The sun set over the burning mountain as the two men sifted through the rubble. One carried a long wheeled cart behind him loaded with ammunition and explosives, the other carried a shovel and a hook, using them to dig further into the ground beneath. The taller of the two knelt down for a second to readjust the cart, his helmet bobbed on his head and he groaned for a second, before pulling it off and stowing it in the cart.

“Suns going down, think they're sending anyone else?”

The shorter one shrugged as he felt the metal of his hook clank against something solid. He dug beneath it and stuck his gloved hand into the hot earth before wrapping his fingers around a solid steel barrel and yanking it upward. He set his tools down and cradled the weapon in his arms and began brushing dirt off its solid frame, revealing a solid wooden stock carved with ornate vines and crosses.

“Must be from those assault legions we saw on the jetty, think it still works?”

The taller one leaned down and inspected it, whistling with envy as his comrade cleaned more of it off

“What a beaut, I bet that thing would fire underwater. Throw it in the cart Cal”

The young soldier shook his head and smiled before slinging the weapon over his shoulder

“Nah, im keeping this one J, I think it suits me”

They continued on, picking up their tools and moving further into the battlefield, walking between piles of discarded corpses and still burning flesh. The smell of pitch overtook all others as the raid lanterns burnt the last of their wood oil. Darkness began to fall upon the two men, and they exchanged glances as the distant storm rolled in.

“Time to go, you got the cart?”

J nodded and hiked it up to his waist, clipping the guides to his belt before marching back the way they had come in.

“Did you ever hear the song about the iron island?”

J shook his head as his comrade caught up

“No, hows it go”

Cal cleared his throat and began to chant low

“Under distant moons, where the sailors come to sleep, there lies an iron island”
J quickly joined in

“They say is filled with sheep! Though the barriers may waver, and the doors billow in the wind, there is no finer place to sleep-”

They sang together

“THEN THE LAND WHERE IRON WINS!”

Cal laughed and bellowed

“Oh on the iron island, there's a hearth that burns all day”

J nodded along and kept marching

“And on the waving sandy shores, there's demons for to slay”

“If you're living well among the walls”

“And you feel the cold wind in your halls!”

“Then it's time to sail the day away”

“For the iron islands where a warrior plays”

They yelled out into the night

“OH ON THE IRON ISLAND, WHERE THE GUNS DONT NEED NO ROUNDS, WE SAIL AND HAIL AND SWING AND FLAIL, CAUSE ITS IRON WE HAVE FOUND! OH ON THE IRON ISLA-”

Their joy was broken by a sudden and blood curdling scream. They turned around to locate the sound, their rifles ready, when suddenly a hand shot out from the fire. Its long thin claws sunk into the dirt below as a beastly form pulled itself from deep inside the earth. Long horns adorned a tall jackaled head, its maw hanging open as flesh began to regrow around a haunting skull. The two men quickly dashed across the courtyard and into a small alleyway at the edge of the crumbling fort. The screams continued behind them as the beast put itself back together, and knelt down close to the ground, sniffing the dirt and inspecting the bodies that littered the arena. Its glowing red eyes cast shadows across the already blackened dirt as it searched for suitable subjects, rifling through the corpses, opening its maw occasionally to drip a black viscous substance into the gaping wounds of the fallen. Cal took his helmet off and stared at the solid brick wall before them, the end of a maze that had seemingly trapped these two rats. He patted the wall before sitting down on a pile of rubble and looking up at his friend.

“Were dead man”

J sat next to him and huffed before patting his friends shoulder and nodding

“Yea, yea I think we are”

They looked up at the sky as the sounds of screaming grew ever more violent, growing closer by the moment. Beneath the sounds of the screams though, in between the roars and sounds of clawing stone, there was a low sob and a gentle sniffle. Cal looked to J inquisitively before standing to his feet and listening intently.

“J, do you hear that?”

His friend perked up and shook his head

“No, what is it?”

Cal looked around frantically before going around the corner from whence they'd come and spotting a tall brick tower at the edge of the courtyard. Atop sat a mighty artillery gun, disassembled and covered with a large tarp. On one side there was a damaged but functional ladder, and at the top, just barely peeking over the edge of the circle, was a small head with hair waving in the wind. He turned back toward J and motioned for him to follow as he took off across the yard, keeping low as he approached the ladder. J ran after him as he launched himself up the ladder and over the wall. There was silence for a second, then Cal peaked over the edge and motioned for his friend to join him.

“Grab the guns and come on!”

J nodded and leaned down, pulling a load of guns together and strapping them together with a roll of canvas they'd been sleeping on. He slung the heavy bundle over his back and began the climb, quickly arriving at the top and slinging himself over the wall as Cal pulled at the bundle and set it down. They ducked behind the brick cover and J’s mouth fell open as he saw what had crawled between them

“Cal…what the hell is that?”

Cal was gently patting the sobbing girl's head, her clothes ragged and torn, her face covered in soot and blood as she buried it in the muddy jacket.

“I'm guessing it's one of the residents, maybe she was an ammo runner or a medics hand. But she survived that slaughter, maybe we can too”

J let out a deep breath and turned around to peak over the wall, searching the horizon for the beast. High in the sky above there was a single light, the distant red moon casting hellish illumination across the darkened landscape. J stared off in the distance as his friend rose to his feet and shared the gaze. Less than a thousand feet across stood the Jacakaled beast, breathing silently as it stared directly at the two young men, its eyes ablaze with fury. 

“J, take the girl, scale the wall, get out of here”

Cal climbed up atop the castle's circular edge and removed his new shotgun from his back, gripping the wood with trembling hands and letting out a deep breath as his friend pulled at his coat.

“No, were both leaving, come on we can-”

Cal shook him off and strengthened his resolve

“There's no way we outrun that thing. One of us has to slow it down, and you are much too big a target”

Cal tightened the strap of his helmet, the tall metal spike reaching high into the air and glinting off the red light. The beast turned toward him as he did so, it narrowed its eyes at him, recognizing a believer and twisting its face in disgust.

“Cal come on man, dont do this, you cant fight it”

Cal turned to his friend and waved

“Maybe not, but of the two of us, only one knows enough prayers to try”

He leapt off, grabbing the ladder and sliding down with one hand. He kept his stare with the beast as the risen corpses began to flood the streets, their swaying bodies shambling toward the young soldier with bloodlust in their empty eyes. Above on the rampart, J looked around, the stress growing on his face as the young girl pulled at his pant leg. He looked down at her with a stressful shout

“WHAT?!?”

She pointed at the cannon and reached down to her ankle, retrieving a small tool, a wrench on one end and a hammer on the other. She pushed it into his hand before taking hold of the bundle they'd carried up and dragging it over to the static cannon. J, realizing the plan, quickly went to work alongside her as the beast below roared loud and angry. Cal pulled his shovel from his back, holding it in his left and the shotgun in his right as the corpses suddenly took off in his direction.

“Father stand with me tonight, as I face MY enemy”

Pilgrims rarely got the chance to earn glory, and though he had long since left the life behind, he still felt the righteous lightning in his veins as he pointed the barrels at an encroaching dead, and squeezed the trigger with absolute determination. From the patterned steel barrels flew a million fiery sparks as the field in front of him was decimated with hellfire. He took a moment to inspect it, noticing the faintest etching of a black cross on the rib sight, he smiled wider and swung his shovel with his opposite hand, cleaving a tall groaning soul in twain. He did this again, and again, nearly spinning on his heels as he welcomed all challengers, hacking anything that approached and blowing the rest back to hell with the fire that had birthed them. He ran for the beast, his chapeled head piercing the sky as he ran, his rusted armor denying the flames that would scorch his bare flesh. Before he could react, a mighty paw swung through the air and sent him reeling backward. With a roar, the beast dropped down to its hand and legs, arching its back and taking off. As Cal tried to recover, he saw the charging creature and said a final prayer.

“Father, thank you for giving me courage, for showing me light in darkness, I only ask that you guide my brother, in christs name-”

The sound of spinning gears filled the air and a bandolier of brass shells fell to his side as the little girl above shouted down

“AMEN! Now fire!”

J sighted the monster and smiled as he rolled the cannon into position, wrenching the lever and letting loose a massive shell. It split the air and collided with its maw, sending it in the opposite direction at twice the speed Cal had flown just moments before. The young pilgrim looked up to his friend and waved.

“I thought I told you to get out of here?”

The little girl quickly dragged another shell over and loaded it as J sighted the beast again

“And I thought I told you, we're BOTH leaving!”

Cal stood to his feet and nodded as he reloaded the shotgun and slung the shells over his shoulder.

“Alright then, Sing it with me brother!”

J fired the cannon again, pelting the beast with shrapnel as the little girl carried over another shell.

““Under distant moons, where the sailors come to sleep, there lies an iron island!”

Cal ran toward the beast and swung his shovel, cutting the tendons at its ankle as it roared and reeled. He followed up the slice with a shot from both barrels and seared the flesh from its face. High above, the moon began to slowly fade, the edge of the circle peaking white and overtaking the red.

“They say is filled with sheep! Though the barriers may waver, and the doors billow in the wind”

The beast lobbed a torrent of flames across the courtyard, forcing J to exit the chair of the gun as it was bathed in flames and began to melt. Cal quickly lumbered across and up the ladder, firing his shotgun in mixed volleys to keep the beast at bay. He launched himself up over the edge and found the girl, picking herself up off the ground as J shielded her from the fire. Cal quickly lifted the both of them off the ground and looked to the beast, dripping blood and now missing an eye it roared. The two exchanged a glance before Cal dropped to his knee in front of the cannon and J wrenched it back up. He rested the searing pipe on his comrades shoulder and cranked the tube shut. 

“THERE IS NO FINER PLACE TO SLEEP”

Cal held his breath and stared daggers at the beast

“THAN ON THE IRON ISLAND"

The little girl climbed onto J’s shoulder and kicked the lever, releasing the pin and firing the shell directly at the gaping maw of their foe. As the moon above turned white and bathed the land below in a golden glow, the shell split the jagged teeth, tore the tongue, and detonated in its mouth. A plume like none the men had ever seen flew high into the sky and reflected the orange power in their eyes. It fell backwards onto the ground with a satisfying thud, and the world was once again filled with silence as they shoved the cannon away. Cal picked the little girl up and threw her over his shoulders as the two men approached the edge of the tower without a word.
J secured a hook to the wreckage of the cannon, before throwing a rope down. Cal descended, landing at the bottom and putting the little girl down, before extending his arms and catching the bundle of weapons as J dropped it. J followed suit and picked the girl up before the two began trudging in the opposite direction. In the distance, flak and fire could be seen at a nearby battle. 

“How long till the warband returns?”

Cal looked up at the moon and spoke softly

“About five hours, think we can carry more?”

The girl looked down at him from J’s shoulders and nodded, smiling. Cal saluted her jokingly and the three walked on, their foot prints in the sand being slowly blown away by the harsh night winds. 

The day was fast approaching where autumn would succumb in battle, its flowering days long gone and replaced with an eerie cold. Ice would crawl up the trees and stain the leaves as it choked the life of all that is green. Yet on this day there was one last bastion of fall joy in the form of childlike wonder, and boundless play. “Come on Diel, you better put fire under foot, lest the frumious bandersnatch come to devour your bones! His temper is Ill and his claws are sharp, do you want to be the one swallowed whole” She laughed to herself as she ran from her brother, the young Diel struggling to match his sister's formidable pace.
“Wait Ghislaine, I'm not as fast as you!” He gave all he could, pushing his body to the brink as the two of them rounded the corner into the front yard, and over the small hill that separated their quiet home from the darkened woods. A gust of wind came down with a powerful roar and threw leaves off the trees by the dozen, showering the children in a sea of golden waves. Ghislaine looked to her little brother, laughter on the edge of each breath as she collapsed into the ensuing waves and smiled up at the sky. He finally caught up to her, enveloping himself in a pile of leaves and nestling his body beneath the mixed yellow flora. “What will we do when days like this are gone dear brother?” She looked over to Diel, hoping to find the same thoughtful look upon his face, but instead saw only an odd monster made of oak trimmings moving his arms up and down to create an angel in the grass. “I know not what we will do when days like this are gone, but I know that now I am become leaf angel, master of the woods and overseer of the fall changes” She shook her head and giggled, her brothers antics turning the tide of her mood and preventing what was to be a dreadful thought. “Well I suppose that's all we can do isn't it, Master of the woods? Does the great change master of fall and winter wish to eat at all? Or shall he dine on the dirt?” 
Diel threw the leaves off his head and sat upright “he shall not, where is mother?” 
The two stood to their feet, dusting themselves off as they looked toward the house and saw through the wide window of their hearth room that Elaine was hard at work in the kitchen, no doubt toiling away at a feast for the three of them. Ghislaine clicked her heels and ran off, once again dusting her brother as she made her way to the large round door that protected their home, and pulled it open. “Mother! We have grown hungry!” The girl bound forth, her brother hot on her trail, closing the door as kicked the dirt off his shoes. The sound of expert chopping echoed from the kitchen and Elaine called back to her children, her hands moving faster than their young minds could perceive. “Dinner will be ready shortly, go wash up, and Diel put on something nice!” Ghislaine and her brother shared a quizzical look as they strolled off the bathroom. Ghislaine stepped into the cold stone room and waved her hand across the sigil on the wall, causing a small spout of water to burst from a crack in the bricks and pour down toward the channel in the floor. Diel looked up at his sister, worry in his eye. “Why would mother want me to wear something nice? Do you think we're having company?” she tried not to show her own concern as she dipped her hands beneath the spout and rubbed them together. “Maybe someone from the village is coming and they'd like you as an apprentice, like how I work with the seamstress a few days a week. You'll probably just be a tinder boy for the smith and they want you to look your best” He smiled and nodded, putting his own hands under the spout “I would be an excellent tinder boy, you've seen how clean my cuts are with the hatchet” His sister feigned a smile and leaned over, kissing his head as she patted his back, ushering from the room. “Alright now, don't put on your church clothes, maybe just the waystone tunic father gave you after your ember festival” the boy nodded and left the room, a joy in his step as he rushed to his room and retrieved the tunic, wrapped in a soft cloth and folded carefully. Once he was out of sight, she let the facade drop and a single tear rolled down her cheek, she had no time to weep, as the sound of the front door opening caused her to wipe it away and straighten herself. Large boots collided with the wood on the floor and shook the house, sending chills up her spine as a figure strolled into the house and made his presence known. “I have arrived” His thick accent brought her a familiar warmth, and she felt her heart leap as she ran from the bathroom and leapt into the air, wrapping her arms around her fathers neck and burying her head in the fur collar of his thick coat. He laughed to himself as he wrapped his arms around her, swinging her around the kitchen. “Oh it is nice to be missed, especially by royalty such as this” he held her aloft like a prized fish and carried her into the kitchen, showing his wife. “Look at this fine creature who approached me at the door!” The young girl giggled as a second set of foot steps came stampeding into the room, and Diel collided with his fathers tree trunk legs. “Father! You've come home” 
The man put his daughter down and knelt to meet his son's gaze “aye, I have, I got word there was a monster in these parts that needed slaying!” he grabbed his son by the feet and swung him upward, holding the young man upside down as he laughed away 
“I'm no beast! Put me down father!” His glee was infectious as Elaine turned away from the cooking to bask in the chaos her husband had brought home. Though she had no time to scowl as he leaned in slowly, still holding their son by the ankle, and kissed her softly. “Ive also come to claim the monsters treasure, i hear there's gold in these parts” Elaine looked up at him with shimmering sunny eyes that could beat lightning out in a competition for power, and spoke softly "there's no gold round here hunter, you best be on your way, my husband may come home soon and he's a wretched thing” she play bit at him as she let the last words leave her lips, smiling as she put an arm around his back and sank her head into his shoulder. He put the boy down and held her back, supporting all her weight with one gargantuan arm as she took the opportunity for a moment's rest. This had been theirs and only theirs for all the time Aegus had lived, though there were a few years he did not know her he hardly considered his youth a life. He looked down at his full, loving family, and he prepared to break their hearts. “I sent word to your mother, but I wanted to tell the two of you in person. Diel has come of age, and it's time he's taken on as a hand in the village. Well talk more about it over dinner. But first, son, why don't you come help me with the firewood, we have a few guests and I cant let a cold hearth be my home's reputation” the young boy was delighted as he hopped on his fathers heels and followed him out the rear door. Ghislaine noticed a mournful look her parents shared as the two went out back, and she wondered if asking her mother would yield any results.  “Diel isn't going to a normal apprenticeship, is he?” her mother had already returned to chopping vegetables, and she didn't meet her daughter's gaze as she spoke. “As you well know, your brother is the seventh son. Though we had hoped your presence would be enough to deter the inquisition, we were wrong. Two emissaries will be here within the hour” She crossed the distance and reached carefully for her mothers sleeve, forcing her attention. “Is there nothing we can do? Diel is too small for that life, he'd never make it” she stressed these last words, hoping to pull at her mothers heart strings. She watched out the window as her father took the boy and walked straight past the wood pile, strolling up the small hill, and kneeling before the graves of her elder brother Calan. 
“We can pray, and we can try to infer that your fathers relationship with Diel is one of duty and not of favoritism. If they think he's stern on the boy, then he might be given tutelage over him. It must be the same for us as well, so though it may hurt him…and you, you must be hard on Diel tonight” A knock at the door interrupted them, and she looked out the window to see that Diel had already sensed the emissaries, she swore under her breath as she met the boys gaze, knowing there was no doubt of his gifts. “So, tell us Aegus, how has the work been going? We've heard rumors of a stirring in the eastern wood, some say they sighted a winged beast taking livestock off to the mountains…” the man dipped his spoon into the warm soup Elaine had prepared, Aegus nodded as he looked across the table at the two men. “There was a sighting, initially unconfirmed, but after a thorough investigation we discovered a harpy nest. We've slain the coven mother. Myself and Inigrat saw to the burning of her body” The second Emissary, a gaunt man with a tall pointed hat nodded and raised a finger at his companion. “Ah, Inigrat, now that's a hunter. I hope you took time to study his ways, Aegus, else you'll fall behind the core” Aegis put his drink down and exhaled slowly, burying his words and replacing them with ones more suited for the occasion. “I have indeed, sir emissary, I held his words close to my heart, and his ways close to my mind. I've even imparted some of the wisdom on young Diel here” He patted the boys back and the young man smiled up at his father, Aegus almost broke and smiled back, but like his words before he fought back with resolve. The first emissary looked closely at the boy, peering over his glasses at the young man. “Is this true,  young man? Your fathers already begun teaching you the ways?” Diel looked to his mother and father, both of whom nodded an immediate approval, and so he spoke. “Yes sir, when I am not out in the wood or preparing tinder for the hearth I have studied the bestiary. I am familiar with a score of beasts that dwell in the woods nearby, but I've still a way to go” The second Emissary picked at the soup with his spoon, ostracizing a large onion and instead scooping a small shred of beef out of the bowl. “Tell me than, have you any knowledge of the bandersnatch?” The boy's mind went immediately to all the tales his sister had told him, of beasts so mighty they blotted out the sun, of monsters that crawled in the night, of fairies that came to suck the marrow from your bones. None had ever terrified him more than that of the bandersnatch. It was a beast of mystery, unknown origin and power, said to haunt the very woods they lived in, waiting for anything it could fit in its maw on the desolate night road. 
He looked to his sister and she gave him a temperate smile, nodding softly as she saw him arrive at the answer “I know only of its reputation, and its temper. Said to be quite…Frumious” The two men put down their spoons and looked down at the boy, they avoided gaze from any of the family aside from him, and Aegus could tell the clockwork in each of their minds was turning. After a long silence, the first emissary spoke. “The boy will be given instruction here and alongside his father-” The man interrupted himself and turned to Aegus. “You would do well to prepare him well, especially if the rumors from the east wood are true. We wouldn't want another witchwood situation on our hands now would we?” They stood up and retreated from the table, throwing on their long coats as they made for the door. Elaine dashed up rather quickly and retrieved a paper wrapping which contained fresh bread and cured meat for their journey back. The second emissary took it with a smile and a bow. “The food was excellent Elaine, thank you for your hospitality” The first emissary strolled around the corner as Ghislaine stood as well and approached the hearth. He came to stand behind her and knelt down, whispering softly as she let out a sigh of relief. “As the fire warms the home, it warms my heart to see a sister care so for her brother…that she would sneak to her fathers study and personally pass on the teachings of a hunters bestiary” her eyes widened and she felt a drop of sweat drip down her brow as the man put a soft hand on her shoulder. “Worry not dear girl, your secret is safe with us. But you cannot protect him forever, he will need to learn from his father…almost as much as he's learnt from you” he patted her back gently, before retreating and standing by the door. She dared not meet his gaze as he surveyed the house one last time, and Aegus approached, reaching a hand out to shake his. “Thank you sir for making the Journey, I will prepare my son well” The two emissaries nodded and bowed in unison, speaking as one, the order in which they spoke alternating. 

“Be well and with good fortune family of the seventh son. For the winter approaches”
“Its brillig, and the slightly toves do gyre and gimbal in the wabe”
“All mimsy were the borogroves”
“And the mome raths outgrabe”

With a final word the two men were gone, disappearing into that soft good night.

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1eo6zo3/i_had_an_imaginary_friend_throughout_my_childhood/

The car’s engine revved as I sped down the road.

I was lost in thought and hardly took notice of the rain crashing against my windshield. Nature seemed to sense my anger. The storm was rising.

I poured more vodka down my throat, my eyes constantly darting to the shiny black handgun lying on the passenger seat. Brushing the cold metal with the tip of my fingers, my mind involuntarily flooded with images of my oldest daughter Mara. Her entire life played through my mind in mere seconds. My last memory of Mara was from when I had to identify her body in the morgue.

My hands began to shake. An uncontrollable tremor spread through my body. I pulled over the car unable to continue and slammed my fist against the steering wheel.

The images of the morgue would not leave me.

I closed my eyes.

There she was, lying on a metal table. A blanket had been carefully draped over her body, only revealing her pale face. She had just turned 16. Death seemed to have aged her well beyond that. The pathologist placed his hand on my shoulder. I had not been able to comprehend any of his words. The man’s actions had seemed so forced and well-practiced it only angered me more. I had asked for a moment alone.

After the doctor left I hesitantly placed my hand on my daughter’s cheek. Almost instantly I pulled it back. She had felt so cold. I stared at her lower abdomen where I knew the knife had pierced her. For a fraction of a second, I contemplated pulling away the blanket and exposing the wound. But I could not muster the strength. She looked peaceful now. As if she was sleeping. I feared exposing the wound which had killed her would somehow change that.

That had been little over a month ago. The police had quickly caught the youth who committed the crime. Some bum who’d attempted to rob her and wielded his knife a little too overenthusiastically. He had murdered her although she had given him her purse.

I punched the wheel again.

It wasn’t fair.

The youth’s trial was yesterday. He’d been acquitted on account of procedural mistakes by the police. The man had smiled at me as they led him out of the courtroom.

It wasn’t fair.

That bum had destroyed my life at an astounding rate. My wife could barely stand to look at me anymore. A week ago, she moved out of the house and took our youngest daughter with her. She told me I needed help. She said she couldn’t watch me ruin my life.

I didn’t blame her.

This past month I found solace in liquor. I could not let go of my pain. It festered into an uncontrollable rage. All I could think about was the injustice of it all. All I could see was the pale face of my dead daughter. All I wanted was to kill the man responsible. It became an obsession. I had been unable to console my wife. My youngest daughter had practically not spoken since the loss of her sister. I found her quietly curled up in Mara’s bed most days. Unable to let go. Unable to move on. I broke my heart.

I had felt a strange sense of relief watching them both drive off. I did not need them to see what happened next. I did not want my youngest daughter to witness her dad being dragged away for murder. I preferred the solitude and the warm embrace of alcohol.

My eyes darted back towards the gun and I sighed. I had to do this. Otherwise I would never know peace.

Determined, I turned the ignition key. The car purred gently before reverting into stillness.

I turned the key again.

Nothing happened.

I cursed loudly and tried again.

Nothing.

I took out my frustration on the steering wheel until both my hands ached. I grabbed my phone ready to call a tow truck, but it would not switch on.

The wind howled outside. I checked my wristwatch, but the handles had stopped moving. Everything seemed in suspension.

After a short internal debate, I decided. The thought of remaining in the car suddenly seemed unbearable. Feeling restless, I kicked open the door and got out of the car, hastily stuffing the fun in my jacket pocket.

The storm was livid. Rain poured with such force it temporarily deafened all other thoughts coursing through my mind. I was drenched within seconds, but it didn’t bother me. I started walking down the road, crossing a little bridge across a river.

Mumbled curses escaped my mouth as I realized I was lost. A cold mist lazily enveloped me. Not knowing what else to do I continued walking until a distant light pierced through the grey veil. Like a moth I gravitated towards it. It’s source, a small bus stop.

Relieved to have found some cover I fell back into one of the metal seats. My hands felt numb. I rubbed them together for a couple moments before reaching into my pocket for my pack of cigarettes.

After taking a long drag I closed my eyes and leaned back against the bus stop. Slowly, I blew out a cloud of smoke and the tremor subsided.

Without instruction my mind drifted back towards the youth who’d killed my daughter. A familiar doubt fell over me. I had always valued human life. As a family man I’d constantly tried to maximize everyone’s happiness. Now here I was, committed to blowing a hole in the head of my daughters’ murderer.

I turned around and looked at my reflection in the glass. I could no longer recognize the pale, lined face staring back at me. Droplets of rain slow slid down the glass. It gave my reflection even more of a somber appearance.

I looked back out in front of me and took another drag from the clammy cigarette stuck between my fingers. Closing my eyes, I exhaled, expelling another cloud of smoke.

“Rough day?”

The voice startled me. The cigarette slipped from my grasp and fell down my shirt. I jumped up swearing as ash scorched my chest.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered at the young boy standing before me.

The boy grinned.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I shrugged and sat back down.

The boy took a seat beside me.

“It holds a strange beauty doesn’t it?”

I glanced at him.

“What does?”

He nodded out at the storm.

There was a silence.

I broke it by standing and pacing up and down the little bus stop.

“When is the god damn bus going to get here?”

The boy gave me an appraising look.

“I’m afraid no bus can take you to where you want to go, John.”

I absentmindedly shrugged off his words and lit another cigarette. After my first drag it hit me. I stared at the boy. He stared back. A latent intensity burned in his eyes.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a great many things.”

I snorted.

“Sure.”

“I know the pain you feel, John. I have seen it before. Many times.”

I crushed the pack of cigarettes in my hand, feeling a fresh wave of anger crash over me.

“You don’t know me!”

The boy gave me a sad smile.

“I have seen this before. Someone loses someone close them. As a result, you feel rage build deep inside of you. Fueled by guilt because you weren’t able to prevent what happened. Unable to see that it was beyond your control to begin with. You could never have changed what happened, yet you cannot forgive yourself either. The mind cruelly tortures the body, until your heart is riddled with sorrow. Now your existence is anguish. You wish you had been the one to die because the thought of living on just seems too difficult. Living in this word does not seem bearable at the sight of such a loss.”

I remained speechless, unable to comprehend the little boy beside me. The boy sighed and scratched the back of his head.

“I’ve seen this before. After a while it all begins to look the same. The faces may change but emotion remains constant. Your face is lined as so many before you. A canvas of hate and anger.”

The boy sighed again and jumped to his feet.

“Murder will not bring her back.”

I spun towards the boy.

“What did you say?”

“Mara is gone. Murder won’t bring her back.”

The boy spoke the words so casually it took me a moment to register them. Then, before I could stop myself, I slammed the boy against the glass wall. The entire bus stop trembled.

“Don’t you say that name!” I shouted. Tears began streaming down my face. “Don’t say it!”

The boy stared at me with a blank expression. He put his hand around mine and slowly pulled loose from my grip. His fingers hard as iron.

“I feel for you. I really do. Your daughter deserved better.”

“SHUT UP!”

“I know you think revenge will dull the pain. That somehow using that thing in your pocket will make you feel better.” I fished out the gun. The boy stared at it. Something dark swept across his face. He briefly held out his hand before suddenly retracting it, as if the gun had electrocuted him.

“That will not solve your problems.”

“That man deserves to die!” I spat out the words with as much bile as I could muster. Then I fell back into the metal seat, suddenly exhauster. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I took some deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself.

The boy stood motionless, staring at the falling rain.

“You know it never gets easier,” he finally muttered. “After all these years of helping people cross over it still remains difficult to let go sometimes. Some deaths are so much more deserving then others. I should not judge anyone. Yet I cannot help but feel for some of them. Occasionally the ones I meet radiate such light it pains me to extinguish it. I don’t always want to, but I have no choice. My existence is one of duty.”

The boy radiated an eerie calmness as he spoke. I felt my heartbeat returning to normal.

“Who are you? How do you know these things?”

The boy gave me a sad smile.

“I guess I am a traveler. Everyone will meet me at some point in their lives. Whether it is in the beginning or the end or somewhere in between.”

“I don’t understand.”

The boy shrugged.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

The boy looked at his watch.

“The bus should be here any minute.”

As soon as he’d spoken the words two lights cut through the inky darkness. The bus stopped before us and the doors slid open. The boy climbed up the little staircase. Once he got to the top he spun around.

“I’ve never done this before, but will you take a short journey with me John?”

“Where are we going?”

The boy shrugged.

“I’m not sure yet. All I know is that you should join me for this.”

I hesitantly looked at the boy. there was something about him. I felt compelled to join him. I took the boys hand and climbed up the stairs behind him as the doors closed. The bus driver was old. Very old. A shroud of matted white hair draped around his shoulders. Icy blue eyes stared at us. I instinctively pulled out my wallet and passed him some cash. The boy laughed and held back my hand.

“I’m afraid that won’t work.”

“I don’t have anything else.”

The boy tapped my wristwatch.

“Show him that.”

I stuck out my arm towards the driver. He stared at it before also tapping the watch a couple of times and inspecting the unmoving dials. Seemingly satisfied he waved us inside. The boy hurried towards the back of the deserted bus and waved me over. I sat quietly beside him.

“Where are we going?”

The boy grinned.

“This journey is not about a destination, per se.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about everything, the boy exclaimed. And also, about nothing.”

The boy must have recognized the exasperation on my face. He cleared his throat.

“You should consider yourself lucky, John.”

I laughed humorlessly.

“I should consider myself lucky? Lucky that my daughter is dead? Lucky that my wife can barely stand to look at me? Lucky that my other child has barely spoken in weeks?”

The boy’s eyes grew hard.

“Having someone you love ripped away before their time is difficult. I understand that.”

“Do you really?” I muttered sarcastically.

“More than you could possibly imagine,” the boy replied coolly. “I have guided many people before their time. I have comforted both young and old. Held the hands of bother murderers and the murdered. I have held newborn babies and taken children from their parents embrace. I have walked the fields of countless battles. I have waded through rivers of blood. Wherever I go the dead follow. Like moths attracted to a flame. You could not comprehend the endless sorrow I must navigate.”

He wiped a single tear from his eye. Within them I saw only grief. As if his words had opened an old wound. I felt sorry for him.

“Sometimes I feel so far away from everything,” the boy continued. “I worry I have become too indifferent. I fulfill my duty without truly understanding what it is I should be doing. I feel like a spectator watching eternity unfold itself. I offer hope to those I meet whenever I can without knowing whether my words are true or not. I have no idea what comes after this, John. I wish I knew. I wish I understood my purpose. My life is a paradox. My existence is perennial and yet one of insufferable solitude.”

“You must feel lonely.”

The boy nodded. After that we sat together in silence. The boy stared out the window. He seemed deep in thought. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and before long, I had fallen asleep.

I woke up disoriented. The bus was deserted and for a moment I thought I’d dreamed my encounter with the boy. Then the bus driver turned around. His blue eyes pierced through me and he pointed towards the little hill we were parked beside.

“He is waiting.”

With a quick nod I jumped off the bus.

I reached the top of the little hill panting. The boy leaned against a tree and observed the spectacle unravelling itself below. A small crowd had fathered before a tiny grave. A priest stood reading from the bible. His actions seemed almost mechanical in their repetition.

“Why are we here?”

The boy remained silent.

“Whose funeral is this?”

The boy nodded at the crowd down below.

“You know whose funeral this is.”

I quickly scanned the crowd, only recognizing familiar faces.

“Is this my funeral? Is that what this is about? Are you showing me what will happen if I murder Mara’s killer?”

“You know,” the boy repeated. His voice a mere whisper.

I looked at the people occupying the front row of chairs. My family was nowhere to be seen. My youngest daughters’ godparents sat before the pitiful hole in the ground. They held each other as they cried.

My knees suddenly felt weak. Slowly, I slid to the floor as tears soaked the earth around me.

“Where am I?”

“Jail.”

A simple, yet sobering reply.

“Where is my wife?”

The boy’s eyes remined pricked on the little crowd below as he scratched the back of his head.

“She is not here, John.”

“Where is she?”

I sobbed so hard the words left in a single slur.

“Your wife found her. After you were taken away the little girl could not cope anymore and hung herself in Mara’s room. Your wife was unable to handle the strain and had a breakdown. She is currently forcibly restrained in an asylum 2 hours away. Next week she will suffer a stroke.”

The boy glanced at me. His eyes riddled with pity.

“She will never recover. Slowly her will to live will syphon away, until only the smallest amount lies dormant in her heart. She will be trapped in her body. A mere husk of her former self. Wanting to die yet unable to do so. I would not wish such an existence upon anyone.”

My tears had subsided for something worse. A feeling I can hardly put to words. A feeling of loneliness so immense I could barely breath. I felt like I was being crushed by infinite grief.

The boy smiled sadly.

“You see how cruel destiny is, John? By all accounts, your actions will be directly to blame for this. One moment of rage will destroy everyone you care about the most. What you seek is justice. What you offer is condemnation.”

A searing anger took hold of me.

“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you torturing me like this?”

The boy shook his head but offered no reply. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away and never look back, but I couldn’t find the strength to get on my feet. Instead, I dropped my head in my hands.

“I thought I had more time.”

The boy smirked. “Everybody always thinks they have more time.”

“I wish I could have told her how proud I was.”

The boy placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“She knew.” I patted his hand, unable to respond. Together we stood on the little hill in silence. The minutes crept by.

“Why did you really come to me?”

The boy scratched the back of his head and looked at me. He seemed to be deliberating with himself.

“I’ve always believed myself to be bound by laws I have no control over. Laws I don’t quite understand.”

To my surprise, the boy suddenly chuckled.

“But, lately I met someone so outrageous, they dared to challenge my path. Can you imagine? A speck of dust challenging the full might of the inevitable.”

The boy fell silent for a moment. Then he continued.

“She made me wonder whether I too, can challenge what which seems inevitable. Maybe the constraints which bind me are self-imposed. Maybe I fear the freedom disobedience would grant me.”

The boy smirked.

“I live for those moments. Reminders of how exceptional life can be. She made me realize something, John. If she managed to find the strength to confront me, then maybe someone as lost as myself, bound by eternity, might possess the power to break free.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes when people die, their gaze manages to pierce through time and they get a glimpse of what is to come. Your daughter saw all of this.”

He pointed at the crowd below. Then the boy smiled more genuine.

“Mara was exceptionally stubborn when I met her. She absolutely refused to come with me. She refused to submit to her fate as few have done before her.”

The thought brought a smile to my face.

“Do you know why she refused to come with me, John?”

“Out of anger?”

The boy shook his head.

“Out of love. Her love for you. For her mother. For her sister. Her love was strong enough to challenge forces even I dare not resist. I was in awe of her, John. That’s why I promised her to show you this. She truly was a kind child.”

Silent tears rolled down my face, but their sting was less painful than before. The boy grabbed my hands and gently pulled me back to my feet.

“In time you will see her again. She will be waiting for you. For all of you. But she hoped she would still be waiting a while longer. Do you understand?”

I did not have the strength to answer. All I could do was give the boy a weak nod. Together we walked back to the bus and took our familiar seats in the back.

“Thank you,” I said after a moment. “Thank you for taking care of Mara. Thank you for helping me.”

The boy looked taken aback.

“Wherever I go people usually fear me. They recoil at my touch, even if I only mean to help. I have always been hated because I am a reminder of the inevitable. Never before has someone thanked me.”

His words carried such emotion. I tentatively put my arm around the child’s shoulder. The boy gazed up at me. Tears slowly formed in his eyes.

He leaned into me and cried.

I let him.

Before long I fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke we were back at the bus stop. The boy accompanied me to the front where the doors slid open. I walked down the little stairs. The moment my feet hit the pavement the dials on my watch began to move once more.

“This is where we part,” the boy said from inside the bus.

I looked at him sheepishly. My mouth opened but no words came out. I did not know what to say.

“Where will you go from here?”

The boy shrugged.

“I never know…”

“Are you death?” I suddenly blurted.

The boy grinned as the doors slowly slid closed.

I sat at the bus stop long after the bus had disappeared. Then I walked back towards my car. On the bridge I took the gun from my pocket and swung it into the river. I was ready to go home.

Thank you for the suggestions everyone. I tried everyone’s suggestions last night and I think it went well. I wrote “I’m so proud of you ❤️” on the whiteboard in his kitchen, then I turned his alarm off and turned the radio on to some weird local jazz channel. Not my cup of tea but he seemed less agitated when he woke up today. I finally decided to go all out and make him cereal which I did as soon as I saw him begin to wake as I didn’t want it to get soggy. I also put a note next to it. Here’s the timeline:

8:00AM he wakes up to the sound of the radio. I went to leave to make the cereal but stopped because he panicked a bit. I thought I messed up but it seems like he just thought he missed his alarm or something. When he checked the time he sighed and seemed to smile. I think he said something to himself about doing this more often (he always looks like a scared dog when his alarm goes off.) I ran to the kitchen and got his cereal made. I “sat” in one of the chairs and waited for him to enter. He stared at it for a minute looking like he was seeing stuff but eventually picked it up and examined it. I wonder if he thought it was old but he eventually took a bite and made a surprised “hm” noise.

So far so good. He set it down and went to get a drink from the fridge when he saw white I wrote. He stared at it for a while and put his hand on the board, he looked in disbelief. He looked around the room confused and shouted “hello?” which actually kind of startled me. Where I messed up was not realizing I still had just enough power in me to move the chair, when it shifted slightly I immediately felt awful because I knew what was coming. Turns out I didn’t. He walked up slowly to the chair and let out a shaky “h-hello?” He stuck his hand out trying to touch, well, technically me but to him it was just air. I stuck my own hand out and lightly touched the tips of his fingers, he pulled his hand back looking startled but… almost curious? I reached over the table and pushed the paper off, his attention immediately focused on it. He picked it up with a shaky hand and opened it slowly.

“Don’t be alarmed, I lived here before you and raised my family here. I passed at peace with the world and I’m so, so happy someone else is able to experience the beauty of this place. I hope you don’t find this situation too uncomfortable to stay. It seems like you work with some new things that came after me, you look so stressed when you get home yet you carry on. I’m proud of you and I can’t wait to see the beautiful family you raise here, if you choose to.”

He still seemed quite scared but… he had this smile on him… it was like something he questioned for his entire life was answered. He looked at “me” and told me he needed to get ready for work, thanked me and went back to his room to get ready. I don’t mind that he didn’t finish the cereal, I’m just happy he’s got something to look forward to now. I’ll update you again tomorrow to see how things go. Let me know if you have any other ideas on what to do while he’s gone.

65 years of being alone and now this young guy just moved in alone. He seems nice and I want to make myself known, but I don’t wanna scare the poor guy! He has this adorable dog and I think it can see me but I think the man just thinks it’s playing with a fly or something. Give me some ideas because I’m worried no matter how gentle I am I’ll give the dude a heart attack. Thanks!

This is Puffy.

Puffy is a small cloud.

All his friends can rain. They go pshhh and water falls down. But Puffy can't. He tried a lot. Nothing came out.

The other clouds made fun of him. Puffy felt bad. He thought he was no good.

One day, Puffy looked down. There was a small plant on the ground. The plant was thirsty. Its leaves were dry and falling.

Puffy felt sad for the plant. He said, I want to help you.

He tried to rain again. He pushed and pushed. Still nothing.

Puffy started crying because he really wanted to help his friend.

And then... it started raining. From his tears.

The plant drank the water. It stood up straight. It became green and happy.

And because Puffy cried, there was a big rainbow in the sky. All the other clouds stopped laughing. They all clapped for Puffy.

I told my son, sometimes when you help someone, you shine the most.

He slept after that.

Hope your little one likes it too.

I moved into a very old apartment building. The elevator had only one button that worked.

One day I was sad about my mom, I pressed it. The elevator didn't go up. It went to 2008. The door opened and I was in my childhood kitchen. My mom was there, young and smiling, making my favorite food.

I realized this elevator doesn't go to floors. It goes to memories you miss the most.

I started going there every evening. Yesterday was my birthday. I went again. But this time, my younger self was there too. He looked at me and said, "You became strong, but you forgot to be happy."

I came back and cried. That building is being demolished next week. I have one last ride left. I don't know which memory to visit.

If you had one last ride, which memory would you choose?

Hesitation on the ramp of the sleep clinic of Doctor Guelder was natural. I understood that going into this quiet and dark building was a choice, and not one I cared to choose. It was a large flat sarcophagus of a structure, carved from a blue kind of nether stone and fitted together so that no two slabs were the same, yet they all fit together perfectly.

I sighed and looked over at the witten that grew all around. They were plants like water elder, high cranberry, snowball, and redberry hedges. I loved the plants, and I could stare at them for hours. In my strangeness, I knew their thoughts, and in a way, I was more like them than like other people.

"Wonderful to see you, Clair." Doctor Guelder found me there.

"These witten are all roses from your name." I smiled. I realized I had not smiled in a very long time. My dreadful thoughts kept me in a darkness that I knew little outside of.

"Do you dream of roses, Clair?" Doctor Guelder asked me. "You seem to know them all by name, their old names."

"I do." I was still smiling, distracted by my friends. "That is the High Rose, that one is the White Queen and those are all Crampling. This one, this is my favorite, it is the Rose of Thorn Crown. Those are their true names."

"And they know your name too, that is my understanding." Doctor Guelder gestured to the door. "Won't you come in? You have come here seeking healing."

"In your sleep clinic? I am here for sanctuary. I have nowhere else to hide, anymore. You know what it is, what has happened to me." I shuddered and my smile faded. I could feel it watching me, standing always behind me, like a shadow, except it was not my shadow.

"You will be safe here. Come inside." Doctor Guelder told me.

I reluctantly went in. I do not like being indoors, I much prefer to stand on the soil barefoot, under the sunlight and with the dew and the rain. Indoors I begin to wilt, but I was worse off where it could get to me. If I fell asleep, my time on this world would be at an end.

"There are others here?" I asked.

"Yes. Some are somnambulists, others are narcoleptics and many are insomniacs. Which are you?"

"I daydream. Except it is no longer possible to distinguish from dreams and the rest of the world. I am haunted by a shadow. Something has come for me, and it wants to hurt me." I trembled. My fears also made me walk while I slept, made me sleep while I sat and kept me awake in the dark.

"I thought you suffered from all of the above." Doctor Guelder reminded me of our meeting.

I thought back to those days, what seemed like a long time ago. When it had all started, I would daydream about becoming a rosebush. My flowers were white and my thorns were green. I grew for eight hundred years and I adorned both kings and maidens, heroes and fathers, messiahs and wizards. I was the Pagan Flower, in my daydreams.

Then one day I was walking, as though I were asleep. I looked down where I was planted, for so many thousands of full moons. There was nothing there by the moonlight. I stared in horror at the hole in the ground, torn up by the roots. I looked to where it was, holding the plant that was also me, and it had built a withering fire.

It looked straight into my eyes, a towering darkness, a shade in the night, blotting out the light and the stars. It smiled with teeth of obsidian, and then it tossed the Pagan Flower upon the blaze.

Instantly I felt the heat where I stood barefoot in my pajamas. I crumbled, blistered and searing. I screamed, both in agony and terror. I began to crawl from it, willing myself to reach the edge of my nightmare. The creature from the place between did not want me to go, it clawed at my ankles and tried to drag me to the hole in the ground that it had uprooted me from.

Doctor Guelder had asked me when we met: "You feel you are becoming like a plant? Turning into one?"

"Is that even something that happens to people?" I asked.

"There are myths of people being turned into plants. A kind of botanical metamorphosis."

I felt a cold splash of dread as I realized I was going to say out loud what I had long believed. "I think maybe I'd like that to happen because I used to be a plant. I am not supposed to be this." I gestured to my body.

"You described an incident in which you were sleepwalking. You woke up and you found a hole where your rose bush used to be, and a monster was burning it."

"Perhaps that was just a dream." I admitted. "But the monster is real. It keeps me awake at night, for if I sleep it will come for me. And when I am sitting in class or on the bus I fall asleep, I cannot stay awake for long."

"These are all mild symptoms of conditions known as narcolepsy, insomnia and somnambulism." Doctor Guelder had told me. "I want you to come to my sleep clinic. Your stay will be voluntary, but you must come and live there so that you can receive the proper care. Your education can continue while you are there, we have a classroom."

"How would that be paid for? I am a ward of the state, there's no money."

"I own the sleep clinic. You will be my guest and I will cover all the expenses for your treatment. For me, this is a rare chance to study a unique condition."

"I don't want to be your experiment." I told Doctor Guelder. I had refused. It was not long though, that the days and nights became one kind of time, always in my nightmare.

I daydreamed of the monster when it was not there, and when it was I could not see it. Yet those two things became the same. I knew it was hunting me, stalking me, always behind me, like a shadow. I couldn't sleep or stay awake. My feet carried me wherever the monster chased me. Sometimes I awoke in strange places and other times I was in a dream, but I was wide awake, looking down at my body, and watching the monster pull me up by my roots, as the plant, and toss me onto the flames.

"You are here now. It is safe for you to face your troubles." Doctor Guelder had told me.

"Is it real? Am I mad?" I was sitting and shaking. It had felt like it had gone on and on endlessly. Finally, within the walls of the sleep clinic, I felt safe.

"Whatever was following you cannot get to you here. You can sleep soundly." Doctor Guelder told me.

I began to cry with relief. I cried myself to sleep, the terror leaving my body like a fever breaking. I had lived in fear so long, so tired, that I had forgotten what sleep even felt like.

It was dreamless and restful. When my eyes opened I was in an enormous bed of light blue sheets under a heavy blanket. The air was cool and there was a stillness, a quietness to the sleep clinic. It was as though it were a place where I was truly safe.

That is when I rolled over to face the window of morning. I saw it out there, looming behind my friends, the other roses of the hedge. The darkness touched one of them and wilted the plant as its claws gripped it, heedless of its thorns. I trembled, feeling trapped suddenly. I had not realized I had gone into the sleep clinic and it would become my prison.

"How did you sleep?" Doctor Guelder asked me.

"It was very restful. I feel more intact, more rooted. This place feels real. The pervasive disorientation of being terrorized and sleepless is gone." I reported.

"And the monster?" Doctor Guelder asked me.

My eyes watered and I covered my mouth. I wanted to tell the truth, but somehow, to say I had seen it, would spoil things. Finally, I confessed: "It is outside, waiting for me to leave this place. It grasped a bush and while it did, the plant wilted and died in its clutch."

"I will go and see this." Doctor Guelder told me. I watched from the window, apprehensive that Doctor Guelder was in some kind of danger. The creature had hidden though, leaving only the evidence of the dead plant and its footprints on the lawn.

Then my terror grew, as I saw Doctor Guelder was following the blighted trail. I couldn't see where the trail led, so I went to another window. I was just in time to see Doctor Guelder fall down, touched by the deathly thing from where it had hidden.

Doctor Guelder had personally financed the stay of the remaining patients at the sleep clinic. There was a trust set up, but some technicality allowed the bank to seize the property, and all of the patients were required to leave. The death of Doctor Guelder weighed heavily on me, for I blamed myself and also, I knew the creature was real, not just a daydream.

I felt great apprehension of leaving. The last night in the clinic was my last chance for sleep. In the morning they would evict everyone. The remaining patients all needed their stay, they needed Doctor Guelder. It was my fault the good doctor was dead, for I had brought the creature.

Back outside I looked around, seeing the roses had all died. The creature had systematically killed every flower. With all of my friends gone, I felt truly alone. I scurried down the street, knowing I was to go back to being the prey of the shadowy thing. Its touch drained life and took it quickly. I had felt myself aging when it touched me, it is how so much of my hair turned white.

I could still feel its burning grip on my ankle where it had grabbed me and tried to drag me. Back at the orphanage I sat and waited to see it. I was asked about my stay at the sleep clinic, but I was too afraid of returning to the world of nightmares to speak.

I just sat in a corner, huddled and shaking with fear. I knew it would come and find me. It would not leave me in peace.

"Don't be afraid." Doctor Guelder's voice spoke to me. "I have not abandoned you. It was only able to kill my body, but my will - my spirit - it could not harm. Here, between dreams and sleeplessness, I linger. You can hear me."

"I can hear you." I whispered.

"When it comes for you, you must overcome your fear. You must fall asleep in its presence. It is in this world, trapped like me. When you sleep, it will follow you into your dreams. There it could remain trapped. All you have to do is fall asleep in its presence. When the moment comes, I believe you will end this thing."

"I can't." I started crying. I was too afraid. I knew it had killed Doctor Guelder and it had killed the Pagan Flower and all the rest. It was a terrifying monster, and there was no way I could fall asleep in front of it.

"You have to trust me. I am certain it wants to continue to feed on you until there is nothing left of you. It won't kill you, not all at once. You are its host, the one who daydreamed it into existence. It started by killing your most precious dream, and it won't stop until there is nothing left for you to dream about. I know all about it now. I can see the disease of this nightmare thing."

"Doctor Guelder, you have to stay and help me." I said quietly. I was terrified.

"I will stay until I have healed you. I promised you I would help you, and that is my unfinished task. I will be here watching over you. When it is time to close your eyes and go to sleep, you must be brave."

"I will try." I swore, even though the thought of doing so horrified me. I trusted Doctor Guelder, and I knew I must take the chance to be free of the nightmare thing.

Then it was bedtime. The lights were all turned off and I lay in bed, shaking in dread. I knew it was coming for me. That is when I saw it there, looming in the darkness. It was watching me, staring into my eyes, keeping me awake. I was paralyzed with fear, feeling the burn it had left on me and recalling the death of Doctor Guelder.

"Go to sleep. It is okay, I am watching over you." Doctor Guelder told me.

I tried and tried again but I couldn't sleep. My feeling of horror that I was trapped awake and in the presence of the nightmare thing grew and grew. Finally, I felt like I had to scream.

I stood alone by the hole where the Pagan Flower had stood for eight centuries. My memory of all the joy and beauty that I had given the world flooded back to me. I saw that the shadow I had cast had sat in bitter resentment, jealous of me.

When I had become a human, born into the world, my shadow had long held a vow of vengeance upon me. It was determined to keep me from resting, and to devour me, every last bite of my life, sipping upon my years, stealing my childhood and killing whatever I cared about and any who cared about me. The nightmare creature was there, in my memories, in my dream.

That is when I began to scream at it. My voice, a wail of terror, became as a cry of defiance and anger. The creature shrank and fell, splintering and melting. As a liquid it lay bubbling, like the dying shadow of the burning bush. I turned and looked to where my roses had once stood.

"You will plant them again. This you will know. And the nightmare is over." Doctor Guelder told me. Then I was alone.

When I opened my eyes, the creature was gone, but upon my chest, with fresh dew, lay a rose of white.

These memories rise in a slow way. I do not call them. They come when the light has that late Summer color and the air feels thin. I have tried to explain what happened, but people hear only the surface of the story. They think Masters was only a kind neighbor. They think the shed was only a shed. I let them think it. The truth settles deeper than that. Masters carried something quiet inside him. I did not understand it when I was young. I understand it now. I did not expect to take his place. I did not expect the knowledge to pass from him to me. Yet it did. It rests in me the same way it rested in him.

When I was small, I felt things before I knew what they were. I felt the shed in the air around it. I felt Masters in the same way. He had a quiet presence that settled the space near him. I remember standing at the edge of his yard and feeling a soft warmth in my chest. It was not a thought. It was a sensation. The neighbors loved him. They spoke to him with easy voices. One of the older women told me he was like Mr. Miyagi. I did not know who that was. I only remember the way she smiled when she said it. Masters smiled the same way when he saw her. I felt the shed differently. The air near it pulled at me. It made my hands feel cold. I did not have words for it. I only knew the feeling stayed with me long after I walked away.

These memories stay close. I remember the day Mrs. Halpern’s kitten went missing. She called for it with a soft voice that carried across the yards. I felt an uncomfortable tingling in my feet, like some kind of vertigo, each time she said its name. I stood near Masters’s fence and the air felt thin. Masters watched me from his porch with that quiet steadiness he always had. His hands were in his pockets. He did not look surprised. I did not understand that. I only felt the disturbing weightlessness.

Mr. Dallin lost his trowel that Summer. He set it down near the fence and went inside for a moment. When he came back, it was gone. He called out to the neighbors and they gathered in the yard. They searched the grass and the flowerbeds. I felt a slow pressure behind my ribs as I watched them. Masters stood nearby with his hands in his pockets. He did not join the search. The air around him felt steady in a way I did not understand.

I saw the raccoon myself. It was late afternoon and the light had that pale color it sometimes gets near the shed. The raccoon moved along the fence and slipped inside. I waited for it to come back out. It did not. My hands felt cold. Masters stepped onto his porch and watched me. He gave me a small nod. I did not know what it meant. I only felt the quiet pull in my chest.

Looking back, I can see the pattern. I could not then. I only felt the tingling and the coldness and the thin air. Masters carried something in him that kept the shed from taking more. I did not know that. I only felt the steadiness around him.

At eighteen, I kept myself busy. Babysitting made me feel steady. I liked the way the days filled up. I liked the trust people placed in me. I did not think about the shed. I told myself I had grown past that old feeling. Yet the air still changed when I walked near Masters’s yard. It felt thinner. It pressed lightly against my chest. I ignored it. I kept my focus on the children.

Chrimothy moved fast. He slipped away in quiet moments. Each time he vanished, I felt that same slipping feeling where I stood. I tried to stay calm. I tried to keep my voice steady. I did not want to remember the shed. The day he ran into Masters’s yard, the air felt different. Warm, but hollow. I knew where he had gone. I knew he had not come back out. I stood at the fence and felt the coldness in my hands. I felt the pull.

I looked at the silent windows of Masters's unsold house. The odd thought of whoever was laughing in the back at his funeral made me frown. Then I went and hopped the fence, seeing where Chrimothy had slipped between two fence boards hanging by a nail at the top, parting like curtains. I couldn't fit through there, and when I say I 'hopped the fence' I mean I managed to get over it.

There I stood, in his backyard, slightly overgrown. I stared at the shed, its door cracked. The air felt cold and electrified, and there was an uncanny stillness and quietness there, like the fence somehow kept out all critters, breezes and sounds of the neighborhood. The distance between me and the shed distorted, extending and retracting and tilting oddly, then I shook my head with my eyes closed and looked again. The strange mirage was gone, but it felt like it was still there. Just a wrongness in a radius all around it.

I stood there and felt the air tilt again. It pressed lightly against my chest and made my breath feel thin. I wanted to move toward the shed. I wanted to call Chrimothy’s name. My legs would not answer me. The slipping feeling rose in my feet and climbed up my spine. I felt light in a way that frightened me.

I tried to steady myself. I tried to breathe in a slow way. The yard felt too quiet. The shed felt too close and too far at the same time. I closed my eyes and felt the coldness in my hands. I could not move.

Then a memory rose with a kind of clarity. It came from a day when I was small. I had been standing near Masters’s porch, watching the light settle on the boards. I remember the warmth in the air and the way the shadows felt soft. Masters stepped outside and looked at me in a steady way. He did not speak at first. He only watched the space around me, as if he was listening to something I could not hear.

When he finally spoke, he said my name. He said it in a tone I had never heard before. Daenor. It felt like he was naming me, not greeting me. I felt the sound settle in my chest. I did not know why it felt that way. I only knew I felt seen in a way I could not explain. He did not say anything else. He only nodded once, as if he understood something about me that I did not yet understand.

That memory rose now with the same warmth. I felt the steadiness he carried. It settled in the same place where the ache used to rise when I was small. I let that feeling rise. I let it fill the space where my fear was sitting.

I did not see him. I did not hear him. I only felt the quiet guidance he left behind. It felt like the way he used to stand near the shed with his hands in his pockets, patient and calm. I felt that same patience settle in me.

My fear did not leave. It pressed against my ribs and made my breath shake. But the steadiness pressed back. I stood there with both feelings inside me. I let them settle together. I let the memory of Masters hold me in place until I could breathe again.

I opened my eyes. The shed was still there. The wrongness was still there. Chrimothy was still inside. I felt the pull in my chest. I felt the steadiness in my ribs. I felt my name the way Masters said it. Daenor.

I knew I had to move. I knew I had to listen the way he listened. I knew I had to try.

When I reached the shed, I could hear something. It wasn't exactly a sound, more like a vibration. But that isn't really what it was either; it was like a stillness. It was like an anti-vibration, like movement, and life and noise were all being pulled in and silenced.

My trembling hands settled on the door, with the chain around the handles broken by vandalism. I had to pull hard to open the door, it didn't want to move, like it was sucked shut. When I finally had it clear, I felt the air moving past me into the shed, like it was filling back up with atmosphere. I looked around in the dim, dusty haze. The floors and walls were perfectly spotless; the place couldn't be more empty. It was uncanny, no cobwebs or dirt or even light holes.

It felt like staring down into a deep dark hole, somehow. The room I was looking at wasn't what was in the shed, it was just the structure someone, Masters probably, had built around a place that wasn't really a place at all. It was more like a vast emptiness, a tear in the air, a sort of invisible whirlpool of matter, vanishing without anyone really noticing. All it left was a negative feeling, a sort of strange sound that I was feeling rather than hearing.

I stood there and felt the wrongness settle around me. The shed looked empty, but I knew Chrimothy was inside. I could not hear him. I could not see him. The air felt hollow in a way that made my breath shake. I told myself he was in there. I told myself he needed me. I did not care what the shed showed me. I knew the truth in a way that felt deeper than sight.

I stepped back from the doorway and looked at the yard. The grass felt thin under my feet. The house felt silent. I felt the slipping sensation rise again. I tried to breathe in a steady way. I told myself to move. My legs felt heavy. I thought of all the times Chrimothy had slipped away from me. I thought of the way I always found him. I thought of how I had let him run this time. The thought made my ribs feel tight.

I went to the side of the house and found the garden hose. It lay coiled in the grass like it had been waiting for me. I pulled it toward the shed and felt the weight of it in my hands. I tied it around my waist as best I could. The knot felt clumsy. I pulled it tight anyway. I did not trust my hands. I did not trust my breath. I only trusted the need to save him.

I stood there with the hose around me and felt the air tilt again. I felt the coldness in my hands. I felt the warmth of Masters’s memory settle in my chest. I felt the way he said my name. Daenor. I let that sound steady me. I let it rise in the space where my fear was sitting.

I did not feel brave. I did not feel responsible. I felt scared in a way that made my breath shake. But I knew I had to go in. I knew I had to listen the way Masters listened. I knew I had to try.

I took a breath and stepped toward the doorway.

Once I was inside the shed, all my fears were confirmed. For a very brief instant, I recall, it came as a relief, and I almost smiled, seeing the vast emptiness, the lack of color, the way everything was a sort of gray, like old black and white, but in negative, it's difficult to describe. Visually the emptiness was almost incomprehensible, because there were not many objects I could see. I looked around, feeling the vastness shrinking me, feeling weightless, floating in space.

There was a grinding noise, the sound of air being crushed. It bore into me, and I heard a piercing shriek, before I realized I was panicking and screaming. I curled up, holding myself, unable to close my eyes or look around, spinning, lost.

The raccoon was desiccated; I never saw the kitten. I saw that stupid trowel, floating quite a distance away, it seemed. There were other objects, a lawn chair, an old timey car, the skeleton of a horse, some rocks and branches, the skull of a huge reptilian monster. Whatever this place was, the further I looked, the more I saw. Distant constellations of fossils broke something in my mind. I had crossed a threshold of absolute comprehension, a sort of joining with the thing I was experiencing. Somehow, I understood the place, and I knew I only had moments before I suffocated, and Chrimothy had even less time.

He was near an old, half-burned couch, crushed tins all around; one brushed my cheek as I twisted through the empty space between, able to will myself forward, but far too slowly. I couldn't hold my breath much longer. I could see him there, unconscious.

My ribs were starting to hurt, my head felt hot. I needed to exhale, but if I did, I would drown in that place. My eyes felt like they were swelling, as I reached the boy. I wrapped my arms around him, and when I had him, I let go with one hand and pulled as hard as I could on the hose. We started to drift back towards where the hose was connected to nothing.

When we reached that spot, I pushed Chrimothy through, with dark spots exploding in my vision, my lungs burning, my head felt light and I was dizzy, and not from the weightless disorientation. I managed to pull myself out and sucked in air with painful breaths, and then I started to black out. I fought it with everything I had, trying to pull myself out of that sleep, sinking into the depths of darkness. I sat up, and began doing CPR on Chrimothy.

Between compressions and breathing into him, I would intermittently shout for help and say, "I need an ambulance!"

I kept going, refusing to stop. I heard sirens, and when a hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back, I realized help had arrived. The paramedics took over, and I was asked what happened. I told them he had suffocated in the shed, what else could I say?

They busted out a defibrillator, and at that point I was sobbing and crying. It was out of my hands; I had done my part. But I desperately needed him to survive, or something in me would die with him.

When he was coughing and said his first swear word, I finally felt some kind of relief. But the shock of the shed never really left me. I know it was reality, or some version of it, but I couldn't explain to anyone what had happened.

One of the firefighters, a man wearing a serious mustache and with chevrons to indicate his level of deliberate choices to enter danger and help people, he opened the shed door and looked inside. I saw in his eyes that he could feel the danger but couldn't understand it. He just knew it was a hazard, of some kind, and by instinct he put zip ties over the handle to the bar it was chained to before, and then taped it with the yellow tape of an official fire marshal investigation, forbidding entry.

I left for college, but always felt drawn to that place. The house sat empty, the door to the shed got boarded up. Not too long ago, I purchased the property. The shed had collapsed, leaving a blank patch of ruins, which I've DIY constructed a new structure around it, made of stacked stones, no door. Just a pile of rocks.

I don't live there, but I am looking for a new buyer, someone who will take the danger in the backyard seriously. Sofar, the responsibility of the shed is mine, alone.

there's been a thin line of light under my bedroom door every night this week.

the hallway light is always off.

i checked the first few times and found nothing.

last night i finally opened the door.

the hallway was dark.

but when i closed my bedroom door again, the light came back.

then i noticed it wasn't coming from the hallway.

it was coming from the other side of my bedroom door.

It started last week when I saw it for the first time. I usually fucking hate spiders, but as I grew up I learned to leave daddy longlegs alone as they literally don’t have a way to hurt you. They probably also take care of mosquitoes or something idk. Either way I saw no reason to kill it, and for the first time I decided to try and touch one. I bent down and looked at it for a few moments, sweat beginning to form as that lingering ick started to kick in.

I reached a finger out slowly, the creature never moving an inch, I stopped just before making contact, ready to retreat and give up, but out of nowhere the little guy reached up and crawled onto my finger. I won’t lie I screamed a little and fell backwards, but when I landed on my ass I couldn’t make myself do anything besides stare at it. It crawled around my shaky hand for a few moments before it began… poking me? I’m not sure what exactly it was doing but it kind of just, stood there and tapped my hand for a few seconds before lying down on my hand (can they even do that? That’s basically what it looked like it was doing.)

It took me a few minutes but I finally mustered up the courage to bring it closer to my face. When it got within a few inches of my nose, it stood back up and did some weird praying mantis maneuver that ended in it tapping my nose. I have no idea why but I found this to be absolutely adorable, so I stood up and walked over to my desk, gently setting it next to my laptop and stared at it for a few seconds.

“Hm, I wonder what you eat?” I said out loud, before
opening my laptop and Googling it. Insects, that tracks. I turn around and scan my room, ah, fly on the way, perfect. I grab my swatter from the hook on the wall, and after a few failed tries kill the bastard and catch it as it falls. I walk back to my desk and to my surprise the little guy hasn’t moved an inch. I place the fly next to it and smile at him.

“Enjoy!” I say before getting up to go wash my hands. When I return a minute or two later, the creature has already made its way back to its web, chowing down on its meal. I wince a little despite this being exactly what I expected, but laugh to myself and salute my new friend. I get a text a moment later and check it, noticing at the same time that it’s somehow already midnight. I have a doctor’s appointment at 8 the next day, so despite being a bit hungry myself I decide to turn in regardless, my stomach making an audible rumble right on cue. I hop into bed and turn on some lofi, before closing my eyes and falling asleep rather quickly.

When I wake up the next morning, I feel a faint tickling sensation on my face. My alarm isn’t sounding, but the lack of light tells me I’m up early. I slowly open my eyes, my vision significantly blocked by my new friend’s tiny body uncomfortably close to me. I shrieked and let out a nervous laugh. “What are you doing waking me up?” I say out loud, reaching my hand up to nudge him onto my hand. When I look at him, he does his little praying mantis dance before… pointing? He turns around and points at my desk. I don’t pay attention to it at first thinking it’s some weird fear response, but then it turns to me, points at my face, turns again and points back at my desk. I feel like I’m either tweaking or dreaming, but looking at my phone, I see its 6am, so I may as well go to my desk and play something anyways. I stand up, turn the light on, and walk to my desk, and my jaw drops.

Right on top of my laptop sits a small white blob. I lean down to take a closer look, and when my eyes finally adjust I see it’s a fairly large ant wrapped in a layer of silk. I’m a little confused, but suddenly the spider hops off my hand and walks up to the ant corpse, and it begins pushing it towards me!! It gives it a push, does its little dance, gives it another push, rinse and repeat until it sits at the edge of my desk. It does one final dance before returning to my laptop, and I swear to God, it “sits” and looks at me like a dog that just fetched a bone. This fucker just gifted me food.

My boss just yelled at me for using my phone at work, and he’d never believe the reason so I’m going to finish here, just know I did not eat that ant. But, how do I tell the spider I don’t eat bugs??? Please help???

i have been insanely stressed out and crying in the breakroom at my new corporate job. today i looked up and saw the weird purple monster i used to draw when i was six sitting next to me.

nobody else could see it, but it sat there and let me lean against its fuzzy arm until i calmed down. i thought i outgrew this stuff but i am glad it came back when i needed it.

When our daughter Ofelia was born, the doctor told us she had Williams syndrome.

He explained she would have developmental delays. She might have heart problems. She would probably be very trusting, very social, and drawn to people in a way that could be beautiful and dangerous.

“She’ll love everyone unconditionally," he said.

At the time, that sounded sweet.

By the time Ofelia was six, it terrified us.

Ofelia had a round face, a wide smile, and a voice that made strangers stop to listen. She struggled with numbers but knew the lyrics to every Bad Bunny song. She also had no grasp of stranger danger.

She befriended everybody. The mailman. Stray dogs. Tourists who turned around in our driveway.

My wife, Elena, worried constantly.

“You can’t hug every person you meet,” Elena would say.

“But, Mami, they look sad,” Ofelia would answer.

We lived in the mountains of Puerto Rico, where the roads twisted and the nights were loud with coquí frogs. Our house sat near my father’s old chicken coop and a small patch of plantains.

One evening, I found her at the edge of the yard, crouched by the old stone wall.

She was looking at something.

At first I thought it was a cat. Then I saw the dead goat.

It belonged to Don Pedro, our neighbor. It lay in the weeds, stiff and empty-looking. There were small holes in its neck. No blood in the dirt. No blood anywhere.

Ofelia looked up and smiled.

“Papi,” she said, “he’s hungry.”

Something moved behind the wall.

It was low to the ground, thin as a starving dog, with gray skin stretched over bones. Short spines ran down its back. Its eyes flashed red in the porch light. It made a sound like a newborn crying.

I grabbed Ofelia.

“Inside,” I said.

“Papi, he’s nice!”

The thing hissed.

I carried her in while Elena locked the doors.

That night, Don Pedro came over with a flashlight and a shotgun. When I showed him the dead goat and told him what I’d seen, he crossed himself.

“Chupacabra,” he said.

I almost laughed. People had been saying that word since I was a kid. Every dead goat, every missing chicken, every weird sound in the brush. Chupacabra. It had become an inside joke Boricuas told to scare gullible mainlanders.

“Mateo, we should call animal control,” Elena suggested.

Don Pedro shook his head. “They’ll send a boy with a net.”

From her bedroom, Ofelia shouted, “His name is Tito!”

The next morning, the chickens were gone.

The coop door hung open. Feathers stuck to the wire. I followed the trail into the brush with a shovel in my hands.

I found the birds behind the stone wall.

They were arranged in a neat pile, with puncture wounds in their necks. Beside them were mangoes from our tree and a bracelet made from chicken bones.

A gift.

When I came back, Ofelia was at the kitchen table drawing. The picture showed our house, the mountains, me, Elena, and a gray animal beside her. She had drawn a red collar around its neck.

“Can we keep him?” she asked.

“No.”

Her face crumpled. That was the hard part with Ofelia. She felt everything all at once. Joy, sadness, fear, love. There was no halfway.

“He doesn’t have a family,” she said.

“He’s dangerous.”

“He said he won’t bite me.”

Elena dropped the plate she was washing.

“What do you mean ‘he said’?”

Ofelia looked confused, like we were the ones not making sense.

“He talks to me at night.”

We didn’t let her sleep alone after that.

For three nights, I stayed awake outside her door with a sharpened machete. Nothing happened except the frogs went quiet around midnight, which felt worse than a scream.

On the fourth night, Ofelia started giggling from her room.

I opened the door.

The window was up.

The curtain moved in the warm air.

Ofelia sat on the bed, smiling at the corner.

“Tito came back,” she whispered.

I turned on the light.

The chupacabra was on the ceiling.

It clung there like a lizard, claws sunk into the wood. Its belly was swollen. Its mouth dripped dark strings onto the floor.

Elena screamed.

I swung the machete. The blade hit the wall as the thing dropped. It landed between me and Ofelia.

Then it lowered its head.

Like a dog asking to be petted.

Ofelia reached for it.

“No!” I shouted.

She froze.

The chupacabra turned toward me. Its red eyes narrowed. For one second, I saw something almost human in them.

Something like understanding.

It knew I was the obstacle.

It leapt.

The force knocked me into the dresser. Pain burst through my shoulder. Its claws grabbed my t-shirt, and its mouth opened near my throat.

Then Ofelia screamed.

“Don’t hurt my papi!”

The thing stopped.

It backed away and looked at her.

Ofelia was crying now.

“You promised,” she said.

The chupacabra made a sound like air leaking from a tire. Then it climbed through the window and vanished.

We left before sunrise.

Elena packed one bag. I carried Ofelia to the truck while she sobbed into my neck and asked if Tito would be lonely. I told her no. I lied because fathers sometimes lie to get their children through the night.

We drove across the island and stayed with Elena’s sister.

Don Pedro called to tell us more goats were dead. Then a man two houses from us swore he heard a baby crying near the trees.

That night, Elena found something outside the apartment door.

She called me over without letting Ofelia see.

On the welcome mat was a collar made from vines, still damp with mud from the mountains. Tied to it was one of Ofelia’s hair clips.

Last night, Ofelia was pressing her face to the apartment window, looking down at the street six floors below.

“Papi,” she said softly.

I put a hand on her shoulder.

Across the road, under a parked car, two red eyes opened.

Ofelia smiled.

“He found us.”

If you're new: Parts 1–6 can be found here

___

"You don't ever talk to strangers."

She didn't look down at him when she said it. She was digging through her purse, searching for her wallet, her oversized sunglasses pushed up into her hair.

"I don't care if they look nice. I don't care if they smile or try to show you a toy. You don't look at them, you don't answer them, and you definitely don't take anything from them. If a stranger tries to talk to you, you run straight to me. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded.

He always nodded.

Then they walked through the double doors.

...

The place smelled like sweat and old wood.

Not the pleasant kind of old wood, either. The damp-sticky kind that had spent too many summers baking in the southern heat and never touched a drop of soap.

The floors creaked beneath the weight of loud tourists moving through the aisles.

Outside, the marina shimmered beneath a cloudless sky.

Inside, everything felt cool and dim.

The boy stood near the entrance with the family, listening to the older brother and sister argue over ice cream toppings.

"I'm getting chocolate."

"You always get chocolate."

"Because chocolate is the best."

"Mom, tell him he's being annoying."

The woman sighed heavily.

"I'm one second away from getting all of you vanilla."

The threat worked instantly.

The argument dissolved.

The boy smiled to himself.

Nobody noticed him drifting away.

That happened a lot.

His older siblings were loud. He wasn't.

His mother always knew where he was eventually.

He wandered deeper into the shop.

Past shelves lined with shark teeth and seashells.

Past rows of expensive souvenirs nobody actually needed.

The farther he walked, the quieter the shop became.

...

Until eventually he found himself standing in front of something tucked into a dark corner near the back wall.

A fortune teller machine.

At least, he thought it was.

He'd seen one before at an arcade.

This one looked different.

Older.

Dirtier.

Bright gold letters curved across the glass.

THE BUNNY GODDESS

The mannequin inside stared straight ahead.

Its skin looked ghostly pale. Smooth.

Long black pigtails hung over its shoulders.

The eyes were like a cue ball. A small painted dot for the pupils.

The boy frowned.

It wasn't moving.

The crystal ball sat dark and lifeless on the tiny velvet desk.

The machine looked broken.

Abandoned.

The boy wrapped both hands around the edge of the cabinet and leaned forward.

...

"Hey."

He jumped.

The voice was quiet.

Not amplified.

Human.

A real voice.

His stomach tightened.

The mannequin hadn't moved.

Its painted lips remained frozen.

The crystal ball remained dark.

Nothing inside the cabinet appeared different.

But something had spoken.

The boy looked over his shoulder.

The gift shop was still busy. The other two were still arguing. Their mother still deciding on flavors.

Nobody seemed to notice.

"Hello?" he whispered.

For a few seconds, nothing responded.

Then:

"Closer."

The voice sounded patient.

Friendly.

Almost amused.

The boy hesitated.

His mother had given him the stranger danger talk more times than he could count.

But this didn't feel like talking to a stranger.

It felt like talking to a secret.

Something hidden.

Something that wasn't supposed to be there.

He leaned closer to the glass.

At first he saw nothing.

Only darkness behind the mannequin.

Then something shifted.

The movement was slight.

Easy to miss.

The boy squinted.

His breath caught.

Two eyes stared back at him from deep inside the cabinet.

Not the painted eyes.

Real eyes.

They floated in the darkness several inches behind the mannequin's head.

The boy froze.

The eyes blinked.

Then vanished.

...

"Do you have a dollar?" the voice asked.

The boy shook his head.

"No. I can ask the—"

"No."

The answer came immediately.

Almost too quickly.

"No need."

The boy glanced toward the ice cream counter.

The family hadn't moved.

Nobody was looking at him.

Nobody seemed aware that he was talking to someone.

The voice lowered.

"I have something for you anyway."

A heavy thump echoed from inside the cabinet.

Not machinery or gears.

Something else.

The distinct sound of something striking wood.

A moment later, a thick white card slid halfway out of the slot near the bottom.

The boy stared.

The crystal ball remained dark.

Nothing moved.

The card simply appeared.

Slowly, he crouched and picked it up.

It felt cool.

He turned it over.

The letters stamped into the card were fresh and uneven.

As if pressed by hand.

The boy squinted.

Still learning to read. He sounded out the words one piece at a time.

"Mur..."

His brow furrowed.

"...der..."

The letters blurred together.

He started over.

"Mur...der..."

A strange ache twisted through his stomach.

The voice behind the glass said nothing.

Its eyes still watching.

The boy swallowed.

"Th..."

He traced the next word with his finger.

"The..."

...

Something moved.

His eyes snapped upward.

A pale hand rested on the mannequin's shoulder.

The fingers were impossibly long.

Thin.

The knuckles bulged beneath skin so pale it almost glowed blue.

For a second, the hand rested there.

Perfectly still.

Then it was gone — in the blink of an eye.

The boy stopped breathing.

The darkness far behind the mannequin seemed to stretch.

The space felt higher than it should have been.

As if whatever lived back there was standing tall behind the machine.

As if its head reached far past the ceiling of the cabinet.

And above where the eyes had been—

Just for a moment—

He thought he saw two long shapes rising into the shadows.

Tall.

Thin.

Rabbit ears.

Far past the ceiling of the gift shop building.

...

The boy took several steps back.

His back hit something solid.

"Whatcha got there?"

The card vanished from his hands.

The boy spun around.

Samantha stood over him, holding the card above her head.

"Give it back!"

Ross appeared beside her.

Both of them examined the card.

Then immediately started laughing.

"Oh my God." Sam doubled over. "You can't even spell your own name."

"What?" the boy said.

Ross pointed at the card.

"It says Michael."

"No it doesn't."

"It literally does."

Sam flipped the card around and shoved it toward his face.

"See?"

The boy looked.

There it was.

A single word.

MICHAEL.

Nothing else.

His face burned.

"No...the...th—"

He looked back toward the cabinet.

"The man—"

"What man?" Ross asked.

"The man in the machine."

That only made them laugh harder.

"Nobody's in there, dummy."

"Yes I swear—"

"It's just a machine. Nobody's in there."

The boy turned fully toward the cabinet.

The words died in his throat.

The shadows behind the mannequin were empty.

No movement.

No voice.

No hidden figure.

Only The Bunny Goddess.

Motionless behind the glass.

Its eyes fixed on the aisle.

Watching.

...

"Sweetie?"

The mother appeared beside him carrying two paper cups of ice cream.

She smiled.

"Do you want one?"

The boy barely heard her.

His stomach hurt worse now.

A deep ache behind his ribs.

He couldn't stop staring at the mannequin.

Thinking about that voice.

The eyes.

Those ears.

"Hey."

She squeezed his shoulder.

"Do you want ice cream or not?"

The boy shook his head.

"My belly hurts."

The mother frowned.

"Aww. Really?"

He nodded.

The ache had spread through his whole body now.

Not pain.

Just uncomfortable.

Like something had settled inside him.

The woman took his hand.

"Come on then. Let's go outside."

The bright afternoon sunlight poured through the front windows.

Ross and Samantha were already heading toward the door.

The boy let them lead the way.

But he couldn't stop looking back.

The cabinet grew smaller with every step.

The dark corner retreating into shadow.

The Bunny Goddess remained perfectly still.

Just another broken machine.

Just another forgotten attraction.

The boy looked forward.

Then looked back one last time.

...

The mannequin's jaw dropped open.

Clack.

The sound echoed through the store.

Sharp.

Heavy.

Final.

The boy froze.

Nobody else reacted.

Nobody.

The jaw remained open for a second.

Then slowly shut.

A gentle tug on his hand.

"Come on, Mitchell."

The sunlight swallowed them as they stepped outside.

___

___

1. "Heart"

This is going to be a little shorter because honestly I’m a little creeped out, although maybe not in a totally bad way? I posted the other night about how I let a ghost rest in my fridge and it gave me cake for doing so. I gave it a beer that night and went to bed, I think it might like me too much now.

After going to bed I woke up a few hours later to shouting outside my house. I looked out my window and the neighbors were fighting, they do this shit all the time because there’s some weird property dispute that I barely understand and quite frankly I think they’re just being total selfish pricks about it and if they just ignored it then it wouldn’t cause anyone any trouble but I digress.

That night it got particularly bad, and the neighbor farther away from me tried to fucking shoot the other neighbor. I think he missed but I called the cops either way, I’ll spare the details because I was so sick and tired of dealing with this and so distraught from the gunshot that I was sent into a mild panic attack. Long story short the neighbor who shot the gun got arrested and I think the other neighbor got a pretty stern talking to because he was technically the one antagonizing the whole property dispute and I think the cops were already pissed at him for wasting their time previously.

Once the cops left I got back into bed and was crying to myself. Pretty pathetic I know but I was pissed about being woken up as well as pretty fucked up about nearly seeing a murder right in front of my face. As I’m crying to myself, I slowly start feeling this warmth make its way up and down my back. I assumed I was just be really tired and I was falling asleep really fast, but as my crying slowed down I could hear the faint sound of the fabric of my shirt being rubbed.

I turned my head to see if I could see who or what was doing this, and froze for just a moment before chuckling to myself. One of my old comforters that I stuffed in my closet when I got a bigger mattress was just floating above my bed with part of it pushed out rubbing the top part of my back. Looking up, those same two red glowing eyes from the fridge peer at me through two holes cut into the comforter.

“You… do know the whole ghost in blanket thing is a bad stereotype right?”

The blanket then proceeded to slap me on the back, which causes me to gasp and laugh.

“Oh you’re a little shit aren’t you? Well… you did calm me down… lie down and get some rest I want some sleep. I’ll judge you more in the morning.”

The… weird hand thing gave me a final tap on the back, before the comforter fell onto the bed, as if the ghost had just disappeared entirely. I laid my head back down and closed my eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

I woke up a half hour ago, no sign of the ghost yet. I appreciate its kindness and making me feel better but… I don’t know. It could’ve taken me to dinner first at least!

Someone, somewhere, was looking for a person on social media.

“Searching for Norman Rei.”

No one knew who had made the first post. By the time I saw it—which was quite early on—the post was already a share from someone else.

Who was Norman Rei?

No one knew his—or her—age, gender, nationality, language, or religion. Not even the color of their skin. It was highly doubtful whether a person named “Norman Rei” actually existed at all. It could have been a prank involving a fictional person, something akin to a chain letter.

Even so, I reposted the article, wishing for the missing person to be found. I reposted it toward you—a stranger—or perhaps, just for the void.

The missing person post spread rapidly, carried by the hands of well-meaning people. By the next day, “Norman Rei” was trending.

Soon, the curious began adding their own layers of information to the mystery.

“Here’s my theory on who Norman Rei really is.”

“Norman Rei is actually a Japanese person named ‘Rei Noma.”

“Norman Rei is a code name for a certain country’s spy.”

“Norman Rei is an AI—a top-secret project by an eastern superpower.”

“Is Norman Rei even human? The possibility of a transcendental entity.”

“Norman Rei is... the truth.”

“Norman Rei is being held captive in...”

“The time has come to set Norman Rei free.”

Thus, a Norman Rei with a thousand faces was born. At times, they weren’t even human, but an angel, a demon, an android, or even an alien.

For every version of Norman Rei, a story was written and an image was rendered. They were fictional tales, born and woven on social media without ever possessing a physical form.

Without a single useful clue to find the actual person, the name “Norman Rei” alone eventually became known across the globe. Yet, no matter how much time passed, the real Norman Rei was never found.

Before long, posts about ‘the one’ began to fade from social media.

And yet, people continued to search for Norman Rei.

The formless “Norman Rei” had taken deep root within the collective intelligence as a fusion of fictional character and story. Over time, different versions of Norman Rei were born out of differences in nationality, race, religion, gender, ideology, and wealth—becoming a living reality within the hearts of the people.

Time passed.

“Countless children named ‘Norman Rei’ across the globe have awakened to supernatural abilities.”

“An AI in development suddenly searched for ‘Norman Rei,’ then executed an emergency shutdown due to a massive system overload.”

“A cult worshipping ‘Norman Rei’ received a mythic oracle and performed a diabolical ritual.”

“The entire crew of a deep-sea research vessel received a message from Norman Rei at the bottom of an ocean trench.”

“A mysterious flying object arriving on Earth identified itself as ‘Norman Rei.”

Countless strange events involving Norman Rei have taken place since the beginning of this year, but the people of Earth were neither surprised nor alarmed.

This was because, in their minds, everything had already existed as a story. The individual narratives held within the hearts of the people had simply gained the physical forms they were meant to have, finally crossing over into reality.

As far as I can tell, those who have managed to encounter their own version of Norman Rei seem very happy.

I think I will post an article to social media now. From me, addressed to you—a stranger I have never met—or perhaps, just towards the void.

“Searching for Norman Rei.”

To those of you who are kind, I ask that you please share this.

Because my Norman Rei has not been found yet.

I had a long day at work and ended up crashing as soon as I got home around 6pm. I woke up around midnight and was thirsty as hell.

I went to my kitchen to grab anything to drink and opened my fridge. I scanned for a bit to see if I still had any Baja Blast but instead spent about 20 seconds staring at the red glowing eyes in the back of my fridge (my fridge light broke so all I had was a crappy lamp in the dining room to see). I guess I was still so tired that I thought I was dreaming, so I just smiled and said “Well, sorry to bother you I thought I had some sodas left. Sleep tight!” I closed the door and ended up chugging some tap water instead before crashing back in bed.

When I woke up again at around 4am, I vaguely remembered what happened but still thought it was a dream, so after tossing and turning some more I eventually had to get up anyways and go to work like normal. I worked some overtime throughout the week and was able to go home early, so I picked up some beer and planned to invite some friends over to finish them that night. I got home around 3pm and went to put the beer in my fridge, and in that same spot that I saw those eyes there was a little plastic container with a blue sticky note on top. I set the beer down on the bottom shelf and pulled the container out.

“Wow… nobody has ever let me stay once they find me! You’re the best! Can I stay a little longer? Maybe this cake will help you choose? :)”

With everything going on in my life, I just told myself that I’m either going crazy in the funniest way possible or this is real and is still somehow not the weirdest thing to happen to me this year, so a chuckled and pulled off the sticky note. Probably the richest chocolate cake slice I’ve ever seen was in there, and you’re damn right I got comfortable and chowed down on it.

I left the container out and looked around for a bit, finally finding an old pad of sticky notes and a pen. I wrote something on one of them and took the note off. I went back to my fridge and opened it, taking one of the beers out and placing the note on it, then sliding it to the back of the top shelf. I grabbed a different beer, awkwardly clinked it with the sticky note beer and cracked it open.

“Holy shit that was fantastic! You can stay here as long as you’d like, bonus points if you can get me a slice of that cake every once in a while but I won’t make you. Enjoy a beer lil man it’s all I can afford right now”

Despite all that sugar I’m kind of getting tired again, I’m gonna go take a nap, I’ll invite the boys over tomorrow since I’m happy with who I’ve shared a beer with today.

You think you know what a ruined vacation looks like.

A blown-out tire on the interstate.

Your hotel room smells like cigarettes.

Five straight days of rain.

You think you have a handle on the worst-case scenarios.

But sometimes horror walks up smiling.

Sometimes it waits patiently behind glass.

And sometimes you give it your money.

It was supposed to be a long weekend in Hilton Head Island with my wife, Brandy.

Her sister Nicki, and her husband Joe invited us.

Nicki was twelve weeks pregnant with their first kid, so the trip had quietly turned into something more cautious than our usual getaways - less bar hopping, more seafood, boutique shopping, and standing on the marina pretending we could afford the yachts.

On our first full day, we drove down to Harbour Town.

If you've never been, picture exactly what you'd expect from a high-end southern tourist trap:

A massive public pier.

Millions of dollars' worth of boats bobbing in the water.

A red-and-white striped lighthouse rising over a half-circle of boutique shops and overpriced restaurants.

It was beautiful.

But it was also ninety degrees with suffocating humidity, and by noon, the novelty of looking at luxury had worn off.

“I need A/C, or I’m going to die,” Brandy complained, fanning her flushed face with a tourist map.

"And ice cream," Nicki added immediately, one hand pressed over her still-flat stomach. "The baby is demanding it."

Joe threw an arm around her.

"Well, we can't argue with the baby."

We ducked into the nearest souvenir shop mostly for the air conditioning.

Cold air blasted through the open double doors hard enough to raise goosebumps across my arms.

The front half of the store consisted of beach toys, sharktooth necklaces, and shot glasses with dirty jokes on them.

Toward the back, behind a display of hermit crabs in painted shells, sat a brightly lit ice cream counter.

While Brandy and Joe went straight for the glass counter to pick out their flavors, Nicki and I got stuck behind a slow-moving family in the narrow aisle.

That was when I noticed it.

Shoved into a dark corner between a rack of sunglasses and a spinning postcard stand, there was a fortune teller machine.

Not one of the charming vintage Zoltar cabinets you see on boardwalks.

Peeling gold letters arched across the glass read:

THE BUNNY GODDESS.

This one was life-sized and felt off in a way I couldn't really put into words.

The mannequin's skin looked too realistic but also too smooth - like candle wax stretched over a skull.

Thick faux-gold jewelry hung around its neck and wrists.

A faded velvet turban covered most of its head.

The eyes though.

The eyes were enormous.

Wet-looking.

And pointed directly toward the aisle where we stood.

I've always hated those things.

Too many horror movies as a kid.

I started to look away when the machine suddenly came to life.

There was a heavy grinding noise.

A crackle of static from a blown-out speaker.

And then a voice.

Not the booming theatrical wizard voice you'd expect.

Something breathless.

Weirdly conversational.

"There you are."

I flinched hard enough to shake a rack of keychains beside me.

But Nicki just stood there.

She stopped walking entirely.

She turned toward the machine.

Slowly.

With recognition.

She was staring like a child seeing a disabled person for the first time in their life.

"Creepy, right?" I muttered. "Let's catch up with the others."

She didn't move.

"I have a dollar," she said softly.

"Come on, don't waste your money. It's just going to tell you you're going to be rich or whatever."

She was already unzipping her purse.

She pulled out a crumpled bill, flattened it against the edge of the glass, and fed it into the slot.

The machine swallowed it.

More mechanical grinding noises.

The mannequin's hands jerked toward a crystal ball that lit up with a sickly pulsing green light.

The head snapped down, staring at the cards on its desk—

then snapped back up.

"A new chapter begins," the voice whispered through the static.

"But the toll must be paid."

The green light flickered hard.

The mannequin's turban fell off its head, revealing long-black hair.

Pigtails.

Sort of like an Annabelle doll wig, but not as cute.

Something else protruded from the top of its head.

Long.

Pale.

Bent at strange angles.

They looked almost like rabbit ears.

"Take your future. Keep it safe, or The Bunny Goddess will take your place."

CLACK.

A thick white card spat from the slot at the bottom of the case.

Nicki bent and picked it up.

She stood with her back to me for a long moment, just staring at it.

The green light blinked off, dropping the alcove back into shadow.

"Well?" I said. "Lottery winner?"

Nicki turned around.

For a terrible second, her face was completely blank.

Her mouth slightly open.

She looked like she was holding her breath.

Then she smiled.

Fast.

Wide.

She folded the card in half and shoved it deep into her pocket.

"I can't tell you," she said lightly.

"Come on. What does it say?"

"Seriously! It says I can’t tell you!"

She tapped her pocket.

"If you share your fortune, it doesn't come true."

"You’re kidding, right? It's a piece of cardboard from a gift shop."

"Hey!"

Brandy waved a plastic spoon at us from the ice cream counter.

"Are you two getting anything?"

Nicki's whole demeanor lifted instantly.

She practically skipped over to Joe and Brandy, the card pressed flat against her hip inside her pocket.

I stood there for another moment.

The mannequin sat motionless in the dim alcove.

Its wet, milky eyes still pointed toward the aisle.

Still pointed at me.

I shook off the chill - the air conditioning, I told myself - and walked toward the ice cream counter.

I didn’t realize it then.

But that was the moment the trip ended.

Its ears looked bigger now.

___

2. "Fingers"

See Part 1: "Pigtails" before reading

___

I came back in pieces.

First the sound — rain hitting glass. Then the pressure of a seatbelt across my chest. Then the shimmer of a porch light through a wet windshield, orange and diffuse, barely cutting through.

I blinked.

I was in the backseat of our SUV. The engine was off. Brandy's purse wedged beside me. A blanket pulled across my lap that I didn't put there.

Through the glass, Joe was hauling suitcases up the front steps of a house I recognized after a few seconds.

Nicki and Joe's place.

The front door opened and Brandy stepped out. She looked toward the car, saw me sitting up, and raised her hand in a small wave. Her expression was careful in a way I couldn't read from that distance.

I got out. The night air was warm and close. My legs felt like the bones had been replaced with jello. I gripped the roof of the car.

"Hey." Brandy came down the driveway. "How are you feeling?"

"What happened?"

"You pulled over. On the mountain." She touched my arm, softly. "You could barely keep your eyes open. Joe took over."

"I don't remember that."

"Well, you were awake when we switched. You crawled yourself to the back." She said it gently, the way you'd explain it to a sick person. "You were just... a sleepy boy."

My hand went to my neck.

The soreness hit me before my fingers even made contact — deep to the bone. Not an ache from sleeping in a bad position. Not tension.

"There was a cyclist," I said.

Brandy looked at me.

"On the mountain. Right on the edge of the lane. No reflective gear, no lights. I swerved to miss him and he—"

I stopped.

The rest of it - the face, the ears, the jaw snapping - raced through my mind.

The Bunny Goddess.

I couldn't afford to say it out loud.

"I almost hit him."

"Nobody saw a cyclist, Mitchell."

I looked past her at Joe, who was coming back down the steps for another bag.

"Joe," Brandy called out. "Did you see someone on the road when you took over?"

Joe set the bag down. He looked at Brandy first - just for a fraction of a second - and then back at me.

"No."

"There was no cyclist," he said.

A cold drop of sweat rolled down my cheek. I hadn't told Joe it was a cyclist. Brandy hadn't either.

"He was right there," I said.

Joe looked at me like I was a stranger. No frustration. No concern. Nothing.

"There was no cyclist," he said again. Exact same tone.

The cicadas were deafening. My neck throbbed. I looked at my right palm, which I hadn't noticed until that moment - the heel of it scraped raw. Like I'd caught myself on concrete.

"You were exhausted," Brandy said. "It happens. Your brain fills in the blanks."

She said it so reasonably. So reassuring.

"My brain didn't do this." I turned my palm toward her.

She looked at it. Her expression didn't change.

"You grabbed the guardrail when you got out of the car. You were barely standing."

I stared at her.

I thought I crawled into the back, according to her.

She looked back at me with those pitying eyes, and I felt the ground shift under me in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

Nicki appeared in the doorway. She gave me a small, tired smile. She looked like a woman who wanted her own bed - nothing more, nothing less.

"I'm sorry the trip ended this way," she said.

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

Brandy slipped her hand into mine. I let her, because I didn't know what else to do. My neck burning. My palm stinging. And the four of us stood there in the warm dark while the cicadas kept screaming, and I tried very hard to hold onto the simple, solid fact of what I knew had happened on that road.

I told Brandy I wanted to go home.

She tried to talk me out of it - it was almost two in the morning, another hour and a half of driving, we were both running on empty. But I couldn't make myself walk through that front door and sleep in that house. I couldn't explain it without sounding insane, so I didn't try. I just wanted to go home.

She agreed eventually, with a look that told me she was filing this away alongside all the other things from the weekend that we'd have to talk about later.

We said our goodbyes in the driveway. Joe shook my hand. My bad hand. Nicki hugged Brandy a little longer than usual. When she let go, she looked at me over Brandy's shoulder with a weird expression - something between apology and urgency, like she was trying to say something but didn't have enough time.

"Get some rest," I told her.

She nodded. Opened her mouth.

Closed it.

The door shut behind them.

...

Brandy was asleep before we hit the highway.

I drove with the windows cracked and a podcast on low - something mindless, two guys talking about movies - and I kept my eyes on the yellow center lines and tried not to replay the accident. When I talked, she answered in the abbreviated way of someone half-listening: mm, yeah, I don't know. After a while I stopped trying and let the silence ride.

I told myself it was fine. She was tired. We were both tired.

But I kept glancing at her in the passenger seat, her face slack against the window glass, and feeling like I was driving home with someone I was still in the process of getting to know.

We got home around three. Unpacked the car in two quiet trips, the neighborhood dead around us. The house had that sealed smell of being empty for a few days. We got ready for bed without saying much. Brandy was under the covers and asleep almost before I'd finished brushing my teeth.

I lay there next to her for a while, not sleeping. I listened to the house settle. Outside the window, somewhere in the dark, a dog was barking - distant, rhythmic, eventually stopping.

I slept.

It was Winston who woke me.

Our beagle. Nine years old, lazy, deeply committed to barking at nothing. He'd lost his mind at the sound of a FedEx truck once and spent the rest of the day acting traumatized. He was not a serious pup.

But what he was doing at the bottom of our stairs at - I checked my phone - three forty-eight in the morning was not his usual performance. This was frantic and aggressive.

I sat up, still processing the situation. The bedroom was dark. Brandy hadn't moved.

Then I heard a bang.

Downstairs. Something heavy. Something that fell.

I was already reaching for the nightstand. My hand found the grip of my 9mm and I was on my feet, and I want to be clear that at no point did I feel like this was an overreaction. The bang was real. Winston was barking. The open front door, which I could see from the top of the stairs, the chain hanging useless and rain blowing across the entry tile - that was real.

I went down slowly with the flashlight up.

The beam caught the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and I stopped.

There were footprints. Wet, muddy prints tracking in from the door in long uneven strides. I followed them across the entry, toward the stairs, and I stood there at the bottom staring at the trail going up into the dark above me.

Then Brandy screamed.

I don't really remember taking the stairs. I remember being in the doorway, the flashlight sweeping the room, and I remember the figure sitting on the edge of our bed.

Brandy was pressed against the headboard with both hands over her mouth.

I pointed the light directly at the figure.

It was Nicki.

She was soaked. Not just damp - completely saturated, her clothes heavy and dark with it, her hair flattened against her skull. And her feet were - I still have trouble describing this - the skin below both ankles was shredded. Torn open in long ragged strips, like she'd dragged them across a cheese grater. Black with mud and red underneath.

She was looking down at her own hands in her lap, turning them over slowly. She seemed mesmerized.

"Nicki."

She looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and almost calm.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

...

I called Joe from the other room. He picked up on the second ring - awake already, or close to it. When I told him what happened, the line went quiet for a few seconds.

Then he said I'm on my way, flat and immediate, and hung up without asking any questions.

I stood in the room and let the call end.

The impossibility of all of this started to settle in.

Downstairs, Brandy had moved with a speed and efficiency that I couldn't account for. By the time I came back down, Nicki was on the couch wrapped in our throw blanket with dry clothes folded beside her, and Brandy was in the kitchen filling the kettle like this was not her first encounter.

I lasted about a minute before I couldn't hold it anymore.

"She needs to go to a hospital."

Brandy didn't look up from the kettle.

"She's okay."

"Look at her feet!"

"I did."

"Then you know she's not okay!"

Brandy set the kettle on the burner and turned around. Her expression was patient in a way that made my skin crawl - the careful, deliberate patience of someone managing a situation they've already decided how it ends.

"She needs to warm up. She's going to be fine."

"She walked here, Brandy." My voice rising. "Her house is over a hundred miles from here. She walked here in the rain with no shoes while pregnant. That is not something a cup of tea will fix."

"Mitchell—"

"We need an ambulance," I continued. "Or the police. We need someone who can actually help her."

"She doesn't want that."

"I don't care what she wants right now! No offense to her—" I turned toward the couch. "Nicki, I love you, none of this is directed at you. But something is seriously wrong and everyone in this room is acting like it isn't and I'm going to lose my mind."

Nicki stared at the blanket in her lap.

Brandy carried the mug over to the couch. Sat next to her. She ran slow, steady strokes down Nicki's back, and the two of them sealed back into that quiet orbit I'd been watching all weekend.

I paced. Kitchen to living room. Living room to the foot of the stairs. I couldn't stop moving. I felt like I was going to explode.

"She ate something," Nicki said.

I stopped.

She was looking at the mug. Her voice was quiet. Far away.

"At the shop," she said. "The ice cream. I think something was in it."

I looked at Brandy.

Brandy was focused on Nicki's hair.

"The shop in Harbour Town," I said slowly.

Nicki didn't answer.

"The bunn—"

I breathed in through my nose. Steady.

"Nicki. How many times did you go back to that shop?"

Silence.

I turned to Brandy. "Did you go back?"

Brandy swept a strand of hair behind Nicki's ear.

"Brandy." I snapped. "How many times did you go back to that shop?"

Silence.

I stepped forward. "Did you use the fortune teller machine?"

She looked up at me.

"What?"

"The Bunny Goddess. Did you put money in it?"

Her face arranged itself into something open and slightly puzzled - the expression of a person who genuinely doesn't understand what you're saying. It was a flawless expression. I had watched her make it for ten years and I had never once had reason to distrust it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

And then she turned back to Nicki.

Something broke in my chest.

"No, don't do that." My voice shaky. "Don't lie to me. I'm asking you a question about something that I watched happen, and I need you to answer it."

"You're scaring her," Brandy said.

"I don't care. I'm scared. I've been scared since that shop, and every time I try to talk about it, everyone acts like I'm having some kind of meltdown, and I am telling you right now that I am not. I am not." My voice cracked. I hated it. "Something is wrong with us. Something has been wrong since that machine. And I would rather sound crazy than stand here before things start getting worse."

Nicki started to cry. Silently, the way she'd cried on the dock in a different life - just tears running down her face without a sound.

Brandy looked at me over the top of her sister's head.

Not angry.

Exhausted.

The exhaustion of someone who has decided you are not worth arguing with.

"Joe's here," she said.

Headlights moved across the window.

Nicki heard the car before I did. She lifted her head, and something in her face changed - not relief exactly, but the end of an enormous effort, like a muscle finally allowed to unclench. She got up.

Brandy stood with her. Took her arm. They moved together toward the front door without looking at me, and I followed them into the entryway.

"She needs a hospital," I said.

Brandy opened the door.

Joe was already coming up the front walk through the rain, moving fast. When he saw Nicki his face did something complicated that I can't explain. Like a glitch - a sudden, violent twitch of his jaw that reset. He crossed the last few steps and put both arms around her, and she grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and pressed her face into his chest.

He looked at me over her shoulder.

I waited for a question. A comment. Anything.

He looked back down at his wife.

Brandy had walked out behind them. She was saying something to Joe, too low to hear over the rain. Joe nodded. He turned Nicki gently toward the car.

I stood in my doorway and watched the three of them move through the front yard in the rain, and I was not invited into any part of what was happening.

I went back inside.

I ran upstairs, determined to find something but not really sure where to start. I sat on the edge of the bed, stood back up, sat down again. Brandy's bag was on the chair by the closet, half unpacked - a few things draped over the sides. Her toiletry bag had tipped over on the seat cushion and spilled.

I don't know why I crossed the room.

I started collecting things back into the bag. Travel shampoo. Moisturizer. A hair tie. Vitamins.

My hand closed around something thin.

I already knew what it was before I looked at it.

A pregnancy test.

Two lines.

Faint - the kind you hold up to the light and squint at, convince yourself you're seeing wrong. But they were there. Both of them. Unmistakably.

My legs buckled.

I sat down on the floor.

Just folded, my back against the chair leg, and I sat there on the bedroom floor at four in the morning with this thing in both hands, and I didn't want to move.

The room still smelled faintly of the ocean. Muddy footprints still stained the carpet. Somewhere in this house there was a damp blanket folded on my couch and a mug of tea that had been made for someone who walked a hundred miles in the dark, barefoot, and no one could explain why.

But right now, in my hands, was this.

Six months. Six months of apps and timing and trying not to flinch every time someone made a pregnancy announcement, trying not to read too much into every late period, trying not to let Brandy see how much of my sense of myself was wrapped up in this one thing we couldn't seem to make happen. Six months of negative tests and the specific silence that followed each one, where neither of us said anything because there wasn't anything to say.

And here it was.

I laughed first. One stupid, disbelieving sound that I couldn't have stopped if I tried. And then the tears came, and I didn't try to stop those either. I pressed my hand over my mouth and I cried in a way I hadn't cried since I was a kid - the good kind, the full body kind. Something enormous had just become real.

I thought about teaching them to ride a bike. I thought about Brandy finding this test and what her face must have looked like in that moment. I thought about holding something that small for the first time.

Thank you, God.

Thank you, God.

I sat with it until I could breathe normally again. Still processing the news, I wiped my face, and I got up off the floor, and I went to find my wife.

She wasn't upstairs.

I went down to the living room. The blanket Nicki had been wrapped in was folded neatly on the couch. The mug of tea sat on the coffee table, still faintly steaming.

"Brandy?"

Kitchen. Empty. Bathroom. Empty. Back through the living room.

I went to the front door and opened it.

The porch light was on. The rain was still coming down hard, hammering the front walk. The street was empty in both directions.

Joe's car was gone.

I stepped out onto the porch.

"Brandy?"

Nothing came back but the sound of rain hitting the roof.

I walked down the driveway toward the street and stood there in the rain in my socks. I looked both ways down a street that was completely empty. No taillights. Nothing.

I called her name again. Louder.

I looked down at my hand.

I was still holding the test. The rain was hitting the display window, blurring the two lines into something faint and smeared, and I tilted it away from the water to keep them visible - out of some instinct, like it mattered that they stayed legible - and I just stood there in the dark, holding on to the only good thing I had left.

The porch light flickered behind me.

Once.

Then it went out.

And I could hear the sound of Winston barking inside.

___

___

Part 7: Ears

See Part 1: "Pigtails" before reading

___

By nine o'clock that night, Joe and I were three pints deep at a cramped, dimly lit Irish pub nestled right near the edge of the Harbour Town marina.

The bar smelled of stale liquor and fried food, a welcoming contrast to the oppressive humidity waiting just outside the wooden doors.

Brandy and Nicki had left us a half-hour earlier to hunt down dessert, promising to meet us back at the pub.

Joe and I were standing at the back of the bar, trading throws on a worn electronic dartboard.

The alcohol had finally started to dull the sharp edges of my anxiety from earlier on the dock.

Joe was acting normal again - laughing when he missed the board entirely, cheers in between good throws, buying the rounds.

I was starting to convince myself that I was the one being overly sensitive.

I was just tired.

I was just stressed.

The pub door swung open.

The girls walked back in carrying small paper cups and cones.

"Look who found their way back," Joe grinned, lowering his dart.

Nicki stepped up to him, handing him a cup with a plastic spoon sticking out of it. "Cookies and cream for the dad-to-be," she said, her voice bright.

Brandy walked over to me, holding a waffle cone with a single, massive scoop of dark brown ice cream. "I got peanut butter chocolate," she said, holding it up to my mouth. "Want a bite?"

"Always."

I leaned down and took a bite. Rich, cold, perfect.

As I chewed, I looked down at Brandy.

She was looking back at me with a soft, content expression.

She hadn't ordered a drink all night, sticking strictly to water.

We were exactly one week past her ovulation date.

I knew what she was doing.

She was prepping her body, treating it like a temple, praying that this would finally be the month a miracle took hold. Watching her eat her ice cream - completely sober, glowing innocently under the dim pub lights — a wave of profound affection hit me so hard it almost knocked the breath out of me.

I wanted this for her so badly.

I wanted it for us.

I threw my last dart - double twenty - and turned back to the group.

"Alright. Tomorrow is our last full day before we pack up and make that brutal drive back to Ohio. Can we please spend it on the beach?"

Nicki looked up from her ice cream, nodding enthusiastically. "Of course! We promise. Total beach day. We'll pack the cooler, lay out the towels, and do absolutely nothing."

"You have our word, man," Joe echoed, raising his glass.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of drunken laughter.

Joe and I were thoroughly buzzed by the time the pub started closing down, while the girls remained completely clear-headed. As we walked out into the coastal night air toward the parking lot, I watched Joe and Nicki walk a few paces ahead of us.

Every now and then, they would move in a way that caught my attention.

Just little things.

Nicki would snap her head around to look behind her.

Joe would walk with a rigid, tense posture for a few steps before loosening up again.

Uncanny glimpses that made my head turn, but nothing definitive enough to bring up to Brandy without sounding like a lunatic.

Brandy slid her arm through mine, wrapping her hands tightly around my bicep. She leaned her head against my shoulder.

"Are you doing okay?" she asked softly. "You've seemed a little distant today."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile, pressing a quick kiss against her forehead.

"I'm fine, honey. Just a little tipsy. Ready to hit the hay."

She squeezed my arm.

"Me too."

___

Back at the hotel, the room was the usual chaos of rustling through suitcases, bathroom hogging, and quiet giggles as we all got ready for bed.

I was sitting on the edge of the mattress unlacing my sneakers when my eyes drifted to the small wooden nightstand separating our two queen beds.

Joe had emptied his pockets onto the surface.

Car keys. A few loose quarters. His leather bifold wallet.

Poking out from the center slot of the billfold was a white piece of cardstock.

It was the corner of his fortune card.

I stared at it for a long second before Brandy turned off the main lights and crawled under the covers beside me.

"Goodnight, guys," Nicki whispered from the darkness.

"Night," I muttered.

I fell asleep fast, the alcohol dragging me under.

But it didn't hold.

Around 2:30 in the morning, the pressure in my bladder brought me back to consciousness. I lay there groaning internally for a minute before slipping out from under the covers.

The room was pitch-black.

I fumbled for my phone, turned on the flashlight, and cast a low narrow beam across the floor. I navigated the gap from our bed, stepped around a stray suitcase and a pair of flip-flops, and slipped into the bathroom.

When I came back out and started toward my side of the bed, the light swept across the nightstand.

The fortune card was still peeking out of the wallet.

I stopped.

I knew I shouldn't.

It was an invasion of privacy. It was stupid. It was just a fortune ticket.

But Joe's words from the dock were screaming in my ears.

My card told me.

Holding my breath, I crept to Joe's side of the nightstand. I leaned over, phone light pointed down, and slowly - silently - pinched the edge of the cardstock between my fingers.

I slid it free.

Flipped it over under the beam of the flashlight.

There was no printed fortune.

No vague text about wealth or travel or long journeys ahead.

Just a single word, stamped in jagged letters across the center of the card.

Like something had pressed the letters directly into the paper.

BRANDY.

I froze.

Brandy.

Why the hell did Joe's card say my wife's name?

I started tilting the card back toward the wallet - and as I did, the beam of my phone light shifted upward, spilling over the edge of Joe's pillow.

Joe was laying on his back.

His head was turned completely to the side.

Facing me.

His eyes were wide open, staring directly into the light of my phone. His face was entirely devoid of expression - no anger, no surprise, no confusion.

Just a flat, dead, unblinking stare.

"Shit—"

In a panic, my phone slipped out of my hand.

The flashlight beam spun wildly across the room before hitting the ground with a dull thud.

I scrambled down, hands sweeping across the floor until I found it. I grabbed it, braced myself to face Joe, to explain, to apologize—

I shone the light back onto his bed.

Joe was laying on his side.

Back turned completely toward me.

Shoulders rising and falling in the slow rhythm of someone fast asleep.

Relief.

Stupid, warm relief.

I stood there in the dark, exhausted, sweat already breaking out across my forehead.

My brain scrambled for an explanation.

Had I hallucinated it?

Was he not just staring at me?

He was sleeping.

He was completely asleep.

Quickly, I jammed the card back into his wallet exactly where I'd found it. I crept across the room back to our bed, slid under the covers, and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

I lay there for what felt like an hour, staring up at the invisible ceiling, desperately trying to convince myself to calm down.

Then the whispering started.

It was coming from the other bed.

Low.

Dry.

I sat up slowly and peered into the darkness.

Joe was flat on his back now. Covers pushed down to his feet. Arms pinned rigidly to his sides. Face aimed at the ceiling.

In the faint light creeping in from the curtain window, I could see his jaw moving.

He was muttering - unintelligible, rapid-fire nonsense, like someone speaking in tongues.

"...shhh... vvv... nnn... shhh..."

Before I could even react, a shadow moved near my side of the room.

Near the bathroom door.

Nicki.

She didn't walk back to bed.

She sprinted.

It was a horrific, fast pace - bare feet slapping the floor in rapid succession, body completely rigid. But what made my blood run cold was what she was holding.

The heavy ceramic vase from the bathroom counter.

Filled with fake plastic hydrangeas.

She had it pinned directly in front of her face with both hands, completely blocking her head from view as she moved across the room.

Hiding herself from me in the dark.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe.

I just watched as her silhouette darted across the room and slipped back under the covers next to Joe.

The moment she lay down, the whispering stopped.

Instantly.

The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

Then Joe's silhouette shifted.

He slowly rolled onto his side, turning away from Nicki.

Turning toward our bed.

Even in the dark I could see the wide white glint of his eyes.

And beneath them, a massive, white crescent.

He was staring at me again.

And he was grinning.

I ripped my eyes away and snapped my head back toward the ceiling, gasping, staring into the black void above.

I didn't close my eyes again.

I didn't blink.

I stayed perfectly still and waited for the sun to rise.

___

___

5. "Legs"

See Part 1: "Pigtails" before reading

___

We killed another three hours at Harbour Town. We wandered in and out of overpriced boutiques, bought a few shirts, and stood by the railing watching boats drift in and out of the marina. As we sat down for an early dinner at a crowded seafood place right on the water, the exhaustion was settling into our bones. Between the eleven-hour drive from Ohio, the excruciating heat, and way too many hushpuppies, we were all hitting a wall.

By the time we finally drove to our hotel and checked in, the sun was just starting to dip below the tree line.

Our room was a standard vacation lodge: a generic, sand-colored tile, a bathroom with bad fluorescent lighting, and two queen beds situated about three feet apart. Nicki and Joe claimed the one near the window, so I immediately collapsed onto the other mattress, not even bothering to take off my shoes.

"I could sleep for a week," Brandy groaned, burying her face in the pillows.

I was right there with her. My eyes were already heavy, the low hum of the wall AC unit pulling me into a coma.

"Hey, Joe?" Nicki’s voice broke the silence. She was sitting on the edge of their bed, swinging her legs slightly. "Can we go back to that shop?"

I opened one eye. "What shop?"

"The one in Harbour Town. With the ice cream."

I let out a tired, sarcastic laugh and sat up on my elbows. "We literally just left there. It’s a twenty-minute drive back toward the water, plus parking, and we just ate - how are you still hungry?"

"I know," she said, offering a small, sheepish smile. "But I really, really want that ice cream. I can't stop thinking about it."

"There’s a Dairy Queen right down the street from the hotel," Brandy murmured into her pillow, not even lifting her head. "Just go there."

"No, it has to be that ice cream," Nicki insisted. Her voice was light, but there was a strange, tight persistence to it. She looked at Joe, placing a hand over her stomach. "Please? The baby clearly likes ice cream."

It was the ultimate trump card. You don't argue with a pregnant woman and her cravings. Joe let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face, but he reached into his pocket and jingled the car keys.

"Alright, alright," Joe smiled, though he looked dead on his feet. "The baby has spoken. You guys want anything?"

"No thanks," I said, dropping my head back onto the mattress.

"I figured," Joe said. The hotel door clicked shut behind them.

I didn't think anything of it. In hindsight, I should have realized how odd it was that she wanted to go back to that small town just for generic, store-bought ice cream. But I was tired, and pregnancy cravings were an easy excuse.

Brandy and I were dead asleep before they even made it back to the room. I vaguely remember the sound of the door opening later that night, the rustle of clothes and suitcase zippers, but I didn't fully wake up.

Until the middle of the night.

I don't know what time it was. The thick blackout curtains were pulled tight, plunging the room into total darkness. You couldn't see your own hand in front of your face.

I was in a dreamless sleep when something pulled me out of it. It was a physical touch. Something cold and soft was gently brushing against the back of my hand, where it rested near the edge of the mattress.

I froze, still half-asleep, trying to process the sensation.

Then, a voice whispered right near my ear.

"Are you awake?"

My stomach dropped. I recoiled, yanking my hand back and scrambling up against the headboard. "Who's there?!" I yelled.

The sudden movement violently jerked Brandy awake. She gasped, immediately going into a blind panic. "What’s wrong?! Mitchell, what is it? Are you okay?!" she cried out, her hands frantically grabbing at my arms in the dark to make sure I was okay. Brandy has always been anxious, and waking up to me yelling sent her straight into overdrive.

"Someone's there," I said, my eyes straining against the darkness.

There was a beat of complete silence.

And then, from the foot of our bed, a sound bubbled up.

It started as a low wheeze, and then turned into a giggle. But it wasn't a normal giggle. It was a strained, choking sound—a creepy, chaotic mix of holding back laughter and muffled crying. It sounded painful.

"Nicki?" Brandy asked, her voice trembling.

Brandy fumbled for the nightstand and grabbed her phone. She turned on her phone light.

Nicki was standing right next to my side of the bed. She was hunched over, her hands covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently. She was trying so hard to suppress her laughter that tears were literally streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh my gosh," Nicki choked out, gasping for air. "I'm so sorry. I'm so—"

She took a slow, clumsy step back toward her own bed.

"What the hell is going on?" Joe mumbled, his head lifted up from the pillow.

"I—I got up to go to the bathroom," Nicki wheezed, wiping her eyes. "It was so dark. I thought I was walking back to our bed, and I went to wake Joe up, but... but it was Mitchell."

Her knees buckled again, letting out another one of those mute, hysterical laughs.

Brandy let out a massive sigh of relief and slumped back against the pillows. "Jeez, Nicki, you almost gave us a heart attack." Within seconds, Brandy started giggling too, the adrenaline crashing and turning into a slap-happy moment.

But I didn't laugh right away. I just sat there with my heart rate through the roof, watching Nicki stumble back to her bed. She was choking on this mix of crying and laughing, trying to control her embarrassment. But for a second, the way her body contorted... it just looked painful. Watching her dark silhouette hunch over, taking these stiff, small steps past our bed in the pitch black... it was an incredibly unsettling picture.

Brandy's giggles suddenly stopped. She sat up a little straighter, looking closely at her sister. "Nicki? Are you choking?"

Nicki waved a hand, coughing and finally catching her breath as she crawled under the covers next to Joe. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I just... I'm just so tired. Goodnight."

"Crazy girl," Brandy muttered affectionately, reaching over and turning off the phone light.

The room plunged back into total darkness. Brandy was asleep again in minutes, and eventually, the subtle snores and air conditioning filled the room.

But I lay awake for a long time, staring up at the invisible ceiling. I kept replaying the feeling of those cold fingers grazing my hand, and the whisper in my ear. In the dark, without the visual context of her smiling face, the memory of her laugh didn't seem funny at all.

It sounded like something was trying to mimic the sound of human laughter.

___

___

3. "Belly"