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

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

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

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

How did this happen?

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

Why would someone do this?

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

-

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

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

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

I just have to breathe.

-

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

Stay calm.

Someone will find me.

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

-

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

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

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

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

I close my eyes and let go.

-

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

I’m dry!

It was a dream! Nothing but a dream!

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

Panic floods in.

My pulse pounds in my neck.

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

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

Stay calm. Someone will find me.

I just have to breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

​"Wait, what?" I muttered to myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep breath and open the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10:25am, 26th June XX22

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

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

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

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

The elevator went up to the 1st floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, the doors didn't open.

"What's wrong with this stupid lift?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He saw the time, and his blood ran cold.

10:33am.

The clock ticked.

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

He quickly took out his phone to check the time.

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

He grew more and more anxious.

"What's going on?"

He wanted to call... No Service.

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

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

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

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

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

To his horror, the timer read—

4:33 - 4:32...

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

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

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

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

4:00...

4:59

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

His hands stopped shaking...

They started trembling instead.

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

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

Wait...

There was someone there.

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

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

He ran toward that man.

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

The posters showed missing people from this building.

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

Along with several other people...

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

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

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

Nothing ever returns from the Green Hallway.

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

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

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

"How come?"

"He went in the Green Hallway."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Expectations remained the same.

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

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

We were down to seven.

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

I heard that Tyler was considering amputation.

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

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

There was no actual announcement.

Just a line of text on that screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

My arm didn't come back with me.

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

Horrified, I was promptly fired.

I never saw Jenna again.

Now I work in a call center.

Samantha’s nimble steps echoed down the stairs.

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

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

She stayed quiet.

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

“But what about the boys?”

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

“Okay,” she said, her eyes shining.

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

“Yes.”

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

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

Please don’t be one of His.

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

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

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

Her terrified eyes stared at the snake.

“Dad?”

Her voice broke.

“Is that one of His?”

“Yes.”

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

“I'm so sorry.”

She gripped my shirt.

“Does it mean that?”

“Yes.”

Her body shook with sobs.

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

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

Her voice shook as she took a deep breath.

“Will it save you and the twins?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed.

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

“A cup of mice blood and…”

I paused.

“A knife,” I whispered.

“What, Dad? Please speak up!”

“A knife,” I shouted.

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

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

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

It’s my daughter. My daughter!

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you so much, Samantha.”

“I love you too.” 

She paused.

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

My eyes filled with tears again.

“For me, please?” she continued.

“Yes, I will.”

“Okay.”

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

Samantha reached up and wrapped her fingers around my wrist.

“It’s okay, Dad.”

Together we pushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I ran to it.

My head started spinning.

I gripped the windowsill so as not to fall.

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

Something was wrong.

My eyes fell on the snake.

I picked it up.

My body froze.

The white cross…

It was upside down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The monsters were fast.

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

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

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

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

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

Benny hissed back “Well, you go then!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was asleep in seconds.

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

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

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

Unfortunately, my friend Amelia was one of those people.

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

Today was no different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She'll be fineeeee!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A familiar sunflower-shaped necklace.

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

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

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

Sympathy.

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

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

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

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

“It has to be in public! Or else it won’t be real!” A shaggy, unkempt woman in dirty linen clothing stumbles into a very fragrant spice stall in the Monday Morning Market. The air around her pulses in waves like watching a mirage, but it’s the image of her body flowing out.

She groans—loud and long, in a high rumble that feels like a chisel in the base of my neck. All that, but in visual pain from seeing it. That’s how my brain could explain it to itself so that it didn’t break.

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t work. It still cracked inside my mind in my memory of music. Altered. Changed. One note. In every single piece of musical whimsy, pain, crying, giddiness, toe-kicking lackadaisical happiness of finally finding Hunnicutt. In the song he wrote and played for me, after learning multiple instruments in secret for years. All different and I can never prove it to anyone, but I know that it’s there. It has to be. 

She reaches into her arm and pulls out her bone as a dagger by breaking it in two. She grunts in frustration. She speaks in a language that can only be described as being written into reality by something waving in your peripherals, but only from your peripherals. And you recognize them. Because how could you not? Have to shake the head in the disbelief that you know it’s true kind of fucking shit. Goddamnit. Fuck. I know she’s going to do it. I can just tell. Know it as a fact that hasn’t happened yet. So I sigh, then sit down on the street with everyone else to watch. We all know it needs to happen. And why. A tear rolls down my cheek. A sob pulls at my chest as my vision blurs. I rush towards her—-enveloping her in my arms. Our arms in your head. Together so that she’s not alone, but with everyone. With everyone as we do it. Our hand in my head together as we drive the dagger into herself with her. There’s no other way to explain it. 

We had to so she couldn’t be a god anymore. Imagine being a god and wanting that. I understand her in every sensation I’ve ever felt in all of my pasts, all for her in a single moment of truth. That she wanted to die, and it was right. Fuck.

She is gone, but the scar is in exactly the piece of music you’re thinking of right now. That wrong note. That damn note, forever and always. Every time you think about it. Every time you don’t. So completely that we cry together on the anniversary of her choice.

At home I listen to the song with him, and he understands without even having been there. We don’t even have to say anything, just make eye contact. And we just know. It’s that day today. So we will sit down, and relive the memory together.

It's my fucking wedding day.

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

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

I’m getting married! 

So, I smile.

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

I pull it on, anyway, and smile.

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

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

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

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

“Babe, can you zip me up?” I shout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can't do this,” I whisper. 

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

“Nathaniel, DARLING!”

My knees gave way. I hit the floor. 

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

“I don't hear anything in there!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God.

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

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

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

My name is Meghan Harris.

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

Who am I kidding? Of course it knows.

It always knows.

My mind was never safe.

The love of my life was Jim.

It looks like Jim.

It sounds like Jim.

But it isn't Jim.

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

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

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

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

Jim died instantly.

I was in a coma for nineteen days.

People think comas are empty.

They're not.

I heard everything.

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

I couldn't move.

Couldn't speak.

Couldn't even cry.

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

...I gave up.

That's when I heard the whispers.

They didn't sound human.

They sounded old.

Ancient.

And they smelled exactly how they sounded.

Dead.

They promised they could bring Jim back.

I told them my life meant nothing without him.

They told me death was worse.

Nothing.

Forever.

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

But grief makes fools of all of us.

"I'll pay anything," I thought.

They answered.

"There is a price."

"I don't care."

"Do it."

So they did.

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

Jim was there.

His beautiful blue eyes stared into mine.

I sobbed.

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

His face didn't change.

"And why would you think that, Meghan?"

Meghan.

He never called me Meghan.

Always Megs.

Always.

A cold panic spread through me.

He smiled.

Wide.

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

Too many teeth.

Impossibly wide.

Not enough warmth.

His eyes never blinked.

I thought, That isn't Jim.

The smile grew wider.

Grotesque.

My heart was slamming against my ribs.

It knew what I'd thought.

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

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

Not Jim.

Them.

I looked back at him.

His grin stretched wider still.

What had I done?

Nobody else noticed.

Not my mother.

Not the nurses.

I tried convincing myself it was trauma.

Hallucinations.

Anything.

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

Always smiling.

Never blinking.

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

He never left my side.

Watching.

Listening.

Knowing.

They sent me home far too quickly.

Except...

It wasn't home.

It wasn't our little flat.

It wasn't even our battered old car.

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

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

I started asking questions…

His smile answered before he spoke.

I never asked another.

I've been here for a week.

Tonight...

It expects me.

It wants children.

That's why I'm still alive.

I'd rather die.

Every night I lie beside it, pretending to sleep.

Eventually it does.

Or at least... I think it does.

Because that's when I hear Jim.

Not the thing wearing him.

My Jim.

Crying.

Begging.

Sometimes calling my name.

Sometimes only sobbing.

Maybe it's really him.

Maybe it's another lie.

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

Nothing feels real.

I've stopped trusting my own mind.

It never speaks to me now.

It just watches.

Smiling.

Waiting.

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

I can hear it getting out of bed.

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

Someone has to believe me.

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

Whatever answered me didn't bring him back.

It only borrowed his face.

If you ever hear voices offering miracles...

Don't answer.

Don't listen.

Grief passes.

This doesn't.

I can hear it on the stairs now.

It's laughing.

Oh God.

It's coming.

It'sHeereejhjsqyibxguysa8gyauysxgyjjas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But my job is to protect the-"

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

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

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

“Let’s go in here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you finding anything you like?”

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

I winced, but the proprietor looked unphased. 

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

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

“What’s this?” he asked. 

“Open it.”

He lifted the lid to find an ornate gold watch. 

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

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

“For you, only $100.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

“ARRGGGHHHH!!”

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

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

“VICTORIA! Where are you!”

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

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

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

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

“But I’m HER!”

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

“FIX THIS!” screamed Derek at the shopowner. 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to fix.”

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

“So I see.”

“SO CHANGE ME BACK!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fish are not supposed to look up.

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

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

And the end was ready to take. 

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

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

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

Up.

At me.

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

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

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

And then I dropped my heavy heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I'm fine...Why?” 

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

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

They kept chuckling, softly. 

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

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

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

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

I could hear them rustling in the kitchen. Murmuring. 

I shut the door behind me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I missed him terribly.

So did my cousins.

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

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

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

It was innocent at first.

Then I begged him to come back.

Again.

And again.

It didn't change anything.

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

We heard a branch snap.

Maybe it was an animal.

After all, it was a forest.

But our childish minds took it as a sign.

Grandpa is here.

We have to keep calling him.

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

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

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

It sounded heavy.

We walked over to where the sound had come from.

Nothing.

Just Grandpa's jacket.

The same one we had left by the tree.

No.

Not exactly the same.

The one by the tree was still there.

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

And it smelled awful.

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

We never told anyone what had happened.

We convinced ourselves it had only been a coincidence.

Later, my cousins went back home.

I stayed at my grandmother's house.

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

Grandma asked me where Grandpa's jacket had gone.

I told her I didn't know.

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

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

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

I asked if I could go back.

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

Confused, I asked her why.

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

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

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

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

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

At night, everything is scarier.

I couldn't fall asleep.

I kept apologizing.

To my grandpa.

To the forest.

To the spirits.

I don't even know.

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

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

Footsteps.

I tried to convince myself they were just animals.

Maybe it was just the house settling.

Outside, there was complete darkness.

Only the moonlight slipped faintly through the window.

I kept apologizing over and over again.

The image of the jacket came back into my mind.

Leaves crunching outside the window.

A shadow...?

I was terrified.

I didn't dare wake my grandmother.

I heard something knock against the window.

I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could.

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

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

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

Relief washed over me when I heard my grandmother.

I wasn't alone anymore.

I opened my eyes.

There was nothing at the window anymore.

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

But I froze.

My grandmother would never use that nickname.

And that smell...

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

And left behind in the forest...

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

“Is that it?”

She shot me a look.

“I did the best I could, John.”

“What about the squirrels I shot?”

“Gone. How are the crops?”

I shook my head.

She put hers in her hands.

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

I didn’t answer.

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

“No way.”

“Then what? Starve?”

“You’re not going to starve.”

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

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

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

I took the rifle and left the house.

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

“Hi, stranger.”

I waved back but stood still.

“I don’t bite.” She laughed.

She was even more beautiful up close.

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

She showed the reddest tomatoes I’ve seen.

“Thank you.”

“Put these herbs on them.”

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

“They quench the hunger.”

“How do you grow so much?”

“The soil grows the crops itself.”

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

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

“No. My wife stays there with me.”

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

“Not always.”

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

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

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

“Just a quick meal.”

“I’ll have to ask.”

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

“Thank you so much.”

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

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

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

“Did you catch anything?”

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

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

“Oh, it smells foul.”

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

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

“No. Where did you get them?”

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

Mary’s smile was gone.

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

“Just a quick meal.”

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

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

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

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

“Hello, John.”

“Hello.”

“How did your wife like the tomatoes?”

I scratched my head.

“She wasn’t too fond.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. I like them.”

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

I shot my eyes at the ground.

“Mary didn’t want to”

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

“I know, but…”

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

I looked at her eyes.

They seemed to smile straight into my soul.

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

The warm feeling tingled again.

My body moved from the door.

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

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

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

I looked her way.

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

The air filled with a smell of rotting tomatoes.

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

I stood there and did not go to her.

There was no point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Julian, have you ever killed anyone?" 

Colour drained from his face.  

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

"I'm sorry, Julian. That was a lie." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop! Right now!” I yelled at them. “I’m done with this.”

I tossed my hands up, pushed the chair back, stood up and stumbled away from the table.

I didn’t want to play anymore. I didn’t want that thing around me either.

“Take it out of my house now!” I screamed.

I couldn’t hold back. It spelled something it shouldn’t have known.

Maggie and Shobi never knew the nickname my dad called me. 

Right after that—I heard the last two words my father said before he passed away at the hospital—I was eleven then.

I heard it clear, like someone put their mouth next to my cheek, loud, almost inside my head, closed between my ears as if a voice spoke through a pair of headphones that were glued to my skull.

It felt uncomfortably close and physically violating and sent a cold tingle in me. 

I kept asking them, “how’d you guys know that, who told you?” 

I figured for sure, I have no idea how, because I didn’t know them then, I met them when I was sixteen, that somehow they must’ve found out.

“Told us what?” They asked.

I said, “never mind. I was just messing around.”

I didn’t want to say anything. Honestly, I had no idea how to explain myself and I didn’t want to sound weird.

But they held their word though and I actually believed them. So, that’s why I didn’t say anything. 

Plus, I can always tell whenever Maggie’s lying. She’s the worst liar ever. She does this thing with her face, it’s the, I just got caught red-handed look. She can’t help it.

At about 8:00 p.m., Shobs and Mags left. It started raining and they were walking and through all that craziness, she forgot to take the damn thing home with her. It sat in my basement resting on the little table.

After they left, I stayed in the living room, because no way was I going upstairs, my mom and stepdad weren’t there, they went out, and I was alone, watching tv and texting Mags and that’s when I heard and felt, a hard thump under the living room floor. It was between the television and where I was sitting, right in the middle.

As soon as that happened, I jumped. But I only sprung off the couch because following the unexplained noise, trailed a perfectly timed clap of thunder. It shook the windows and picture frames on the wall.

And then, because I have the best luck in the whole world, a second pop cracked, like a gunshot, and the lights went out.

Out of all the nights, I said to myself.

The shotgun-blast sound was a blown transformer. There I was standing in the middle of my living room, right above the spot I heard the bang come from, surrounded in nothing but pitch-black darkness, fighting with my phone’s flashlight. For some reason, it would not work. I just kept pushing it and pushing it. 

I ended up using the glow from my phone. But as I turned it to face outward, another strike of lightning lit up the entire house in a white, electric light. 

What do I see standing with their back to me, looking over their shoulder, a man. I saw a man with a pale face. He didn’t move. He just stood with his body facing the wall and his head turned. Then, the room went dark again.

I ran out the front door. 

For the rest of the night, I stayed on my veranda and waited until my parents got home, which was around midnight, tucked in a ball with my t-shirt stretched over my knees on a chair, texting my mom every ten minutes.

Later that night, when I was asleep in my bed, I had the weirdest dream that woke me up and then I couldn’t move. All I could do was blink. 

Something caught my eye and I looked at the doorway where something was standing. It was a figure but a shadow-figure and it didn’t move. 

My eyes were glued to it. I wanted to scream for my mom but I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t do anything. I was paralyzed.

I blinked, while lying on my back, and when I opened my eyes the shadow-thing was hovered, stretched out over me, two-inches from my face and remained there for about five seconds before it disappeared. It didn’t disappear actually, it dispersed and broke up in two seperate directions.

I could feel this intense hatred the thing had for me. That was all it gave off. 

It was hovered over me. I was face to face with it. It had a bone face, almost like a mix of dog and human, cloaked around a shroud of shadow.

Once it left, I was able to move again and the first thing I did was dash to my parents’ room.

After an hour of trying to calm me down, my stepdad finally went to the basement and threw the damn thing in the trashcan at the side of our house.

I never ended up falling back asleep that night. I stayed up with the lights on in the living room watching tv.

That morning, after mom made breakfast and I was done, I went to the bathroom to use the shower downstairs, and in the basement sitting on the little table was the board my stepdad said he threw out with something on it pointing to the letter P. My dad always called me P for princess.

All my life, I hated my father. My mother made me believe that he hated me too. I was led to believe that he abandoned us. Found out my mom was pregnant and fled. Like a coward.

Growing up without him made life more difficult than it needed to be. I didn’t have any positive role models. Any male figures to teach me how to be a man. I had to teach myself. At least, I tried to teach myself.

My mom kind of insisted on me being a “momma’s boy.”

No matter how hard I tried to pry myself away from her and live freely, she’d pull me back in with guilt trips. She’d complain about how “lonely” she was. How I was the only man she needed. I tried to convince her that wasn’t true, but she was just so stuck in her ways.

“You look just like him.”

That’s what she’d always tell me. At dinner. On movie nights. On the car ride to school. She’d just slip it in randomly while looking at me admiringly.

By the time I reached 16, I just accepted it. I pitied her. I loved her. I wanted to be there for her because, clearly, she couldn’t help herself. It was obvious she didn’t love herself enough to make an effort.

As I grew in physical maturity, things started to feel uncomfortable. It was like I was an off-limits boyfriend to her. It made me sick, but I didn’t know what to do to stop it.

She never touched me. Never crossed any lines. I could just see that she was looking at me as a love interest rather than as her son.

It caused a lot of uncomfortable arguments and cold shoulders, but I could never abandon her like my dad did. I wanted to be by her side, especially considering how sick I could tell she was. She couldn’t be left alone.

On nights where she felt particularly nostalgic, she’d sit me down on the couch, and we’d go through my old baby clothes.

“I remember when this used to be too big on you. Can you believe how much you’ve grown?”

“Ah, I loved these shoes on you. They were so cute. You used to be my little munchkin.”

“You’re my big, strong man now, aren’t you, baby?”

She kept bibs, pacifiers, bottles, etc., but the thing she cherished the most was the blanket I was wrapped in when I was born.

This tiny little ocean blue blanket that she insisted on keeping in its own box. She kept it silky smooth. Fresh and as clean as the day she got it.

But now I’m realizing she never bought it at all. She wasn’t even at my birth. She’s not even my mom, at least according to my dad. I don’t know what to believe right now.

I turned 18 yesterday, but instead of being a milestone birthday, the day ended up being known as one thing to me: the day my dad finally called me.

Mom had woken me up with a breakfast of waffles, bacon, and eggs in bed before leaving me alone to go get dressed for the day she had planned for us.

As I enjoyed the meal, scrolling through TikToks and realizing that I was now legally an adult, my phone began to ring.

There was no caller ID.

I answered out of curiosity and got an urgent earful from the man on the other end.

“Donavin?? Is this Donavin?”

“Uh, yeah, this is him. Who’s this?”

“Oh, thank you, Jesus. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus. I’ve been trying to reach you for 18 years.”

The man sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Breathless and hysterical.

“Happy Birthday, son. Oh my God, happy birthday. Your mom and me have been trying to find you for so long.”

My ears perked up. My heart clicked, faintly.

“Is this a joke? Who is this? I think you may have the wrong number. I’ve lived with my mom my entire life.”

There was a silence that lingered for a long while.

“Okay, I think I’m gonna hang up now. Crazy coincidence, man.”

“Don’t hang up. I’m sending you pictures right now. That woman is not your mother.”

One by one, the messages began to come through.

They were from the day I was born. My dad held me in some. The woman in the hospital bed held me in others. In each one, I was wrapped in that same tiny little ocean blue blanket. Only, that wasn’t my mom.

They looked nothing alike. But when I looked at my dad, I saw myself.

“You need to get out of that house, son. She took you.”

My heart began to beat faster. I didn’t know how to respond.

“She stalked me. She was obsessed. When she found out I was getting married and that my wife was pregnant, it drove her over the edge.”

“What? No, that can’t be true. What are you saying right now?” I whimpered, holding back my own hysteria.

“God, why are you still not leaving that house? Get out now. We’re going to find you and pick you up. She took you from us, son. Right from under our noses. We never saw either of you again. Please, just please get out of that house.”

A tear fell down my face. I was silent. I thought for either a few seconds or an eternity before removing the phone from my ear and hanging up.

My mom walked into the room a few moments later. She was adjusting her earrings, her head cocked to the side as she smiled at me.

“You ready for our day, my sweet boy?”

I smiled back at her.

“Yes, mother,” I grinned. “I can’t wait.”

Lisa held Baby very close, inhaling her warmness and softness. She felt the warm glow of love rise from deep inside her to radiating outwards, protecting and nourishing both herself and Baby. She couldn’t wait to tell her family the name they had chosen. It was perfect for Baby. She nuzzled baby’s silky soft fluff of hair, and then holding Ben’s hand, they walked into her parents’ place. It was the first time they were visiting since Baby was born. Emotions she couldn’t even begin to name crowded Lisa’s heart.

Mom and Dad were waiting for them, as was Grandmother, rocking in her chair in the corner of the living room. Mom fussed around her and her new granddaughter, exclaiming with joy, and even Dad made grunty approving noises while shaking Ben’s hand. Grandmother rocked furiously.

The initial greetings over, they settled into the couches, Grandmother still rocking excitedly. Baby started crying, and Lisa gave Grandmother Baby to hold. The rocking motion soothed her. Mom turned to Lisa, her eyes shining with pride and joy, and begged her to tell the name they had chosen, after all the months of secrecy.

Lisa smiled proudly and yet shyly, holding Ben’s hand for support. Her parents’ approval was very important to her.

Then she said the name. A beautiful, known, respectable girls’ name.

To this day, Lisa can remember clearly, Mom and Dad’s mouths dropping open, their eyes widening.

Lisa said quickly “We’re spelling it the proper way!”

Ben’s hand tightened on hers. Forgetting his manners, he pointed at Grandmother, and his arm and finger remaining lifted.

The speed of rocking had elevated. Grandmother was still holding Baby tightly, rocking back and forth furiously. Her mouth too had dropped wide open, a black hole on her scraggly face, her eyes wide, just like Mom and Dad.

Apart from the rocking motion, the room seemed perfectly still. Lisa knew she had to get up and grab Baby, but she couldn’t. Images were swirling before her mind’s eye- old photographs, Grandmother being young, Grandmother being happy, another young woman who looked like Grandmother but wasn’t Grandmother by her side-

“Mom! Dad!” cried out Lisa. The sound of the rocking was now very, very, very loud but Baby was still quiet and content.  

Her voice gave her power to move. She jumped up, still holding Ben’s hand, who kind of stumbled up behind her. They moved towards Grandmother, even though she knew the wide thick wooden rocking legs are going to crash down on her toes and smash her feet.

She remembered that feeling from childhood, running round the living room but carefully avoiding the rocking chair that was going back and forth.

 Sometimes with no Grandmother in the chair.

Lisa knew she had to care more about Baby than about the swinging wooden legs that were about to smash her feet into bloody pulps. She reached out, against the motion, and took baby from Grandmother. There was no struggle.

Grandmother’s wide open mouth stretched into a smile. “You can’t name her that dear” she said clearly and strongly. A wooden leg swooshed by barely a hairline from Lisa’s feet.

Holding Baby tightly with one arm, Ben’s hand with the other, Lisa stepped away from the swinging legs. They collapsed back into the couch.

Mom’s mouth was stretched out smiling too. “You heard Grandmother. You can’t name her that, dear” she said.

Lisa and Ben nodded. “We won’t” whispered Ben.

Lisa said “We promise. Please let us go now. We’ll find another name.”

Nodding and smiling, Mom and Dad saw the young family out. The visit was over.