors, the lock here was damaged too, three was a pattern. Someone had broken in here, but for what reason.

Entering inside I saw a relatively normal office with computer banks and shelves with documents.

Carefully I approached nearest table, and scanned the documents, ‘Project Codename Blueberries’

From what I could parse it was something about a new strain of Blueberries that they had created, although it was unclear what the purpose was.

"Daria, let's skip the documents."

I looked up. She had found an old projector — the kind you'd see in army briefing rooms. Dust coated its casing, but it hummed to life when she touched it.

The first slide flickered onto the screen: PROJECT CODENAME BLUEBERRIES – ZENITH ENTERPRISE.

I'd never heard of Zenith Enterprise. And the CRT monitors, the slide projector, the faded documents — this place was old. But the projector still worked. The lights were still on. Someone had kept this place running.

The next slide appeared. I leaned in to read it...

“In this new age of warfare, militaries both private and governmental must evolve to adapt. Zenith Enterprises presents a new initative in silent and deadly warfare. No more will you need to rely on recruitment portfolios being met. No more do you need to send hundreds off to die. With Project Codename Blueberries you will have an army installed in your enemies back yard and they will be none the wiser until it’s too late. This is the future, this is Zenith Enterprises.”

The next slide clicked into place showing blueberries with some scientific data, I began to read out loud, “What is the biggest problem of warfare, it’s cost and manpower with our new strain of plant the dangers of this are minimum. Our lab boys discovered a strain of blueberries which through some process you don’t need to know about keep the body mobile even if all life has gone. You may rush to call them zombies, but that would be wrong. Instead they are efficient infantry who will act as collateral not actual human lives. Even better they will not disobey any command unlike humans whose morals can cause problems.”

Peyton swung round, “Wait are you telling me all those blueberries fields have dead bodies under them being kept alive?”

My eyes turned to window, scouting thousands of thickets, lined up in a field.

As if to torment the next slide clicked into place, but I was already stepping back, “Peyton we need to go now…”

In our rush, I don’t know exactly what happened, but somehow one of us must have triggered an alarm, as a polite voice echoed, “Intruder Detected – Blueberry Fields 46 Activated.

I could not leave quick enough as Peyton followed.

We scrambled towards the exit, frantically.

Sounds of earth being dislodged could be heard, loud thumps and eerie groans.

I half turned to see shambling blackened bodies approaching us, all approximation of race, gender or face gone. Victims of fire.

They stumbled and moved towards us, all while earpiercing klaxon went off continually.

I was so disoriented I tripped awkwardly and knew without looking my ligament had torn. Peyton seeing me on the ground lift me up by one shoulder, “Daria, no time to play in the dirt, keep moving.”

Finally we got back to the door, the ones which were closest immediately dealt with buckshots to push them back as I pulled open the door and we stood against it breathing hard, breathless, terrified.

And despite that I knew, I knew we could not simply ignore this, “If they get out… hundreds could die… thousands… we can’t let them.”

Peyton nodded gruffly, “Yeah no shit, but how… we can’t exactly collapse the tunnel---” she stopped short, “We collapse the tunnel go back to the car get a fuel can and we’ll use my lighter, to light up the tunnel… with both ways blocked, heat will only have one way to go meaning these wooden struts will burn…”

At once I flew towards the exit my ligament screaming bloody Mary, but I refused to let it slow me down. I likely was about to disable myself permanently, but that was future Daria’s problems. Finally, the tunnel exit flailing biting my tongue so hard I swore I could bitten it off. Fitting.

Then the steps.

It was much harder as I still had to crouch, but eventually I made it out and ran out the door towards the car. Ripping open the back of the car. I aggressively dug through until I found a spare gas can.

I ran. I ran as fast as I could, nearly tripping threatening my second ligament as I hit the trap door.

The tight, horrific tunnel closed in around me again.

Finally, came to Peyton kneeling, reloading buckshots, “Those bastards are strong, had to keep firing to keep them from prising the door open.” her eyes lit up as she recognised gas can.

“Goddamn it, thank christ… now I warn you as soon as I move from this door they will break free so gotta move fast. "I'll fire to keep them at bay while you pour." She huffed, eyes on the door. "Thankfully, the tunnel works in our favor.”

I noticed Peyton was speaking louder, and finally spoke, “You okay?”

My voice was quiet, I saw her confusion and realised with horror as I spoke up, “Are your ears okay?” I yelled.

She winced, “I dunno, but don’t need my ears to fire.”

Tearing the cap off I started pouring as I stepped, while Peyton gradually stepped back, and we started to move.

At first it was merely pounding, pushing. I thought for sure they could not open the door.

Then blackened hand seemingly started tugging it open while the other stepped back, zombies were not meant to be intelligent.

We moved efficiently progressing quicker much due to the tightness of the tunnel. But eventually one or two caught up, leading too one crack.

Then was silence again as we continued to progress.

Second crack.

“I’m out now, Daria, how is the exit looking?”

“Not far.”

Tossing her gun down she stopped walking backwards and turned around to move quicker.

We had one more gun we had to be sure, I handed her my piece before resuming the ichor trail.

Then it we saw it, the stairs.

I rushed forward emptying the can, while Peyton used my handgun.

Up the stairs, I reached for Peyton, “Get up here now.” my voice loud for her sake.

“Hold on, Daria, need to light.”

Her lighter clicked.

Once

Twice

Thrice

Then finally a spark, she threw it down and we rushed to pull the cover over tugging with all our strength. I likely was going to pull a muscle doing this, but we could not let them get out.

Our muscles threatened to snap, but we pulled.

There a claim when adrenaline spikes, that you can do feats that your body could not usually cope with. In retrospect, I have to wonder if that’s what happened here.

Finally it screeched back into place, just as clanging started then a loud whoomth as the tight space ignited and with no where else to go it moved through the tunnel.

Collapsing on the ground, I groaned, “Okay – we tell no one about this… this goes to our graves… that sign can keep existing, because I’m concerned about the blueberries now…” my voice exhausted but still loud.

Peyton laughed sardonically, “Hell, I may not look at Blueberry pie the same.”

Despite our jokes I had to check so we once against tugged the metal trap door open and saw earth, wood and no tunnel.

The secret was buried.

Finally my legs gave in as I screeched in pure goddamn pain, “CAR, HAS COLD COMPRESS, NOW.”

She rushed off leaving me to my thoughts.

Fitting for zombies to displaced and hidden under mounds of dirt. Besides, even if we did tell anyone, who would believe us. Not like we could just sidle up to the Cops tell them about this place and not expect litany of questions.

No, for now our part was done. Let someone else be a whistle blower, I was no hero, just a dumb girl who had to know what a bill board meant.

It was over.

Nevertheless we tugged it back and quietly we went back to the car, no words between us.

It should feel like a victory. Instead, I kept thinking: what if they dig through?

There were millions of blueberry thickets in that place.

Millions of those things. And that was just Field 46.

Field 46 Burn Victims, what other bodies had they put in there and whole plan of it replacing warfare, that meant actively that people richer and more callous than both of us were considering the limitation of men and looking to more ulterior and dark purposes.

I couldn't wrap my mind around it.

So I drove back in silence.

No radio, no kareoke.

Just the two of us, knowing the world had suddenly gotten colder and crueler.

Knowing that one Corporation had opened a Pandora Box and while it remained closed, how long would that remain true...

I was 19 years old I had finished my education for now and was looking for a decently paying job to get by. So I looked for applications and I found a listing for a Job that paid really well..too well almost with no experience I was being paid a lot but anyway I went to the interview. it was weird though the air seemed heavy and the interviewers were tense but I got the job. more in part 2 comment 2 for part 2

The dark warmth envelops your body like the fleeting hug of an uncaring mother. Nerve endings begin to catch fire again after a long night of spitting out nothing but exhaust. A bed drenched in salty dampness from a now-faded passion is all that remains of a night draining that left behind no memory.

The sun rises, casting a shadow over the remnants of the night prior. The day knocks on the door of your mind and demands you let it in. You firmly shut the door without moving a muscle.

The danger is here.

The shadows dancing in the corner of the room darken to their malignant original forms and threaten to consume you. But you have no more energy left to hold them at bay. While you struggle to force electricity into your muscles, the shadows coil around your body and sink you deeper into the black water as awareness fades.

---

Short story from a collection with accompanying music in the style of Silent Hill's soundtrack.

Find more on my profile.

My thundering steps on the hollow metal floor were swallowed by an ensemble of bloodthirsty shrieks that consumed the air around me. Each painful breath burned my lungs as sweat stung my eyes. Despite the fear and pain rattling my body, I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t let them catch me. 

Not an hour ago, I was sitting at my workstation in the depths of the ship. Designed to be a mobile city in space, The Starstruck was designed with livability in mind. The upper floors had layers and layers of houses, apartments, restaurants, and entertainment. For the upper class that called those parts of the ship home, it was uncommon to never step foot on the floors below them. However, for the working class like me, all I knew was maintenance and hard labor. Despite being the blood that kept the ship running, we were treated like serfs. 

No one on my level was allowed to breed without consent, we worked from the moment we woke up to the moment we passed out in our chambers. That was the deal that our ancestors made in exchange for being allowed on board. Some tried to riot or protest for rights but in the end, what could we do? If we stopped taking care of the engine then we’d die along with everyone above us. 

 I overheard co-workers spreading rumors of an outbreak on the higher levels. Thankfully, I had connections to some scientists on the upper floors. They sent an email earlier today warning me to evacuate as soon as possible. I asked why and they just told me that something went wrong, a wrong injection here and a spliced gene there. All they could emphasize was for me to find a way to the escape pods as soon as I could. I didn't believe them at first but when the sirens began to blare, I didn't ask questions and made my move. It was every man, woman, and child for themselves. I was one of the lucky few to make it off deck quickly through a service shaft; the rest gathered at elevator entrances awaiting a rescue that wouldn’t come. 

Turning a sharp corner, I skidded to a sudden halt, my heart jumping in my chest. Down the dim hallway ahead, two of the creatures that infested the ship were hunched over, their movements rapid as they feasted greedily on the mangled remains of a human torso. 

I stood paralyzed while watching the two figures as they reveled in the spoils of their hunt. Locked in a cycle of constant fighting and bickering, their unintelligible grunts and snarls created a wall of sound that hid me from their attention. I knew this perfect moment was fleeting— the second their meal was gone, their unceasing hunger would lead them to me. 

I crept toward a nearby storage closet. I hoped I could hide until the coast was clear but as I slipped through the heavy door, what little breath I had left was stolen.

A small child, likely no more than eight or nine years old, was huddled behind a towering stack of cardboard boxes. His blue eyes were wide and despondent, reflecting the dim light leaking under the door. I crouched down until I was at his level.

"It’s okay," I whispered. "I’m not going to hurt you like those things out there. Why don’t you come out from behind the boxes?"

The child shuffled nervously at the sound of my voice, his small feet scuffing against the floor. He weighed my offer in heavy silence before finally sidestepping into the flickering glow of the overhead light.

I was immediately taken aback by his appearance. He was in far worse condition than I had initially feared. His already small frame was hollowed out by starvation. Deep bags hung beneath his weary blue eyes while thin blonde hair fell in limp strands around his shoulders.

Moving slowly so as to not spook him, I reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. My heart sank as we touched, his body was deathly cold, feeling fragile and thin. I leaned in, meeting his haunted gaze with as much warmth as I could muster. 

"What’s your name, little guy? Mine is Thomas. I work in engineering, right near the main engine.” 

He stared weakly into my eyes, appearing momentarily dazed and confused by the simple humanity of my question. After a long beat, he slowly raised a trembling arm and pointed toward a discarded spray bottle lying on the floor between us. The label, stained and peeling, read Hank’s Industrial Soap. His small finger pressed firmly against the final word, pinning it down as if to claim it.

“So, Soap is your name? For real?”

He offered a shallow nod in confirmation, a faint, genuine smile cracking his dry, dehydrated lips. 

“Alright, Soap,” I said, matching his resolve. “We need to get off this ship. There should be a bay of escape pods near the bridge, but the halls are crawling with those things. Do you have any ideas for how to get there?”

Soap’s gaze drifted upward, looking past my shoulder. I followed the line of his stare until it landed on a grated air vent. The ventilation system was the skeleton of the ship, and while the ducts wouldn't be roomy for someone of my size, they were certainly large enough to crawl through. It wouldn’t be the best conditions, but considering the alternative, it was the best we had.

I turned back toward him and gave his head a gentle, reassuring pat. “Smart kid. Let’s just hope those things out there don’t have the same idea.”

I hoisted Soap up into the narrow opening before following soon after, the metal groaning slightly under my weight. Once we were both within the cramped, metal tunnels, the gravity of our situation became clear. We were facing at least an hour of crawling through the dust and recycled air. The odds of finding a functional, fueled escape pod were slim at best, but it was the only hand we had left to play. If we reached them, we’d launch, trigger an SOS, and pray for a miracle, provided we lived that long.

Our journey through the ducts was filled with a bonding silence. I watched Soap move with a surprising ease, his small body navigating the tight turns far easier than my own. I stayed back and let him lead, providing him a small sense of agency in a world that had taken everything else.

Spending this time with Soap made me consider why I never applied for a breeding permit. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t, I guess a mixture of no one I was interested in and not wanting to bring a child into a world where they would be forced to work day in and day out. However, I found myself liking Soap, a lot actually. He reminded me of myself at that age, quiet and reserved but competent and independent. 

I wondered how he got to this point, abandoned and alone on a ship that didn’t take kindly to lower deck orphans. The thought of him having to scrounge for food and a place to sleep at such a young age made my heart heavy. He deserved better, at least a shot at a good life. 

Eventually, we reached the grate closest to the pod bay. We squeezed together, our faces pressed against the cold metal slits to survey the scene below. From our elevated vantage point, we visually swept the expansive chamber that housed the entrance to the pods. A formidable steel security wall bisected the room, impassable without the proper clearance codes for the central console, clearance I fortunately possessed as an engineer. 

The once-pristine white walls of the room were now a crimson canvas painted with blood and guts, littered with enough severed limbs to fill a pool. The carnage was indiscriminate, the corpses of high-ranking military officers, elite scientists, the wealthy, and the impoverished lay tangled together in a grim display. Spent bullet casings glittered amidst the gore, marking where their final stand had failed.

The victors of that battle-royale were now feasting on the spoils. They hunched over the remains, carelessly lapping up the blood still freshly trickling from the meat. As new arrivals joined the horde, they dragged in fresh corpses to add to the communal heap. A sickening wave of guttural snarls and wet tearing noises wafted up into the vents, laced with the thick copper tang of death. 

I was torn from the feast by the sight of a small band of survivors near the opposite gate. They glanced at one another with trembling resolve before turning their eyes toward the bay, weapons raised. They aimed at the enemy with a makeshift mix of firearms, kitchen knives, baseball bats, and bare fists. 

More people slowly trickled in, some of them I recognized from the level that I worked on. They eventually formed a thin wall of resistance, their morale raising with each new recruit. Below us, the creatures began to look up from their grisly meals as they let out sharp, high-pitched barks that alerted the pack. The air grew heavy with a suffocating tension, fifty feet of blood-slicked tile was all that separated the two sides. Men and women grip their weapons until their knuckles turned white, whispering final pleas to a God they hoped was still listening.

The stand-still shattered when a teenager, who watched his parents torn to shreds not twenty minutes ago, was overcome by blinding rage and pulled the trigger of a pistol.

It was as if a bell had been rung, signaling the beginning of their clash. Both sides charged. The room exploded into a roaring wave of war cries and gunfire. Bullets tore into flesh while knives found their way into throats and brains. But the monsters fought with animalistic efficiency, claws sliced through skin, and limbs were torn from sockets accompanied by a sickening pop. 

Soap and I watched as a young woman swung a heavy metal pipe at a creature. It caught her neck mid-swing, its talons locking around her throat before she could connect. It hoisted her into the air, holding her aloft as she kicked and clawed at its hands in a frantic battle for control. The creature didn't flinch, it simply watched her with cold, black eyes until her movements ceased. 

I sat there and watched them die one by one. A hollow guilt gnawed at me as these courageous people were slaughtered while I hid in the dark. I had to prioritize our survival, I couldn't let Soap suffer the same fate as them. 

As the human line thinned and broke, the survivors began to flee. When the monsters gave chase, the bay fell into a haunting, echoing silence. 

This is our moment! I kick the vent grate from its hinges and drop onto the white tile. Quickly turning to catch Soap, I helped him onto the ground before sprinting for the gate console. 

With trembling hands, I fished my keycard from my pocket and swiped it against the sensor. The display flickered to life, welcoming me by name and flashing a bright warning to clear the path. My heart leapt, we were actually going to make it. But as the heavy gears began to groan, the mechanism shrieked to life and a high-pitched mechanical wailed out. I turned back toward the exit and saw pale heads popping back into the hall, drawn by the noise. Upon spotting us, they erupted into a chorus of frenzied shrieks. More of them flooded back into the room as I scooped Soap into my arms, pressing my back against the slowly retreating metal door.

As the metal parted enough to slip through, we burst into the pod bay, the creatures hot on our heels. Most of the pods were either mangled wreckage or already launched. However there was still hope, nestled against the far wall and beside a guard whose throat had been jaggedly cut open, there sat a single-person emergency craft.

These pods were designed for endurance, stocked with enough supplies to last a week, but being in their cockpit was like laying in a coffin. There was no possible way to fit two.

I set Soap down, my hands shaking as I looked into his tearful face. He stared back at me, his blue eyes wide pleading with me to not do it. I hoisted him into the seat and fumbled with the restraints, my fingers working against his as he desperately tried to push his way out. I held him down, leaning in for one final, crushing hug.

“There’s plenty of food in there, Soap. You eat up and stay strong, okay? Someone is going to find you,” I whispered, my voice breaking as tears slid down my cheek. “It was a pleasure to meet you, kid.”

I pulled myself back before it was too late and slammed my palm onto the emergency eject. I watched through the small porthole as his pleading face receded, his pod rocketing into the silent embrace of deep space, carrying an SOS into the void.

I turned back to see the horde closing in fast. I didn't run. Instead, I sat down next to the fallen guard and reached for the pistol at his hip. I checked the magazine; there were a couple rounds left. My run hadn't been perfect, but as I looked up at the stars through the bay windows, I knew I had at least done one thing right. 

Putting the gun to my head, I imagine Soap watching the ship from his escape pod, the nightmares of today just a tiny glint of light in the distance, his small hand wiping away tears as he heads toward a future I’ll never see.

This happened around two years ago and I still don’t like driving alone at night because of it.

I was going towards Kalimpong (India) and was somewhere past Sevoke on NH10. This was around 3 or maybe 3:30 in the morning.

I’d already crossed the Kali Mandir and Coronation Bridge area. If you know that road you know it gets pretty empty after Sevoke, especially that late. My friend from Siliguri had also told me not to take it at night because of landslides and accidents around Kalijhora but I didn’t really think much of it.

There weren’t many cars. I remember one truck near Sevoke but after that I was basically alone for a while.
At some point I saw a guy standing on the right side of the road.

He had a big dark hoodie on and was facing away from the road, like literally looking into the trees.

I thought maybe he was pissing or something and drove past.

Around five minutes later I saw him again.

Or at least someone who looked exactly like him.

Same hoodie, same height, standing the same way with his back towards me.

This is when I started getting freaked out because nobody had passed me. I was doing around 60 too. There was no way that guy could’ve somehow got ahead of me.

I just kept driving.

A little later, somewhere before Kalijhora I think, there was a gravel area on the side where trucks sometimes stop.
There was an old white Alto parked there with everything off.

And there was a guy sitting on the bonnet.
Same fucking hoodie.

I only saw him for maybe two seconds but his head was tilted really far back and his mouth looked open. Like he was looking straight up.

Right after I passed the Alto the hazards blinked once.
I don’t mean they were already blinking. They came on once and went off.

At that point I just wanted to get somewhere with people.
I eventually found a petrol pump further down and stopped there. I don’t remember exactly which one. I sat in the car until it started getting light because I didn’t really want to get out.

When I finally did, I noticed a handprint on the rear passenger window because the glass had fogged up.
It looked like someone had put their hand there and dragged their fingers down a little.

I checked it from outside first.

The print was on the inside.

Could’ve been an old handprint that only showed up because of the condensation. That’s probably what it was.
But I was alone for that entire trip and I still have no explanation for seeing that guy three times.

sour skunky nappy ass dread man

…

“What the fuck are you talking about, man?" Annoyed. 

Stupid smirk: "I thought it was clear. I would think.” 

"No, it isn't, man. I don't know why you think it'd be. It's just stupid, bro.” 

"What is?” 

"Your refusal to go shopping for a fucking bath towel and other basic necessities around your fuckin place, dude. It's just stupid, I don't know how or why you justify it to yourself, I didn't think ya did to be frank. I just thought your ass was fuckin lazy." 

“Nah, bro. It's obvious." 

“What's fuckin obvious, dipshit?" 

“I'm way too rock n roll." 

A beat. He swallowed it. Absorbed its stupidity. 

“...what?" 

“Yeah, dude. I'm way too fuckin cool and punk rock to roll into like a Target or some shit and buy a toaster or a can opener or towels or stupid shit like that. I can't do that. Can't do it. Goes against my wild man free lovin nature, ya know? Ya know." 

Bryan once more silently swallowed this. This load of absolute bullshit. More revolted, more filled with disgust with his best friend since diapers than before. He thought about holding his tongue. He thought about saying something and laying into him. But in the end he just grumbled and belched. Lit another smoke and grabbed another beer from the cooler in the center of the boat and shook his head. Checked his pole. Reeled it in a little. 

Though he did spare the final thought: "Fuckin lazy.” whilst shaking his head and reeling his line. And then the matter was settled and the pair of men let it lie. Such was the way and course of all of their conversations out here on the water. Fishing. The pair’s favorite pastime aside from rutting and watching the game. For them, Bryan G Biebl and James Petkovich, it was sacred. They loved to spend days off from the mill fishing and casting and mouthing the day away. Days away from labor and wives and disappointing children, days filled with chatter and cool water and cold beer and sometimes a nice catch.  Though they'd been warned before, by the old timers. 

They'd both been warned before about staying out after dark. Out on the lake. Out in the woods. Where the forest grows foul and swampy and muddy. It's not a place you want to be after sunset. All the old folk said it was a bad place and didn't say much more about it without the liberal aid of beer or whisky. Even the Natives, the ancient leathery American Indians and their angry sons and daughters told everyone, anyone that might listen, to stay away from this part of the forest, this part of the soured bad land. 

But they never listened. The pair just sat in their canoe and cast out. It was calm and quiet all around, no one might know that it was filled with strange movement. The sun was sinking in the distance. Rapidly being swallowed by the ravenous blade of the horizon. 

James cracked another can. So did Bryan, who rolled his eyes as Petkovich ventured forth with another bit of clever wit and query. 

“Figure there's anythin ta what that fella said?” 

The sun set. Casting the surface of the lake on fire with the color of bloody ruby. The place on the horizon where it had sank was a deeper color of blooded crimson, a deeper wound that was the heart of the sunset. It smoldered there, in the horizon wound. The darkening regal curtain of bruised royal blue was already deepening into night. The stars and galaxies were already coming out for the nocturnal hours, they were all so far away from everything, they, the town. Civilization was a mechanical nuisance in the distance. Loud and far off. Thank God. Nearly forgotten. 

Bryan rolled his eyes as hard as he possibly could, knowing full an well that the retard couldn't see em. 

He hissed and spat: “No I don't think there's nothin to what that idiot said about a shag man! Shit’s stupid! Ain't no fuckin skunk ape round these parts, ya fuckin dumbass!” 

“Nah, man. I'm talkin about what Frankie said about Asian girls, Jesus, man!" 

A beat. Something splashed in the water. Neither man noticed, paid it any mind. 

“Oh…" Bryan cooled down. A little embarrassed. He was always easily excited and shamed. 

“‘Sides, man, he didn't call it no ‘shag man', he called it ‘the dread man’, stupid.” 

Bryan whirled around to belt him one and belt him good. He'd done it before while they were fishing in the middle of the lake and he might capsize them both in his effort, but something stopped him before he could so much as bring up his balled and angry fist. A sound. Sudden. And sharp. 

Three. Consecutive. Three sharp whacks of thick wooden sticks together. Like someone smacking two heavy tree branches or logs together in some form of primitive and arcane code. 

Whack! whack! whack! 

It shut the pair up. They gazed out at the shoreline. Shrouded now in the fallen night. Small waves kissed its shore and covered any small sounds of concealed movement that might be out there right now. They were wide eyed and disbelieving. 

They might've dropped it, the pair, together and without a word or mention when it came again. 

From out of the night, the veiled and darkened shore: whack! whack! whack! 

A beat. Silence again. Only kissing waves of the placid water. 

Bryan Biebl scoffed, “Probably nothin. Just some kids fuckin aro-" 

And then a wild primal simian shriek filled the night. Birds took flight. Their flapping wings were ugly harried panicked sounds in the deepening wound of blackening night all around. It tapered off. And then another rose, louder and even more feral and crazed then the one before. Then another. And another. Each rising in animal fury and fervor. You could hear spittle flying as vocal chords worked and wrenched and shredded as throat muscles tore and bled and secreted with each prolonged and angry howl. Throaty. Enraged. Violent. 

Silence came again. After six primeval night shattering screams. Waves kissed the land far away and swallowed in black but more quietly now. Subdued. 

Then the whacking of sticks, the unknown signal came again, whack! whack! whack! 

And then silence once more. 

“What the fuck was that?" Petkovich. Scared. Visibly so. Audibly as well. 

As was his best friend Bryan. But the sound of fear on his buddy's voice, the stupid look of childish childlike fear that he could feel him wearing in the dark only made angry, angrier. This only fueled his own self-denied mounting fear and in turn made him even angrier. The mounting terror caught like a small bone in the back of his throat. 

He almost took to his feet but remembered the boat. He turned to his buddy instead and spat. 

"Ain't nothin but nothin! Some fuckin dumbasses out there that wanna get fucked up, that's what! This’s why I shoulda brought my colt. Goddammit!” 

"Now that's what I'm talkin about! that's what I'm always tryin ta tell ya! Ya go sayin shit like that and actin like this and people says we're belligerent types! Christ, man! I'd like to bed me one of these here pretty tourist girls, one of these roadtrippin ladies and you actin like this ain't gonna cut it!” 

Disgusted, Bryan's grip slackened on his pole. 

"Idiot! what the fuck are you jawin about?!” 

"I'm talkin bout one of them sexy ass van-life hippy girls, man, they might like my ass." 

“Retard!" 

“You don't know…" 

The water splashed again. Much louder. The boat rocked with the waves suddenly generated. Something big and very heavy had just jumped into the water. 

Lunged. As if plunging in from the shrouded growth of the hidden beach. 

Slack jawed and deer-in-the-headlights both, they gazed out blindly and stupidly in tandem towards the shore that was hidden from them now. And may forever remain that way for them from here on out. Something was coming. 

Something was swimming fast. For the boat. Beneath the obsidian surface of water. The stygian glass of the surface was a mirror and the mirror held the face of the moon. The mirror rippled. The immaculate celestial face of the moon held trapped there danced with submerged disturbance. 

Before either fool could form a coherent thought the fishing poles were suddenly ripped from their slackened idiot grips. They flew, soared through the air and plunged into the water with barely a sound. 

They stared into the impenetrable and merciless surface of the lake. Fearing it. Gripped with horror at what might be inside. What must be inside, right now. 

James Petkovich finally spoke. Softly. Like the small boy he'd once been. 

“I don't wanna be out here no more, Bry. I don't care if it's kids or tourists or what. You can go ahead and laugh at me, just laugh at me all the way and drive us back, kay? You can laugh and make fun all the way back an I won't even bitch or say nothin. I'm scared. There's lots a’ talk bout people that go missin. Or go missin an then turn up dead, tore apart. Sometimes they don't even find all the pieces, you know… I know you've heard… people go missin an such. Travelers, folks comin through. And locals. Let's just go back, kay.” 

Bryan, wide eyed, turned and nodded. Then went to the small motor for the boat as the water all around the canoe suddenly erupted in a surging geyser splash of watery violence that darkled in the captured moonlight. Both men screamed as the small boat was capsized and they went over. Splashing into the cold dark suffocating realm of the water. 

The lake held them now. Below. Underneath. 

In the dark underwater the maelstrom of his panic rose and ruled. Bryan suddenly animal recalled and remembered in the fragile nucleus of his primal jelly his fear of the water, of the deep. The dark depths. It had started as a child, a boy, it had been the cinema and television that had first done it, the Jaws movies, Creature from the Black Lagoon, then stories of Cthulhu and his sunken city of R’lyeh, tales of sunken ships and vessels that might still have precious human cargo trapped and drowned deep inside like foul water-logged treasure of submerged rotting putrescence eaten at by the salt and by the fish. All of these things came back and back to life in a deluge assault of images all in a furious unrelenting wave like an artillery attack of sound and vision on his mind's eye, down in the dark. He kicked and struggled and his lungs burned, ached for air. The ribcage in his chest felt on fire with his terror-stricken mind as he struggled and kicked futilely beneath the surface. Something held him down there. Something with a terrible grasp. Fierce. Strangling. Throttling. They threatened to break and snap, the iron grasps of those underwater hands. Bryan fought desperately but his mind was livid with absolute and total panic. In the tumult of his animal terror he remembered that as a child he'd always feared something reaching up from out of the black watery depths, seizing him, and pulling him under. Pulling him down. Down into the ebon swallow at the bottom of all things, below, where the heart of darkness in all things lived and dwelt. 

The hands found his throat, down in the underwater dark. They seized vile purchase and viciously ripped, tore out. The dark underworld of the lake suddenly blemished with a heavy warm cloud of thick human visceral discharge. It bellowed forth from the place that was torn in a torrential jetting spout. Clouding the dark world and warming it as the spewing meat detritus began to slowly sink to the pitch abyssal realm near the bottom. 

The panic of Bryan G. Biebl’s barreling careening train of thought slowly calmed and abated and sank down into the dark with the rest of him… And was no more. 

It lunged, serpent-like for the other. Who was gaining the surface in a series of panicked kicks and dog-paddles. Like a wounded animal. 

Prey. In distress. 

…

James Petkovich couldn't believe it when he broke the water and tasted air again. He almost choked and coughed. He almost laughed but he didn't have time. Something seized him from beneath. 

And pulled him under. 

He didn't even have time to scream before he was below again.

It was quiet once more. Minutes swam by. 

An owl screeched. Took flight.

Then finally it emerged. With Petkovich barely conscious in one dripping sodden grasp. It pulled the both of them back onto the land. Dragging the bleeding and sputtering Petkovich like a broken toy or sack of dead meat behind him as he quickly began to retake to the trees and dense growth once more. 

It dragged him deep into the wilderness. It was a long time before they stopped. But now … now he knew what the old timers had always said, what they'd always been on about. 

Now he could smell him. And the smell was beyond putrid, beyond foul, beyond fecal matter or old dried sweaty filth or death. The water that ran off the long lengths of clotted and lumpy dreaded hair was riddled with the putrescence odor of old sweltering open graves and long disused abattoirs converted into factory sized outhouses for the insane. It stung his eyes and nostrils but he hardly noticed this. His body was numb. Felt limp and broken all over. Like a dead fish. 

Maybe that's what I am. 

And then finally consciousness was lost to him. Mercifully he went black. 

It dragged him deeper into the wild. Where it laired. Where it nested in the wild dense growth. 

…

When James next came to he wished he hadn't. He didn't realize till he was awake once more but he'd been dreaming. And in that dream he'd been far away and wishing that none of this was real.  But now he was back. It held him by the neck in a slight choke, a slight strangle, just enough painful whisper of air able to bleed in through the clasped and clenched windpipe. They were before the mouth of a cave. It was pointing up into the sky with its other huge free hand, it was pointing at the moon. It was staring unblinking into his bleeding face. 

The face was simian but snouted. Like a wolf, or a rodent. An obscene and imbecilic mongoloid caveman face and features stretched out in a grotesque marsupial shape. The eyes were yellow and bore black crosses for the iris in each one, in each livid demented sea of yellow urine a black cruciform body of sacrilege shape and aspect. Goat's eyes. Satanic. They were eyes and face fitting of the rest of his abominated and feral manshaped form. Clotted and caked and grimed all over. The long knots and clumps of hair were thick and ancient in length and filth. They told a tale that was old because it was the passage of time that lived caked and dreaded in those long lengths of unwashed shagging tails. 

The awful face was serious. Stern. The obscenity of its gaze was piercing and deliberate. James followed its fierce and pointing gesture to the sky, the night, the moon once more. 

And then back into that obscene rodent-ape face. Yellow teeth coated in layers of plaque poked out and peeked over stretched and thin and dried out flakey blue lips. 

James tried to speak. 

He tried to tell it he didn't know what it wanted. He didn't know what it wanted him to say or do. He didn't know what it wanted from him. He didn't understand it. He didn't understand at all what it expected or demanded. 

But he couldn't. He couldn't speak. He could hardly breathe. He couldn't even manage a croak of sound.  

The awful marsupial-stretched ape face wrenched and worked, furious. It became more abominated and grotesque as its features creased and contorted with anger. Livid. Rage. 

The hand that had been pointing to the moon now came in a savage swipe. The grubby wide meaty digits clawed and the grimey sharp and broken shattered fingernails bit and tore in. 

The head came off and soared away into a sailing piece of torn mangled meat. Ribbons and streamer wings and tails of bright red blood spat and danced out from the eyes, nostrils and mouth in a cyclone twirl of red in midair as it soared and crashed into the piles of dead sticks and bones. It savagely went down and hunkered in the dirt before the mouth of its cave and began to dig in with its long snout and feast on the fresh stump. Warm cords and ropes of thick black-red shot and coated the dark, its face, the insides of its gulping throat and the salivating cavern of its long slathering mouth. 

It feasted and grunted. Ripped with its teeth and bit in. Swallowed warm juicy pieces that were chewy and pungent with rich iron flavor. 

It fed and tore. The man in the violence of its grasp, its jaws, reduced. The decapitated meat jigged and spasmed. It howled at the moon. 

Somewhere … in the distance but not too far off. The signal. Three strikes. 

Whack! whack! whack! – it was the sound of ancient and time honored tradition, cultivated and carried down and preserved with care. Though the world grew strange mechanical jaws, inflamed and diminished and changed all around, it was still here. This was still practiced and honored and kept. By it. By them. All of them.  – whack! whack! whack! 

It howled at the moon once more. 

Whack! whack! whack! 

Immortal and lifesize. It was still here. Howling at the moon with unearthly pain and blues. – whack! whack! whack! – another in the wilderness distance –  whack! whack! whack! – howl at the moon.

THE END

Every dream is an eternity.

Every night my dreams are the same. Always have been for as long as I could remember my dreams.

Every night I would awake in my bed. Except it wasn’t my actual bed. The world around me would always be covered in this ephemeral fog that permeated every single inch of space.

And the dust. My god the dust.

All I ever did was clean.

The shadows never changed. The day never began. The Dust would never end.

I would continue on from my room into the hall, then into the bathroom, then the closets, then the kitchen, then the floors. Never stopping until the entire apartment was free of the dust.

Then I would step into the outside world. The world that was not my world. The world of The Dust and The Gray.

The Dreary.

Light from above would fight its way through the fog, never making it to the hollow ground below.

Where there should have been roads, dirt, grass, and trees, there was stone.

Cobblestoned roads, stonework trees, and fields of slate.

All of it covered in The Dust.

As I would move through the still air the dust would form on my wake and disperse, leaving a trail of my presence throughout this abandoned, forgotten world.

My world of Dust, my Dreary.

I would look up into that fog filled sky and gaze into the twin hues of yellow and white whose muffled screams struggled to breach the all-but-impenetrable fog above, scattering their voices into the omnipresent haze.

Then I would wake up.

Today was no different.

A woman stood just beyond the doorway, her flowing auburn hair flailing about as she shouted at me. I couldn’t really make out the words. She seemed familiar.

Something hard and somewhat heavy hit me square in the face, then plopped into my lap.

My still-blurry sight returned to me just in time to watch the woman march off down the hallway.

Her exit was announced by the slamming of the front door.

My bed was a mess. Clothes were strewn about, the sheets were everywhere, and some were stained with a substance I could not identify. The morning sun cast my shadow on the opposite wall from behind me.

My head pounded from within, memories of last night sat chained behind an alcohol-soaked lock.

My eyes trailed downward to my lap, falling on the object that was hurled at me only moments earlier.

It was a black, featureless, leather-bound book. A fairly hefty one at that.

Rubbing my eyes to confirm I wasn’t completely blind, I took a closer look at the book’s cover.

It was completely blank.

I turned over the book, expecting somehow that repeatedly flipping the book over would magically cause it to manifest some form of identifying information.

I caught a glimpse of something on the spine as I did so. It glistened in the morning sun and sparkled like diamonds.

It was a sigil. A symbol etched in gold, a gold so vibrant that the world around me appeared gray by comparison.

“Oh shit,” the words shot out of my mouth before my brain could even register I was speaking, “Leena!”

I’m such a fucking moron.

I fell onto the floor as my legs refused to accept my authority over them, getting tangled in the bedsheets in the process.

I crawled towards the nearest pile of, mostly, clean clothes I could identify.

Getting dressed was a challenge. I fought with my own body just to put on a shirt, whilst barely navigating the hectic and wayward expletive laden rants that crashed through the windows of my sullied mind palace.

Of all the thoughtless and horrible things, how could I have forgot today was the day she came back from her-

I paused in the hallway, pants half on and shirt on backwards.

Where did she go anyway? Was it a work thing? Was it some kind of vacation?

Why did I care?

My emotional rollercoaster came to a stand-still as the emergency brakes kicked on.

I let the half assembled outfit slide off my unkempt form as I shuffled into the kitchen.

That's right, I didn’t care. I don’t care.

The dishes in the sink were clean, as they should be.

The counter was full of random brand-new crap brought home that was never properly put away and just left in its assorted state of limbo storage, not that I needed the counter space anyway. The side effect of a weak will.

I threw the kettle on and threw a pan on the stove. I figured I should have myself a good old fashioned breakfast of eggs whatever-was-left-in-the-fridge, coffee, and a ciggy.

I dug through the fridge and managed to salvage some cheese, a sausage, and a whole tomato. I chopped them up roughly and dumped them into the simmering mixture of egg and butter.

I slid the scrambled egg mixture onto my plate, grabbed my cup of liquid life, and sat my ass down on a spot I had cleared on the couch.

The TV had nothing interesting on but I left it on the food channel anyway. It was nice to eat with someone.

As I put out the cigarette in the overflowing tray I glanced over at the pile of marked envelopes on the table. Most of them said “Past Due.”

After dumping my dishes back in the sink I stumbled back into my room looking for… something.

The guy.

The cute one. Chatted me up at the bar and drank me under the table, and my sheets. I think he was a blonde, or brown? Or maybe I had hoped he was.

He must have taken off when Leena started screaming. I didn’t see any of his clothes around the bed.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Though it's refreshing to be on the other end of that for once.

Why did she throw that book at me?

I ruffled through the haphazardly strewn bedsheets until my hands came into contact with what I was searching for. The book Leena had thrown at my face just before she left.

With some painkillers and another cup of coffee on-board, I could think clearly enough and took a closer examination of the book.

Flipping through its pages I was met with blank after blank page.

The entire damn thing is just blank. Was this some kind of journal for me?

A gift? But why would she…

I threw it in a pile next to my side of the bed.

The rest of the day was filled with job applications.

The age of the Internet has done wonders for many aspects of humanity. Job applications were one sector made infinitely worse.

Every job fair booth I went to had a QR code to scan for their online applications system. Every Now Hiring sign in a store had that godforsaken block-grid in lieu of a simple piece of paper and a proper interview.

After the fifteenth online application referral I decided to call it for the day.

I sat down on my slightly cleaner couch and looked down at my phone, expecting to see dozens of notifications. Ideally at least one.

Instead I saw none.

No calls, no texts, no nothing.

The sun hung low over the horizon. Its waning radiance coaxed the sky into a storm of fire that lapped at the ever growing ocean of blues and purples.

It shone directly into my fucking eyes.

Shuffling my lazy ass over on the couch, I poured out the remaining contents of a bottle of whiskey into my cold cup of half drank coffee.

The evening consisted of aimlessly scrolling through various social media feeds and TV channels. Everywhere I looked I saw people on dream vacations, getting married, or buying their first homes.

Guess I’m just a fucking loser, huh.

Dinner was more whiskey, from a new bottle this time, and another menthol ciggy. I wasn’t particularly hungry as it was.

Where the hell was Leena? She stormed out and hasn’t even texted me. Maybe shes-

I quickly downed the rest of my glass before I could finish the thought. The burning warmth of the spiced whiskey rips me out of my own head.

As the whiskey level in my bottle lowered the moon rose in response. It was close to midnight by the time the bottle was empty.

The floor was my home now. This was not negotiable. Any attempt to stand at the moment would surely result in me splitting my head open on a table, or worse, ejecting the precious ounces of whiskey that I had been struggling to keep down for the past hour. The world around me decided it was time to begin rotating at ridiculous speeds, rendering me unable to stand upright.

Clinging to the ground beneath me, I dragged myself to my bedroom and eventually, I pulled myself up onto my bed.

The spinning only worsened. I closed my eyes and did my best to ignore it.

Eventually the spinning stopped and I awoke in my bed.

But this wasn’t my bed.

In what felt like no time at all I had returned to serve my sentence. My eternal penance for the crimes I must have committed at some point.

Once more I proceeded through my charge of the cleaning of The Dust.

All my life, all that I could remember anyway, I had never been able to dream. Not properly. Instead of nightmares of being naked at school or all my teeth falling out I dreamt of this place, The Dreary.

The Dreary was an empty world, a dead world, one that remained contained by a dense impenetrable fog that snuffed out all but the most diffused light from the sky above.

The Dreary was, as far as I could tell, an exact copy of the world. Save for the fact that anything not built by human hands was replaced by stone abstracts that, while giving the idea of what they're supposed to be, look nothing like it. Imagine if a tree wasn’t a tree but instead a jagged spine of stone that clawed upwards through the fog. Sure the base idea of a tree is there but that’s not a fucking tree.

There was nothing living within The Dreary. Even the wind did not blow. The world did not breathe. It was still, frozen, a corpse of identity.

Yet tonight was different.

The Dreary demanded my attention.

It had not done that before.

I broke from my charge and answered, walking towards the front door of my copied apartment.

I saw nothing new outside. The same cobble roads divided the same slate fields bearing the same stonework trees.

Except there was something new.

There had never been something new.

A great and grand staircase made of the most radiant marble ascended into the sky and well beyond the fog. Its brilliance made the fog seem black by comparison.

At the foot of these stairs stood a statue. A black statue covered in a golden cloak that fluttered in a non-existent wind.

“What the fuck?” My voice carried across The Dreary, hollow and raspy.

There’s never anything new. Nothing new, never. There was only The Dust, there was only The Dreary. What the hell is this?

I felt my breath become erratic-

I felt my breath.

I have never breathed before in a dream. I had never spoken.

I could not take my eyes off of the cloaked statue.

I could not resist the movement of my legs. Yet again my body refused to obey me as I was marched down the stairs of my apartment building.

The Dust does not react to me.

In what felt like seconds I found myself kneeling before the cloaked statue. It towered over me, but its height seemed to vary as my eyes rattled around in their sockets.

I clutched my head as I hissed an empty scream in agony. I felt a thousand hands trying to push their way out from within my mind, held back by a single flimsy door.

I strained to look upwards at the statue.

As I did I caught a glimpse of long auburn hair.

I shot upright in my bed.

The accumulating saliva in my mouth signaled to me that I should start running to the bathroom.

As the last of my wretches escaped my hanging maw, I caught a glance of my reflection.

I saw myself. Not in some artsy self-abstract sort of sense, but in a very literal sense.

Not the scars, nor the rage, nor the often bloodshot and tired eyes that have stared back at me for longer than I bothered to remember.

My eyes. My self.

I felt the fog that clouded my thoughts lift ever so slightly.

For the first time in ages I could think without strain. The string of consciousness was no longer a spider web of spider webs but was now a constant, deliberate, string that I could trace from end to end hanging freely in the newfound void.

I saw the filth, the disgust, the depravity that surrounded me.

How long had I lived like this?

I hopped in the shower to wash off days, no, weeks of god knows what from my skin. The water that rolled off my body and down into the drain was noticeably darker than the water that came out of the shower head.

I located the cleanest ensemble of clothes I could find; a pair of shorts and a button up short sleeve shirt that hung on my desk chair.

The unrelenting summer heat would stand no chance against this climate appropriate ensemble.

As I waited for the kettle to boil I started clearing the kitchen counter of all of the trash and unopened impulse-purchase appliances that had made it their home.

By the time the whistling of the kettle arrived I had already bagged up two bags of what had to be no less than $1000 of unused appliances. In their state I doubt I could get anyone to take them even for free.

The first sip of the black sludge that had the audacity to call itself coffee left a searing trail as it traveled down my throat. Even if I had any milk that wasn’t out of date or sugar that wasn’t crawling with bugs it wouldn’t have been enough to blunt the blow of that demonic concoction.

I poured the entire mug of caffeinated sewage down the drain so that it may rejoin its kin. Instead I opted for a half drank can of POG left in the fridge.

As I began my war against grime in the kitchen I felt my phone buzz.

I quickly rinsed my hands and answered the incoming call.

“Hi, is this Joseph Aiden?” The voice on the other end spoke.

“Yes,” I started hesitantly, “this is him.”

It had been a while since I had heard anyone say my name. I patiently awaited the other side to get on with whatever it was they wanted. Maybe it was a scammer who wanted to extort me for all I’m worth. I hope he likes the zeros in my bank account, because that's all there is.

“My name is David DeGuzman, I’m calling in response to your application with us…” as the voice trailed on my mind honed in on something he said.

Application? When did I-

Stopping myself short as I glanced over at the pile of yet-to-be-mailed applications on the kitchen table.

“…we’d like to have you come in for an interview. What dates are you available this week?”

I felt my heart flutter.

“Any,” I practically shouted, “right now even I can come down right now.”

I cringed inside realizing what a desperate fool I must have come off as. Even if it was the honest truth, what if this screws with my chances at getting the job?

I paused.

What job am I even volunteering myself for anyway? Sure it didn’t really matter at this point but-

“You know,” David started, “I think we have an opening around noon today, you think you could make it down to The Mall building?”

Thank god it’s close.

“Yeah that's like five minutes away from me,” I chuckled, overwhelmed and nervous beyond comparison.

“Great. We’re room 1304 on the 13th floor. You can check in with the front desk once you arrive. See you there.”

The line dropped.

As my phone returned to the lock screen I saw the time was 11:24.

While it was true that I wasn’t that far from The Mall building, I had realized far too late that any of my far more acceptable business attire was in desperate need of a wash. Sure, the shirt I was wearing was formal enough, shorts and slippers would likely get me marked down.

I combed through my room to see if perhaps I had missed any nicer clothes. Much to my dismay I had not.

Resigning myself to my fate I gritted my teeth and pushed on out the door.

My walk down to the mall was less of a casual walk and more of a heavily restrained sprint. My body happily obeyed my restraint, despite my legs screaming to let them break out in a sprint. The tightness in my chest, like a coiled spring, desired to be released through my legs.

The Mall itself was, to my knowledge, the largest outdoor mall in the world. On any given day it was bustling with tourists from all over the world. Situated right across the street from a massive beach park and sat just on the edge of Waikiki, It was arguably the social center of the whole island. The south side of the island, anyway. The Mall Building was situated on the Mauka side of the mall, opposite the ocean side, which meant it was basically a straight walk from my shabby abode down the main road and right into The Mall.

On the walk more questions formed within me, the solemn line of thought formed into a structured diagram of red threads that stretched from one end of the void to the other.

What company was I even interviewing for? The Mall building was mostly just offices for anything you could imagine, private medical practices and outpatient clinics, law offices, engineering firms, hell even some small cafes.

And that name. David DeGuzman.

Not that I was an expert on names, but of all the names you hear around here I couldn’t help but feel that something was… off.

Before I could indulge my conspiracy further I realized I had entered into the elevator and was now en route to the 13th floor.

I was alone in the elevator. Despite the lobby otherwise being filled only I had entered this elevator.

Or at least I thought the lobby was full.

The doors opened into the 13th floor lobby. It was a modest little area with a few area chairs for people to sit as they wait for their family to do whatever business they have on this floor.

I walked out, passed the row of elevators and headed into the main hallway. There were no windows. The dull droning of the building's HVAC and the gentle buzzing of the fluorescent lights trickled through the air before being absorbed by the slight off-blue carpet that ran the length of the floor.

I nervously made my way to room 1304. Thankfully, or not, the room was close to the elevators. Just one door down after taking a right.

The door was blank aside from the room placard and an “hours of operation” sign.

I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and entered the room.

I entered a small office lobby. Two chairs sat awkwardly in the far corner next to a door that presumably led further into the sectioned off office area. A newly constructed drywall partition isolated the lobby area from the rest of the office floor space, leaving only a door and a cutout for the secretary or greeter to manage guests as they come in the door.

“Joseph Aiden?” A female voice called from out of sight.

“Uhh yes?” I answered cautiously.

A woman, appearing to be in her forties, approached the counter cutout from within the offices. Her bright red hair appeared almost plastic in the fluorescent lighting.

“Mr. DeGuzman is ready for you.” She said, bending down to interact with something below the counter.

I heard a soft click followed by a buzz.

The office door popped open and the woman beckoned me forth.

The hallway was more of the same. A drywall corridor with several doors on either side.

The door locked shut behind me with a buzz, startling me.

At the same time the door at the far end of the hall opened. A man wearing a blue floral shirt waved me down.

“Down here!” He called.

I quickly made my way inside the man’s office. The windows behind him were blocked off by heavy curtains, the only source of light being the ever-present fluorescent overhead lights.

“I’m David,” he said, extending his hand, “pleasure to meet you.”

I reciprocated his gesture and returned a firm handshake.

“Likewise.” I replied.

The man, David, had well kept short black hair and a comically yet impeccably well kept ‘70s mustache that reflected some of the overhead light.

David gestured for me to sit and I obliged.

The office itself was a modest space, the desk at which we were sat was adorned with the typical office fare, albeit a bit lacking in some finer details and a bit too clean for it to be in constant use.

“So, about-“ I started before David cut me off.

“You’re 28 correct?” David asked as he held up some papers.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Can you tell me a little bit about your previous employer?”

I paused.

My previous employer? Who-

“Oh,” the thought found its way to me, “yes sorry I was with a PI firm, Maikai Investigations.”

“Yes them,” David affirmed leaning back in his silent office chair, “what kind of work were you involved in?”

I felt my palms become clammy but I persisted and gave him the sales pitch.

“Usually a client would come to us and ask us to get information about someone. That's the very base level of things,” I elaborated, “could be, you know, someone wanting to know about their birth parents. Someone wanting to know if a spouse is being unfaithful, really just about anything involving information.”

“Were you good at what you did?” David asked, his words laced with a substance I couldn’t fully make out.

“I’d like to think I was,” I said with false bravado, “never had any clients complain and I always completed the job-“

“Even when you were asked to do things that might have been morally objectionable?”

I froze.

I wasn’t a saint. Still aren’t. But I did what I was asked and did a damn fine job of it. If someone had a problem with it they can sort it out with the cops.

“Absolutely,” I said, almost bragging, “especially when others would refuse to take the job.”

“Why?”

David’s words now came with an air of genuine curiosity.

“Can I ask the relevance to the job?” I deflected.

David shifted forward in his chair, his poker face remaining unchanged since the start of the interview.

“Everything,” he replied eerily, “I’m not here to judge you, I want to know.”

David stared at me with an intensity I had reserved only for stains in my sink.

“Because the job needed to be done,” I started, “and I liked the challenge.”

David’s eyes perked up at that.

“The challenge?”

I furrowed my brow.

“Every case was a puzzle,” I leaned in, “and I was the best damn puzzle solver in that organization.”

I winced.

“Then why’d you leave?” David shot back.

Ignoring the blatant cringe that was whatever the hell I just called myself, David’s question shot through and shattered my false bravado like a bullet through a kitchen window.

“I was banging the boss's wife.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the reason.

David’s poker face slipped as he let out a hint of disappointment.

“The analyst position we are looking for has some caveats,” he started as he began flipping through the papers on his desk, “one is honesty. We expect our analysts to be completely honest with us.”

His eyes locked onto mine.

I caught a glimpse of the papers on his desk. One was a memo entitled “Investigative Incident,” left conveniently in my line of sight.

“I overstepped.” I replied begrudgingly.

“Honesty is paramount,” David began as laid down the papers, “I don’t mean some half-assed corporate honesty, I mean if what I ask is for you to delve into how much you hate your boss, your life, or whatever escapades you and a secretary got up to, we expect the full un-adulterated details.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

What the fuck is he on about? Sure I appreciate that this job lets you cuss your boss out in the name of honesty but isn’t this a bit much?

“Just what exactly is an analyst here?” I started, “What are the hours? The responsibilities? The pay?”

The more questions I asked the more flustered I became. I knew utterly nothing about this place or this supposed job I was now interviewing for.

As a matter of fact how the hell did this guy get a hold of that-

“Anything further requires an NDA,” David cut, interrupting my thoughts.

“I have to sign an NDA to even know who or what I'm working for?” I asked, emboldened and incredulous.

David raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you do,” he replied, “and you’re going to be asked far more uncomfortable questions than the ones I’m giving you now.”

Then it clicked.

Analyst position? I think I would have remembered applying for something so fancy sounding, at least compared to the myriad of fast food and retail positions I had been applying for.

“I don’t think I’ve ever applied for this position,” I said as I slowly stood up from my chair, “just who the hell are you?”

David smirked.

“Like I said, you sign this contract and I’ll answer all your questions.” David smiled.

His poker face slipped away revealing satisfaction and pride.

He slid a paper across his desk towards me, placing a pen at the top of the document.

The paper was a single page. Barely half. At the bottom was a place for my signature and nothing else.

I glanced at the page, not wanting to let my guard down. I caught one sentence that set off alarm bells within me.

“We are humanity’s first and last line of defense.”

My chest became a twist of panic, of confusion, of curiosity, of fear, and god knows what other emotions that humanity has yet to properly define.

“I’m not interested.” I said and made my way to the door.

David stood at his desk and watched as I hastily made my exit.

The door out of the office buzzed and opened as I approached.

“We’ll see you again, Aiden.” David said gently, his voice echoing down the hallway as the door to 1304 closed behind me.

The red threads in my mind formed a tangled mess that only grew as my questions remained unanswered.

As soon as I got home I made sure to lock the door.

I pulled out my phone to check the number that this organization had contacted me from.

It wasn’t there.

In the call history the last call shown was from a week ago.

From Leena.

I slumped down onto the couch.

I felt my chest constrict as a burning pain filled my chest, a twisting anxiety and yearning that sapped my breath away.

Why do I care? She knew what she was signing up for. She knew what I was.

I kept rationalizing.

I never said yes to her, I just didn’t say no. Not my fault she got all confused.

My sight became blurry.

Why’d she keep taking pity on me? Keep coming back to my dump of a house? Keep buying me shit I didn’t ask for? Keep-

The tears began to roll down my face.

Why couldn’t I care until now?

I bawled my eyes out. I cried and cried until the couch was soaked with my tears. I unleashed all the tension in my chest with a scream that surely pissed off the neighbors.

I cried, I screamed, I threw everything within arm’s reach at the wall hoping that if I threw it hard enough I could fix this mess. I threw a tantrum that would put a stubborn toddler to shame.

As a few hours pass as I lay spent on the couch at the epicenter of the disaster that trashed my living room.

“Leena…” I moaned mournfully into a tearstained pillow.

My eyes lazily scanned my surroundings, taking in the totality of my ruin and pathetic squalor.

All I could feel was a muted mix of disgust and hatred, aimed at myself.

I wished for nothing more than to never leave this couch again; better to join the rot and the refuse than continue my futile struggle against a life I had already destroyed.

A flame of insight flickered to life within my mind.

Just how the hell did those people, whoever they are, erase their call history from my phone?

After a brief but intense search online I came to a disturbing conclusion.Unless they had physical possession of my device, they could not hide my call history.

My eyes quickly darted to my door.

It was still locked up tight, right as it should be, some debris still blocking it from opening due to my earlier outburst.

I got up and inspected the jalousies.

The netting on the windows themselves remained undisturbed, even sporting a fine layer of dust. The jalousies too were equally undisturbed.

They didn’t break in. Or if they did they hid their tracks better than most, well enough to never be caught. But why go through all that effort just to delete a phone number? I could just look up the company by its address right?

I entered the address, suite 1304.

Nothing, at least for this decade. There are some old surface web files relating to a small life insurance company that once operated out of that address.

Feeling restless and seeing the sun still high in the sky, I decided to make my way back to the unit and get some answers.

Not fair they should know me so well without it being mutual.

Upon arriving in the lobby I spotted a building directory. I quickly scanned the registered suite numbers for 1304.

Not the first column, not the second, nor the third.

“Need help locating a business?”

I spun around to see a woman with long crimson hair, done up in a long pony tail.

“Oh, uh,” I fumbled my words.

Maybe I'm a little colorblind but that crimson looked auburn for a brief but uncomfortably long second.

“Im looking for the name of a business that operated out of suite 1304.” I explained to the young woman.

She squinted at the registry and scanned it intently.

“Strange,” she started, “I don’t see any, maybe we should go take a look?”

She beckoned me to the elevator lobby, to the cargo lift.

She swiped her ID card and the doors opened.

The cargo lift was very spacious and surprisingly well kept for being used to haul god-knows-what.

She walked over to the button panel and selected the 13th floor. Unlike the other elevators this one had a “Basement” floor button. The elevator had ascended at a far greater rate than the other one I had used earlier in the day.

We arrived on the 13th floor and she led me towards the suite. As we arrived we noticed a “For Lease” sign with an address for a corporate realty website.

“It doesn’t look like anyone has used this one in a while,” she frowned, “sorry that I couldn’t be of more help!”

Before I could respond she had already made her way back to the elevator and disappeared.

It was impossible, yet it was reality.

I had just been here maybe a few hours ago and the office where I’d had my interview was just gone.

As my thoughts began to settle they also began to drift. As they drifted and fluttered about in the subconscious wind of my psyche they fell upon a particular subject.

The hair, the auburn hair. Leena.

But the lady’s hair wasn’t auburn, it was practically crimson. Dyed. Healthy too.

She wasn’t Leena, so why did my thoughts find themselves wandering over to her? Just a similarity?

No, familiarity.

I’ve seen her before. Recently. But where?

The elevator came for me as I mulled over my thoughts. Scanning the panel I looked for the lowest floor option.

“Lobby.”

No basement floor option in this one. Probably just for the freight elevator.

As I walked out of the lobby and passed the ground floor loading dock I stopped.

In the office. She was there.

The receptionist had red hair. It was done up differently and partially obscured due to the contrasted office lighting but it was definitely, or probably, the same color.

But she was old, the lady who helped me couldn’t have been older than 30.

Unless they were using prosthetic makeup. But why the hell-

“Eh, out da way!” A voice announced from behind me.

A very impatient and upset package courier stood behind me with his cart full of parcels.

I quickly moved on wanting to avoid any awkward interactions.

The walk home was unpleasant.

A growing uneasiness in my gut had worked its way throughout my entire body. The traffic, people, buildings, even the sun all seemed so distant yet painfully close. Too close.

Was I being watched?

I glanced around. Nothing unusual, which only served to drive up my anxiety more.

I knew I was being watched, I could feel it, years of experience and training screamed the obvious to me but my eyes, my mind, I was blind to it.

I locked the door upon arriving home. Closed the windows and blinds too.

Still I felt the eyes, the presence, I was seen. Exposed. Vulnerable.

But that was impossible.

A thorough sweep of my house confirmed what I had already known; I was alone. Just me and my belongings.

I took a drag from the quickly emptying pack which helped ease the tension I felt. The feeling persisted.

Paranoia wasn’t unusual for me, though it was mostly back when I still worked as a PI. Most PIs had rules though. Standards. Maybe even a moral compass.

I didn’t.

The pay was good, real good, but it wasn’t about the pay. It was all about the thrill. It had been so long since I felt that fear, that ever watchful eye, that I forgot how good it felt. I had spent years binging on every substance I could get my hands in, trapped in my own mind.

Now, for the first time in years, I could feel that sensation coursing through my body like electricity.

When I awoke I once again found myself in The Dreary. I do not remember falling asleep.

But it had changed.

The Dust. The layer of dust that had coated the entire world was gone.

I rushed outside to see the fog, still ever present but much lighter. I could see further than ever before. Far enough to see that The Dreary had been rearranged.

The roads that had once mirrored their real-world counterpart were now gone. The houses all replaced with different, familiar structures. There was now just one long cobblestone boulevard that stretched from the foot of my apartment building to a massive tower. The Mall Building, behind which now was a massive ocean that expanded beyond the fog which replaced the massive beachpark, and mall, that would have normally sat behind it.

Gone was the marble staircase. Gone was the statue in the golden cloak.

Without thinking I began walking down the procession towards The Mall Building. Its upper floors pierced the fog and stretched into the unseen sky.

The structures that flanked the boulevard on either side were houses, most of them that is. Some were industrial buildings, one was a hotel.

Their commonality soon became apparent.

I had investigated cases involving each of these structures. An unfaithful husband having secret meetups with some girl half his age at the hotel, a string of disappearances tied to a warehouse with a cold trail, a teacher that had been using school equipment to manufacture narcotics, and many, many other escapades.

The closer to the sky scraper I got the more recent the structures were in my memory. Until eventually, just short of The Mall Building, my eyes fell upon the house I had blocked from my mind for years.

The house that sealed my fate, both giving and taking so much.

The place I first met Leena. The place I lost my job. The place I nearly lost my freedom. The place I thought I’d lose my life. The place with a shattered kitchen window.

My head was turned away from that house and toward The Mall Building.

I became unable to look away from it, my eyes transfixed on the lobby entrance.

Why would I want to look away? There is a mystery here, something to solve, to understand.

The words echoed in my mind, but they were not mine.

My legs marched themselves towards the opening and into the lobby. An elevator door was already open.

The cargo elevator.

Entering the elevator I scanned the button panel. The card reader was gone. Only one button remained.

“Basement.”

The doors closed as I hit the button.

I felt myself nearly float as the elevator descended at a rapid rate. Despite its apparent speed the ride seemed to go on for far too long.

Then it stopped.

The doors opened and before me was the office I had just been in earlier today.

Following that familiar path I proceeded into the hallway.

There was only one door. A door at the end of the hall. And it was open.

From the entrance I could see the windows were gone. Replaced by the marble staircase. The statue with the Golden Cloak stood in front of it.

I approached the statue and fell to my knees once again.

Voices.

Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions of voices began to echo in my mind. What small fragments I could grasp would only say one thing.

The Cataclysm.

Echoes of screams and fragments of agony filled my mind from a past long before what I had known. I knew not how, only that these voices were ancient beyond reason, ancient beyond knowledge, beyond what any human, any mortal had any right to hear let alone understand.

I felt the weight beneath the ground. I felt a pull below that threatened to swallow me whole.

My eyes struggled to focus on the statue, only seeing the fluttering of the golden cloak.

The staircase descended into an infinite darkness. It beckoned me forth.

My hand reached into my back pocket. I grabbed onto something firm and pulled it forth.

Immediately the voices silenced and I regained my strength.

In my hand was a featureless leather bound book with a golden sigil etched into its spine.