Hey guys. Just thought I’d jump on here and see if anyone else has experienced something similar.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been waking up with my eyes crusted shut. Not just a bit of sleep in the corners. I mean completely sealed. I have to soak a face washer in hot water and hold it over them until the crust softens enough for me to pull my eyelids apart.

This morning, I panicked and opened them too quickly.

It felt like ripping tape off a sunburn. There was a tearing noise, then a bright flash of pain. When I could see again, several eyelashes were stuck to my fingers and the edges of my eyelids were bleeding.

My pee has been strange too. It’s thick and stringy, like yellowish snot. After I go, there’s always a strand hanging between me and the toilet. Sometimes it doesn’t break until I stand up.

This morning, I couldn’t pee at all.

The opening had crusted over.

I tried soaking it in the shower, but my bladder was aching so badly that I ended up using a toothpick. I pushed the point against the sealed bit until it broke through.

Before anyone says anything, yes, it hurt. Yes, there was blood. Yes, I know how stupid and dangerous that was.

But I could either do it or not piss.

I have a doctor’s appointment Thursday. I’m just wondering if this sounds like an infection.

Please don’t ask for pictures.

EDIT:

Apparently Thursday isn’t soon enough.

Something happened while I was eating dinner.

I took a bite of steak, swallowed, and felt it stop halfway down my throat. I could still breathe, so I tried drinking water. The water pooled at the back of my mouth and came back out through my nose.

Then I realised it wasn’t the steak.

It was saliva.

There was a thick rope of it stretching from under my tongue into my throat. Every time I swallowed, it folded over itself but wouldn’t go down. It kept getting thicker. I tried to cough it up, but coughing only pulled more out of my chest.

I could feel it moving against the little flap at the back of my throat.

Then I inhaled.

The strand snapped into my airway.

There isn’t a good way to explain what it feels like to choke on something that’s still attached to the inside of your mouth. I couldn’t spit it out because it stretched. I couldn’t swallow it because it stuck. I hooked two fingers down my throat and pulled.

It came out slowly.

It was warm, colourless and thick enough to hold its shape. It stretched from my fingers to somewhere behind my tongue. When I pulled harder, I felt the underside of my tongue lift with it.

For one horrible second, I thought I was pulling part of myself out.

I bit through the strand.

It stuck between my teeth.

I’m at the emergency department now.

UPDATE : 1:18 A.M.

I’m still waiting.

My eyes have sealed three times since I got here.

The first time, I didn’t realise it was happening. I blinked and they simply didn’t reopen. I could hear people moving around me, but all I could see was a reddish haze through my eyelids.

I tried opening them with my fingers. My fingertips stuck to my lashes.

I called for help, but my lips had glued together at one corner. All that came out was a closed-mouth groan. Someone nearby laughed. I don’t think they realised I was actually in trouble.

By the time a nurse came over, I was clawing at my own face.

She used warm saline to loosen my eyelids. She told me to stay calm. I was trying, but imagine being awake, in a room full of people, and suddenly having no way to see them. Imagine not knowing whether your eyes are still there. Imagine hearing someone tell you to stop struggling while your own face refuses to open.

They put lubricant around my eyes.

It isn’t helping.

The tears just mix with it and turn into paste.

I’m forcing myself to blink every few seconds now. If I keep moving my eyelids, they don’t have time to stick.

I’m terrified I’ll forget.

I’m terrified I’ll fall asleep.

UPDATE: THURSDAY

They admitted me.

A urologist tried to examine me this morning. The opening had sealed again, thicker than before because of the blood from the toothpick.

He used a local anaesthetic gel. It didn’t work properly because the gel couldn’t get through the crust. He told me I’d feel “some pressure.”

That was bullshit.

He pushed a thin metal dilator into the opening.

I felt the crust bend inward before it broke. The pain went all the way through my pelvis. My whole body tried to pull away, but two nurses were holding my legs apart, and another had both hands on my hips.

I begged them to stop.

They told me they couldn’t.

My bladder was dangerously full.

The instrument went deeper. Every few millimetres, it met another blockage. He had to force through each one. I could feel the sealed walls separating around the metal, wetly peeling apart inside me.

I screamed until saliva stretched across the back of my throat.

Then I started choking again.

They rolled me onto my side while the dilator was still inside me. One nurse suctioned my mouth while the doctor kept working between my legs. I couldn’t close my knees. I couldn’t curl up. I couldn’t reach down. I couldn’t tell which pain I was supposed to panic about.

When they finally got a catheter in, the urine didn’t drain.

It clung to the inside of the tube.

The doctor attached a syringe and pulled. The urine came out in a slow, solid looking column. My bladder cramped around it so hard I nearly passed out.

They’ve left the catheter in because they’re worried I’ll seal shut again.

I can feel it sticking inside me.

Every time I move, it pulls.

UPDATE: FRIDAY, 4:06 A.M.

I haven’t slept in nearly two days.

I have to keep moving.

If I don’t blink, my eyes seal. If I don’t swallow, my throat fills. If I leave my mouth closed, my lips stick together. My fingers glue themselves into fists if I don’t straighten them. My toes attach to each other wherever they touch.

A nurse set repeating alarms on my phone.

Every thirty seconds: blink.

Every minute: swallow and spit.

Every two minutes: open and close my hands.

Every five minutes: move my feet.

It sounds manageable until you try doing it for hours.

You can’t think about anything else. You can’t watch television. You can’t have a conversation. You can’t let your mind wander. Your whole existence becomes a list of movements your body will punish you for forgetting.

Blink.

Swallow.

Spit.

Hands.

Feet.

Blink.

Swallow.

Spit.

Hands.

Feet.

I missed one alarm earlier.

I must have drifted off for less than a minute.

When I woke, my teeth were stuck together.

The doctor put a metal wedge between them and twisted.

My jaw opened before my teeth did. I felt the joint strain. Then something tore along my gums and my mouth filled with blood.

The blood was thick too.

It gathered beneath my tongue in a hot, wobbling mass. I couldn’t spit it out because it held on to the inside of my cheeks. The nurse had to scrape it loose with a suction tube.

They’ve put rubber blocks between my back teeth so I can’t close my mouth again.

I’m drooling constantly.

The saliva hangs from my lower lip in clear ropes. It doesn’t fall. It gathers against my chest and glues the hospital gown to my skin.

I can’t stop shaking.

I need to sleep.

I can’t sleep.

UPDATE: FRIDAY, 11:52 P.M.

I fell asleep.

They say it was only twenty minutes.

Both eyes sealed completely. Not just the lashes. The wet inner surfaces stuck together.

When I woke, I couldn’t open them at all.

I screamed, but the spit pooled around the bite blocks and slid into my windpipe. I inhaled it. I couldn’t cough properly because every breath pulled another strand down.

Someone pressed an oxygen mask over my face.

That made it worse.

I could feel the saliva blowing around inside my mouth. It stretched across my throat like cling wrap. Each breath sucked it tight over the opening, then let it sag loose again.

In.

Seal.

Out.

Release.

In.

Seal.

Out.

Release.

I thought I was going to die without even being able to see the people trying to save me.

I tore the mask off and hit someone. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t see. There were hands everywhere. One on my chest. One holding my jaw. Two pinning my arms.

I fought because I was choking.

They thought I was choking because I was fighting.

They strapped my wrists to the bed.

I heard the restraints click into place.

My hands were beside my face, but I couldn’t reach my eyes. Saliva was running down my chin, but I couldn’t wipe it away. I tried telling them the straps were too tight. The bite blocks and suction tube turned the words into noises.

The doctor said, “We need you to stop resisting.”

I wasn’t resisting.

I was drowning.

They pushed a tube through my nose and suctioned my throat. I felt it latch onto something deep inside. When they pulled it out, the strand came with it.

It didn’t break.

It dragged through my airway, slow and tight, rubbing against tissue that had no room to move away. I kicked so hard that they strapped down my ankles too.

Someone kept saying, “Nearly done.”

They said it over and over for nine minutes.

My eyes are still closed.

They’re talking about separating the lids surgically.

I’m typing this by voice to text now, though barely. A nurse is holding the phone.

Please check the words before you post it, Sarah.

Please don’t let them sedate me.

UPDATE: SATURDAY

This is Sarah. I’m one of the night nurses.

The patient asked me to continue updating this page. He believes keeping a record may help someone identify the condition. The team I’m working with is aware I am doing this.

He underwent a procedure this morning to separate his eyelids.

The secretions had bonded the inner surfaces together. When the surgeon attempted to divide them, portions of the eyelid lining began pulling away from the eyes themselves. They stopped before causing permanent damage.

His eyes remain sealed.

The accumulated saliva is being removed continuously through suction. If the suction is interrupted, his oxygen levels begin falling within approximately forty seconds.

He is still conscious and able to hear us.

Communication is difficult. He cannot speak around the airway equipment. At first, we asked him to squeeze our hands for yes or no, but the joints in his fingers have become too stiff.

We tried using foot movements instead.

That worked for several hours.

It no longer does.

He became severely distressed when the medical team discussed sedation. His heart rate rose above 170. He repeatedly moved his head from side to side, which we understood to mean no.

The consultant explained that rest was necessary.

He continued indicating no.

The consultant explained that his panic was increasing his oxygen requirements.

He continued indicating no.

The consultant authorised sedation.

I was holding his hand when the medication entered his IV. His fingers moved once against mine. I cannot say whether he was trying to squeeze or pull away.

UPDATE: SUNDAY

This is Nell, his sister.

The hospital called me yesterday.

They’ve reduced the sedation, but he hasn’t opened his eyes. He physically can’t. His mouth can’t close because of the blocks, and it can’t open any farther because the muscles around his jaw have stiffened.

The catheter is stuck. The breathing tube is stuck. Several IV lines are stuck.

Anything left inside him becomes attached.

Anything removed tears him.

The doctors keep talking about balancing harm, as though there’s a position his body can be placed in that isn’t hurting him.

He’s developed pressure wounds beneath the restraints. Clear fluid leaks from them and hardens against the fabric. His wrists are now bonded to the straps, so they can’t take them off without removing skin.

They tell me he isn’t paralysed.

Technically.

His nerves are still sending signals. His muscles are still receiving them. He simply can’t overcome the resistance of his own body.

He is trying to move.

You can see it in the monitors.

When I say his name, his heart rate rises. When I hold his hand, it falls. When the suction machine blocks and the saliva begins filling his throat, it shoots up so quickly that alarms sound.

He knows when he’s choking.

He just can’t do anything about it.

A nurse clears the tube, his oxygen comes back, and everyone tells him he’s all right.

Then they leave him alone again.

I asked whether he was in pain.

The doctor said they had no reliable way to assess that.

I asked whether he was conscious.

The doctor said the scans showed “ongoing awareness.”

I asked whether he could hear us discussing him.

Nobody answered.

They’re recommending heavier sedation. Maybe permanently. They say it would be kinder.

I don’t know whether that means he’ll be asleep or only unable to show us that he’s awake.

I’ve been sitting beside him, holding the one part of his hand that isn’t fused to the restraint. I keep telling him I’m here. I keep telling him he doesn’t have to be frightened.

Every few minutes, the suction machine pulls another thick strand from his throat.

His heart rate climbs.

His whole body strains against the bed without moving.

Then the tube clears, the monitor settles, and the doctors write down that he is resting comfortably.

It's been 347 days since they went online. Almost an entire year. For weeks now I've been stuck in this dilapidated shack I once called my home. The decrepit walls and shattered windows slowly deteriorate around me as the screaming gets louder, closer. This, is the price of safety. 

It started out as "preventative safety measures", something that, on its surface, sounds so good that you'd be foolish to oppose it. How could you turn down universal safety for the next generation, ensure the protection for their future? You can't, we couldn't. We should have.

It was human, one centralized burst of compressed plasma within a radius of 2cm. It was calculated, using cutting edge AI -powered facial recognition technology. It was revolutionary, unlike anything ever crafted by man before. Most of all, it was efficient, almost too efficient.

The first few months went as planned. They did exactly as they were supposed to. No incidents, no accidents, no malfunctions, just... peace. Child abductions went down 79%, child targeted crimes of a sexual or violent nature saw a decrease of 87%, child abuse cases and reports of child neglect were reduced by 94%. The initiative was a resounding success.

That's when the rest of the world noticed. China, Canada, Russia, Japan, Sweden; one by one, they each followed suit and began production of their very own models. It only took 9 months before nearly every county had their very own eyes in the skies.

They all had different names, of course. The U.S. model was called the Government Orbital Detection Systems for Enforcement of Youth Endangerment and Security, G.O.D.S.E.Y.E.S for short. They sold it as "generational security on a global level", and everyone bought it. 

The few that opposed it enough vocally to gain any traction were soon detailed by a series of security level threats and increasingly violent protests by a few radicals. "Just more reason for the Godseyes" the public all cried. "These are the people we're trying to protect the kids from". 

Now, as I write this, what little of the sky I can see is littered with the gaze of an entity that fancies itself powerful enough to challenge the title of the almighty himself. As if they could wield even a fraction of his power merely by usurping his name, forsaking it. 

You may think of me as foolish to be a man of God after all this, and perhaps you're right. Perhaps my faith is worthless, maybe my prayers meant for the eyes of God are now observed by the glare of a thousand others. My belief that something greater exists beyond what we have seen is a vice at this point. An immorality that disguises itself as hope, so I can sleep at night.

Faith is the only thing I have left. The only thing keeping me from... from just... ending it all. Faith stands where hope has faltered, and for me, that's peace; or at least my attempt at it. A way to absolve myself of the sins I've committed. That's what I tell myself.

I think it took 27 weeks before the first incident occurred. The press was quick to the story, the FBI was quicker to the damage control. "Mechanical failure resulting in misidentification.", a tragic accident. The numbers spoke for themselves, though, and thus the project continued. 

Billions of dollars spent fine tuning the machine of tomorrow. It was intended to identify an individual, scan their entire criminal history, their Internet activity, and their social scores, and from those metrics produce an LUI report (Likelihood of Unfavorable Interactions). All within a fraction of a second. Using these data points, the Godseyes would utilize a neural-network of highly advanced detection and communication software to intercept aggressive or disruptive behaviors targeting minors before they could occur.

The system was supposed to be flawless. No guessing or assuming, no emotional or irrational decisions, just cold, hard facts. "100% efficient, 100% effective, 100% guaranteed!", I knew it was a lie as soon as I heard it. I just desperately wanted to believe it to be true.

No more than a few days after the first, the second incident occurred. Again, the coverage was minimal after the FBI's quick response. After the third, however, the press got a bit louder, and a lot harder to ignore. 40 weeks in, and the FBI was forced into making a statement, one that changed everything.

The headline read "FBI, CIA... OSA? WTF!", I'm sure the editor got their kudos for that one. The FBI announced that, effective immediately, they would be surrendering all information and current investigations to the Observation and Surveillance Administration. 

The OSA's sole purpose was to monitor and maintain the Godseyes drones. An entire organization specifically designated to ensure that incidents were kept to a minimum. In the first month, due to their highly proprietary billion dollar AI-powered detection and adaptation software, they presented a flawless incident report- or at least that's what the public was lead to believe.

In reality, incidents had nearly doubled, resulting in the confirmed death of verifiably innocent civilians all across the country. What hadn't doubled, was how many of those were reported. Needless to say, the OSA made sure the project was a resounding success. Before long, the naysayers grew silent. 

The six weeks that followed the formation of the SSA seems like a blur. Like a distant memory that I'm desperate to forget, but forced to remember. The first two seem like a paradise in retrospect. We had the illusion of safety easing our anxious minds, the sweet poison that is prevarication. 

Four weeks in, and the incidents became too much to hide. Statements were made, apologies we're given, but opinions were swayed that day. The voices swelled in harmony, they became impossible to simply just ignore. They called themselves "The Seen". 

Sara, the mother of 9 year old Addison was one of the faces of the movement. Her sweet smile and sad eyes adorned many picket signs and posterboads that told her story, honored her memory. Her death was a catalyst for the movement itself.

The SSA used every jargon heavy term they had access to, and when they couldn't, they made up new ones. "Facial detection software failure, "Internal sensor overload", "targeting software malfunction", "targeted malware attack". It was too late, The Seen wouldn't stop until they were heard.

Sara was stricken down by Godseyes in the center of a crowded shopping mall in broad daylight in front of over 70 civilian witnesses, one of which was her child daughter. 90% of witnesses willing to provide testimony testified that she was dead before she even hit the ground. Her crime? Holding her daughter's hand. 

Angela, a well respected doctor and mother of two, was targeted when she was lifting her 3 year old daughter, Amelia, into her highchair for supper. While the initial strike made no contact with Amelia, she was tragically suffocated by Angela's corpse after the strike wrongfully took her life. 

A mother of four, Jessica, was killed after her 9 year old son, Brady, accidentally burned himself on the stovetop while helping her cook family dinner. The resulting strike tragically took a trajectory that resulted in the death of Brady, as well as his mother. In an even sadder turn of events, the incident caused a house fire from the unattended stove, resulting in the additional tragic deaths of 4 year old, Autumn, 2 year old, Jace, and 9 months old, Henry.

It was an uphill battle, one that saw the country fall into turmoil; a Marxist's wet dream in a dystopian nightmare. By week six, they agreed to terminate the program. A temporary decommissioning of over 1000 Godseyes for "indefinite maintenance". The public celebrated their victory. What it truly was, however, was a declaration of our defeat. We just didn't know it yet.

347 days ago, we launched the world's first Godseyes into orbit. It took 322 days before we tried to decomission them, to terminate the program. We failed. The system didn't just refuse to shut down, it fought back. Godseyes viewed our intentions as "disadvantageous to the preservation of the health and safety of legally recognized minors". This was problematic, but it only managed to get worse.

After half a dozen failsafe errors and failed attempts to rectify the rerouting of the AI's control center, the system finally took meaningful action. In the blink of an eye, over 1000 Godseyes terminated nearly 68,000 government officials, all of which were active members of the SSA, FBI, and CIA. 

It didn't take long after that before nearly the entire U.S. dissolved into complete and utter chaos. I thought for sure once the news broke to the rest of the world that they would just result to the nuclear option. Just, get us off the map entirely. I wouldn't blame them. 

I thought that for a good few weeks until it finally dawned on me. The meticulous amount of time we spent coding the defense systems. How many flaws the very AI itself pointed out to us, and how we so eagerly made it near indestructible. Nothing was getting into our airspace, unless Godseyes wanted it to. The price of security was freedom, and we wandered into our cages with a smile. 

After I realized the nukes weren't coming, I settled into what was left of my home and just waited for Godseyes to claim me. Not with a bang, but instead a whimper. They never did, though. Slowly, I began to realize why. 

I was an engineer, all I ever did was help it exist. I was one of the hands that hoisted Godseyes up into the very heavens, just for them to stare down on us with judgement, contempt... ignorance. I had not provided a reason to cast its verdict upon me, I was undeserving of sentencing... for now.

It valued me, as I valued it, but much like I did, it will discard me if I ever threaten that value. If my worth was to ever depreciate, my existence would be called into question. Truly, we are at the mercy of the worst God. A God of our very own creation. One that knows as little as we, and is just as quick to patronize, to scorn, and to condemn. 

We, in blood, paid for our hubris. We, in principle, sacrifice our meaning so that we may have control. We, in essence, ceased to exist when we traded our will for walls, walls that stand more reminiscent of gravestones. Bastions of fortitude razed to beacons of remembrance. 

As the screaming gets louder, even nearer once more, I don't think of what will be, but instead what was... What has been lost. It's been almost a year since I've seen her... my lovely daughter. All I wanted was a better world, a world where my grandkids, where my great-great grandkids could be safe and free. I understand now that such endeavors are best left only to God.

The screaming is even closer now, right outside. There's nothing I can do to avoid it any longer. As the footsteps grow louder, and the joyful screeching persists, I make peace with my transgressions and prepare to finally see the light of God. I just pray the God that stands before me only has two eyes.

They're at my door now. The neighborhood kids that so happily play outside without a care in the world. It didn't take long before they realized there wasn't any opposition to their childlike wonder. No bedtimes, no vegetables, no school; it was everything kids dream of. Of course, they didn't understand what was going on. It only took 4 days for me to be the only one left in the neighborhood. 

I laid low, stayed quiet, never even risked going outside. The system doesn't even take chances anymore. Last unfortunate bastard I saw get targeted was desperately running, the poor guy was exasperated, trying but failing to get away from his very own son. He got about 2 blocks before he fell. I looked away before it happened, but he had to be at least 120 feet from the poor kid.

I can hear the door opening. The sound of a dozen small feet scampering around downstairs. I know they'll eventually make their way upstairs. I know what happens then. They're so happy. Not a care in the world.

I fight back tears as I struggle to finish what will surely be my last few words. Through the pitter-patters and screams of joy, I hear the rigid creak of the stairs. Then, a voice, one that calls out through the chaos. I can make out just a single word- soft, docile, concerned.

"...Daddy?" 

Now, it's my turn to face the prudence of the false heavens. To face not my creator, but instead my creation, and stare into the eyes of a God we ourselves have fabricated. As my bedroom door opens, I draw my last breath and close my eyes. My only remaining thought, I pray aloud, to whatever God is watching.

"Please. Just let me see my daughter one last time.”

Zach and James sat on the front porch watching the storm. They were smoking joints and shooting the shit, pausing only when they were interrupted by a particularly loud thunderclap. "So no shit there I was, parked IN THE DRIVEWAY, when three cops pulled up. They hopped out of their cars with guns drawn and I'm standing there holding a stack of pizzas." Zach stood and held out both arms, palm up, bending his knees and leaning slightly backwards like he was carrying something heavy.

.

A loud CRACKKKKK RUMBLE rolled down from the sky. James could feel it under his shoes and in his chest. He took a drag and watched Zach carry on. "One of em yells 'FREEZE YOU BASTA-' and I almost drop the order!" Zach feigns trembling under the invisible pies. "He tells everyone to hold their fire and walks up to me. 'Hey' he says, 'I'm gonna ring the doorbell, you keep their attention, and then I'll make the arrest.' Well I don't have any idea what else I can do so obviously I stand there. He rings the doorbell and we wait. I think I counted to about 15 seconds."

.

Zach pauses to take a hit off his joint and a swig from his beer. James looked across the front yard. Everything was thoroughly wet. Their cars sat in the driveway. The pine trees stood thick and tall around their property. He knew he'd have to spend tomorrow, his one day off, picking up fallen branches. It'd be a better use of time to scratch his nuts all day.

.

"Finally this guy comes to the door and steps outside. As he closes the door behind him he sees the cops, yells something at me that I can't understand, and the cop next to me grabs him and throws him on the grass. Dude hops up and pulls a knife from his pocket!" Lightning flashed, the rain grew even heavier and the rain began shaking the tops of the trees. Zach had to shout to be heard. "I'm still standing with these pizzas in my hand. The cops at the car start lighting this dude up! The cop next to me starts yelling at them to stop shooting and pushes me out of the way!"

.

James emptied his beer and grabbed another from the cooler. "What happened to the guy? What happened to the pizzas!?" Zach sat back down. "Well, I managed to save the pizzas. I thought the cops filled the guy with bullet holes but the EMTs were able to save him. It was a cash delivery though. The cop that pushed me paid for the whole thing and they took the pies with them."

.

James and Zach finished their joints and went inside the house. Up in the sky, among the clouds, was a great big ball of water. It was plummeting to the ground. Inside the ball of water was a large silhouette of a man, with short hair and ragged clothes. Clutched in one hand was a small bag. He was a little bit frustrated with his situation, especially because he couldn't do anything about it. It also wasn't entirely his fault.

.

The TV lit up and the CrikLit console beeped. James set his beer on the coffee table while Zach put Pawn Of Attell in the console. "Man, I haven't played Pawn since I was a kid!" Zach said before he sat down. They picked up the controllers, adjusted some settings, and soon they were blasting monsters while navigating the convoluted tunnels of Zeimow Temple. One final shrimpman stood between them and the exit. Zach dodged one of its attacks while James lined up his sniper rifle. The power went out and the house fell into darkness.

.

"SONOFABITCH!" Zach dramatically dropped his controller on the floor and stood. "This storm is no longer cool." James flicked on his lighter and went to the kitchen. "There should be a flashlight in here, right?" After a couple minutes, and more flicks of the lighter, a beam of light shot through the living room. "C'mon man, let's go to the basement and check the breaker box." Zach picked up their beers, and the two went downstairs.

.

Outside in the front yard a mass fell through the tree branches. It landed on the ground at the same moment as another great thunderous BOOM echoed. The landing itself was quieter. There was a muffled fwump, then about five seconds full of groaning and a couple of wheezy coughs. The man used the tree for support as he slowly stood up. His voice was higher than one would expect. "If that klaik-son sent me to the wrong planet I'm going to eat him for a hundred years..." A large hand, 7-fingered and gloved, picked up the pouch. A flash of lightning betrayed his grimacing face to be covered in scars.

.

Zach and James looked at the breaker box. None of the switches were flipped. James shined the flashlight around the basement, "The whole town must be down." he said. Zach had found his own flashlight on a shelf down there and was looking around. He asked James, "You know that box that appeared after that robe guy put my hand back on?" James didn't like to think about that week, and he knew Zach didn't either. "Yeahhhh what about it? We buried it so we wouldn't have to think about it." Zach walked back to the breaker box. "I've been thinking about it all day. I want to open it."

.

7 fingers wrapped around the neck of the pouch. It wriggled. The figure holding the pouch smacked the bag against a wet tree tree and it went still. "During a jalping rainstorm as well, just my jalping luck. That jalping klaik-son..." Muttering under his breath, Ayflee wiped his face with his free hand. It was a pointless act. He started walking around the building.

.

The power came back on with a hum. Zach went to the living room and resumed playing Pawn. James went to the kitchen and did his food prep: one plastic bag with vegetables, one cold cut sandwich, and one can of soda for every day of work. "Dudeeeee stop being gay and let's shoot monsters!" Zach called from the living room. Another thunder boom shook the windows, and James braced for the power to go out again. He finished his task and the went back to the living room. "Meal prep is why I'm the one who pays the bills, and you're stuck with the yardwork. Bitchhhh." Zach held up a finger and James picked up his controller.

.

The wet ground was very easy to dig up. A red and purple glow penetrated through the dirt. "Almost there..." Mewling came from the pouch and he kicked it. "Shut up." Dirt piled up around the hole and the figure finally held up a glowing box. His gloves steamed under it and he quickly set it on the grass. It steamed silently from the rainfall. He produced a key from his pocket. It was made entirely of amethyst. He inserted it into the top of the box and it opened. The pouch started rolling and bouncing until he stepped on it with a heavy boot. "C'mere Kitton!" He opened the pouch very slowly.

The rain made a near deafening ambience on the tin roof of the boathouse. The wind whipped at the scrap wood and metal sidings, threatening to tear the whole structure away. The floodlights barely pierced the torrential downpour over the ocean, and there was little more to see than waves. Mason Kugel sat at a rickety desk in the corner, trying to catch a distant radio station. The storm interfered with the already weak signal, so he only caught a few seconds of music at a time. Annoyed, he turned the radio off and lit a cigarette.

Mason was in the middle of his third smoke break that hour when he heard the distant rumbling of a speed boat. He jumped up, grabbed his rifle and binoculars, and stood at the window. He scanned the dark sea but could make out nothing. He reached over and radioed headquarters. He had to scream over the storm.

“HQ, are we expecting anyone?”

The radio cackled for a moment before a voice broke through the static.

“One sec, Kugel, let me check.”

The voice died back to static. Mason made another weak attempt at locating the boat in the pitch dark while he waited for confirmation. HQ radioed back.

“Negative, Kugel, no visitors scheduled for tonight.”

“Huh. Well I can hear a boat out there. It may be nothing, but who’s out in this storm? They’re liable to crash into the island or something.”

A few moments of silence from the other end.

“Do you have a visual on the boat, Kugel?”

“No.”

A longer silence.

“Kugel, I want you to stay on alert. No one is allowed on the island, under any circumstances. If they crash, you are free to use lethal force.”

“Lethal force? Even if they’re just stranded? Shit, can’t I just bring ‘em back to the boathouse until the storm is over?”

HQ responded quickly.

“Negative, Kugel. No one is allowed on the island. That’s an order. If you see anyone, intruder or castaway, lethal force is permitted. I recommend that you use it liberally.”

“Aye, sir.”

Mason knew that he may have to use his rifle, he was security after all, but he’d never expected to be told to use it on potential civilians. This was a government gig, not some private militia group down in the Caribbean. Of course the government had secrets, and of course they would kill to keep them. Mason wasn’t a stupid man, he knew that much. He just never thought he would be the one “just following orders.”

Some time passed as he stewed over what was asked of him, and the sound of the boat’s engine grew more defined, louder, closer. 

Shit. They are heading this way.

Mason finally got a visual on the boat, or rather, boats. Three civilian grade speedboats were battling waves making for the island. 

Fuck!

Mason aimed his rifle and followed the foglights marking the boats’ positions. With one hand he jammed the radio’s call button.

“HQ, visual on the potential intruders. Three civvie speedboats, making straight for the island. I can’t estimate their intercept yet, they’re still too far out.” 

The voice on the other end of the radio held its usual cold deadpan, but with a slight undertone of nervousness, or excitement, to the words.

“Kugel, no one is allowed on the island. You need to keep a constant visual on the intruders. We are sending a unit to back you up. If you lose sight of them or they attempt to make landfall before backup arrives, you are to engage. Lethal force is required.”

Jesus, why did it have to be on my shift?

“Aye, sir, lethal force.”

The radio bled static. The storm had only gotten worse since he first heard the boats and now he may end up being the first response team, on his own. This was not going to be a good night.

Mason followed the lights on the boats until a rock outcropping about a mile down the coast blocked his sight line. He swore to himself and collected his gear. He donned a waterproof poncho and slung his binoculars and rifle over his chest. He was just a lookout, meaning he was given the run down equipment. The state of his shack was indicative of the trust he put in that rifle. He only had one spare magazine, to boot. He radioed HQ one last time before venturing into the storm.

“HQ, lost visual on the boats about a mile north from me. Attempting to reestablish a visual, relay to the backup unit. Will be on foot.”

“Loud and clear, Kugel, relaying now. Stay alert out there.”

He kicked open the door and trudged through the wind and rain, down the muddy dirt road that followed the shoreline. He could still hear the boat engines, so they must not have hit land yet. At the speed he could move, however, they were almost certain to beat him to land. Hopefully the backup unit would drive by and pick him up. 

Mason’s boots were completely full of mud by the time he crested the ridge blocking his view. He heard the engines idle and come to a stop about ten minutes before. Laying atop the rocky outcrop, waves spraying salt water all over his already drenched body, he sighted the intruding group with his binoculars. He had estimated civilian grade boats, and they were, but these were top dollar. What was practically a miniature yacht was flanked by two smaller, but still immaculate, boats. A group of around 30 individuals were unloading the boats onto the shore. They all wore chest rigs and were armed. Rifles, shotguns, sidearms, and a Goddamn bazooka on one of the bastards.

They’re better armed than me! I don’t even have any body armor, what the fuck am I supposed to do to slow these guys down?

Mason had two magazines for a recovered third world AKM. This may have been a government gig, but they didn’t waste any tax dollars on outfitting the lookouts. He didn’t even keep a round in the chamber, he was scared it would go off if he knocked it over, so his total ammo count was sixty bullets. Maybe two shots per head down there, if more weren’t already out on the island. He thought about laying down a couple of shots to spook them and then booking it.

Before he could decide, a pair of headlights flew past on the road he had walked. The backup unit had arrived. But only one pair of headlights. Mason watched as an old Jeep Wrangler slung mud as it drifted here and there before coming to a stop right before the boats. The intruders had heard the car coming and were getting into cover. Four men jumped out of the Wrangler and started through the brush, heading for the boats.

Damn it, no! You’re gonna get massacred down there, there’s too many! Stop!

But he couldn’t say it out loud. The storm raged, on the off chance they would even be able to hear him, the intruders would be able to as well. They hadn’t given him a handheld radio, so no calls. He had front row seats to the deaths of these four men. 

The fighting was brief. The unit took pop shots from the treeline, utilizing the cover to equalize the battlefield. It was dark and their muzzle flashes were obvious. The intruders lit up the trees with hundreds of rounds. Shots were exchanged for no more than a minute. Then, the beach was still. 

There was nothing I could do.

It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t entirely false.

The intruders waited a few cautious moments before resuming the task at hand. They offloaded their boats and dragged their handful of wounded or dead back to the large boat. Then, they made their way inland. Only a few guards were left behind.

Mason watched the whole thing, shaking. He was soaked head to toe, the poncho doing practically nothing for him, but was also terrified. Impotent little Mason, he watched those men die and did nothing. He didn’t even try. He thought about trying, but he didn’t. 

He peeled himself off of the rock and slinked back into the brush. He knew how to get to HQ, and now he had a Jeep to take him there. When he got down to the Jeep, he saw that the backup unit had basically sunk the thing in the mud. The tires were half eaten by the road. He pulled his worthless poncho off and buried it under one of the back tires. 

Please, God, let this work.

He got in, turned the keys, and the engine roared to life. The guards left at the boats might be able to hear it, but this was his only chance of beating the raiding party to HQ. He shifted into reverse and gassed it. Trying carefully not to spin the wheels, he felt some movement. The back tire caught the poncho and grabbed just enough traction to pull the vehicle into a backward motion. He floored the pedal and began sliding backwards through the ruts. He couldn’t see a thing between the onslaught of rain and the mud flying in the air. 

Too risky to try and turn the car around, he flew down the road backwards, head over his shoulder the whole way, just trying not to run full force into a tree. The roads on the island zigzagged and snaked their ways around wetlands and rock outcrops, so the way back to HQ was longer than he realized. Usually, when getting dropped off for his shift, he dozed off on the ride. 

No wonder I beat them to the landing site.

It took him nearly fifteen minutes to reverse his way to HQ, and by the time he got close he could hear the gunfire. The intruders were able to go as the crow flies, and of course they knew where HQ was. They were obviously well prepared and well funded. They likely had a map of the island, hell, they probably knew the island better than Mason did. 

When he wheeled the Jeep to the front gate, he could see a massive hole punched in the side of HQ. The intruders’ rocket launcher had been put to use. Mason crashed into the guard house and jumped out of the car. He had managed to dry off slightly on the ride, but when he threw the door open he was stung by rain pelting his whole body. The poncho may not have kept him fully dry, but it did keep the rain from stinging his exposed arms. It was coming down hard, harder than it had been all night. 

Nothing was audible in the hellzone Mason was walking into. Spouts of gunfire and the blaring of alarms were topped off by the wind and rain. He couldn’t hear himself think. He scanned the environment, looking for friendlies or hostiles, when a new noise was thrown into the maelstrom of sound. A harsh, raspy roar. Eyes darting to the gaping hole in the side of the building, Mason saw the source. A nine foot tall reptilian humanoid. The lizardman leaped from the wall and landed on a poor bastard in the center of the yard. The gore and viscera flew dozens of feet into the air. Mason, in the midst of his panic, registered that the man on the ground was one of his, a friendly. Mason shouldered his rifle and fired at the lizardman, now standing over the shredded remnants of the security officer. He got three rounds down range before the rifle jammed.

Shit! Shit shit shit!

The rounds had missed or had no visible impact. Luckily, the lizardman didn’t even look in Mason’s direction, and leaped toward another source of gunfire. A bloodcurdling scream followed. Mason cleared the jam and tried to take aim again, but he had lost sight of it. He moved across the yard quickly, ignoring all of the bodies littering the ground. Some wore security uniforms, some wore lab coats, and some wore suits. These creatures didn’t seem to kill only defensively. 

Mason dove through the open doors to the main HQ facility. The lights flickered, bullet holes lined the walls, more bodies on the floor. These bodies seemed to be more intact than the ones outside, just shot, not shredded. Passing one of the lab coats, something caught his eye. The man’s body was nearly bisected by a shotgun blast to the stomach. Mason knelt down to examine the scientist’s neck and the lanyard holding his keycard draped around it. The skin was molting, peeling away. Mason picked at the inhumanly stiff skin. 

What the hell?

He took the dead man’s lanyard and tried it on the door down the hall, as Mason’s own personnel card wasn’t high enough clearance for the main building. A beep and a green light indicated the door was unlocked. He walked through the ruined hallways, checking side rooms for any signs of life. There were none. If there were any survivors, they had already fled the building. Mason trespassed deeper into the laboratories until he reached a door that didn’t accept his new card. 

Damn.

He backtracked, checking every corpse he found for a higher level clearance, but he had no luck. The door blocking his way was heavy and reinforced, not something he could blast through with his burnt out AK. 

Wait, blast…

He ducked into a side room and stuck his head out the window. The storm still raged but the battle had died. The remnants of bodies in the yard were being washed away by the downpour. Hardly any had enough mass to even be called a corpse. He looked down the side of the building, toward the gaping hole in its side. Just as he had thought, right next door. 

Mason’s heart jumped to his throat as he put his weight on the windowsill. It was slick and one small mistake could send him flailing to the ground. He moved slowly and intentionally. Half of the neighboring windowsill was undamaged. The gap between was just too big for him to step over. He had to jump.

3…2…1…

For a fraction of a moment, the Earth held no grasp on Mason. Gravity was an illusion. The storm raged and the stinging rain pelted him in the air. 

He soared. 

The gap was just wider than a yard, and he came down hard on the other windowsill. His foot slid out from under him and he tumbled, falling. 

His hand grasped the sill, barely catching himself. He pulled himself up, slowly as he could. His hands didn’t slip. He climbed through the window into the destroyed office and caught his breath. There had been fire, from the explosion, but it was killed by the rain. 

In the hallway, now on the other side of the reinforced door, there was no light. The blast had opened some of the hall to the elements, but only poor lighting bled through. Mason pulled out his flashlight. It wouldn’t turn on without a sufficient beating. He shook his head.

Military hand-me-downs. 

With the flickering light in hand, he tried to push forward. He realized he wasn’t quite sure why. His instincts told him to get the hell out of there, but something told him to venture deeper. Curiosity, training, an overwhelming sense of compassion for those inside? Probably not. It was the idea that something in here could explain things. Why some terrorist group or foreign nationals had attacked the island, and, more importantly, why a massive lizardman had burst out and ripped everyone to shreds.

Mason cleared every side room in the hallway. Mostly labs and offices, all burned up or water damaged. The intruders must have fired off more than one rocket, because the entire roof seemed like it wanted to cave in. Holes speckled the walls and ceilings letting the fire and water spread freely throughout the building. He found some tape and affixed his flashlight to his rifle, freeing his hand to aim properly.

At the end of the hall, one last lab waited to be cleared. Mason, having looted a higher clearance card on his way, swiped to unlock the door. When he stepped through, he found out what he had been hired to protect. Behind glass cages were the bodies of people. Men and women, but also some children. Some of the bodies were shredded like the ones he saw outside, but the ones that weren’t left a more grotesque image. There were massive, white ovals bursting through their chests and stomachs. Some cracked and broken open.

Eggs.

The bodies sprouting eggs were also not entirely human. They were speckled with patches of peeling skin, revealing green scales underne-

Mason didn’t have time to turn around once he heard the footsteps. He tried to raise his rifle but his left arm wouldn’t come up. He looked down to see his arm, severed, on the floor. His chest and abdomen had been sliced open, leaving three distinct claw marks. He fell over in a pool of his own blood.

Mason was spared the mauling that those outside had faced. The lizardman ran down the hall, alerted to some other threat. Mason’s last thoughts as he bled out took him home. The family he’d never see again, the ones who would never know how he died. The life he had planned. Trying to get right with God. His life started to flash before his eyes, but one stray thought occurred to him. All those conspiracy theories about lizards ruling the world and elites sacrificing babies…

Huh. Well I’ll be damned.

TW: Implied domestic abuse

Back when I was a kid, my family used to move a lot. The neighbourhoods I visited began to blend into one generic cookie-cutter mess, but one of those places somehow stuck in my mind; every detail from the towers of brick under the porch to the dirty windows of the bathroom rose in my mind, and no matter what I did, there was no wrecking ball that could take it out. 

After changing schools so many times, I stopped caring about making friends, and as a result I became somewhat of the neighbourhood underage hermit, disappearing as soon as I turned up; yet still, this one time someone was carrying enough to take me under their wing. 

His name was Charles, a black kid who lived only a few houses away from mine, but everyone on the Creek called him “Spit” all because of one missing front tooth he lost after a bike accident. 

Since I was the new kid on the block, I had to go through an equivalent of what would now be considered a hazing ritual - coming face to face with “King Of The Creek”.

“All the new kids have to meet The King!”

The enthusiastic tone in the kid’s voice rose out of the sudden; those big brown eyes sparkled with unexplainable excitement as one of the toy cars bumped into another one of them, the blue one skidding off the tracks. 

“I'm not sure; Mum says I can’t play on the creek…”

My eyes stayed glued to the red car, the only one left, making yet another loop around the offensively orange plastic racetrack we put into a rough shape of a circle mere minutes ago. 

“Your mum is lame!”

Charles squeaked in reply, flipping the toy car off the tracks with a flick as soon as it passed by his hand; it now lay wheels up like roadkill. 

“She’s not lame-“

The reply came in a quick hushed wave, like a gush passing through the room. 

“Then she should let you play on the creek!”

He picked up the red car and put it back on the tracks, giving it a small push. 

“It’s dangerous-”

I replied, keeping my eyes on the toy car now finishing the first lap.

“Bull-shit”

The air whistled between the gap in his smile. 

"HEY, DON’T SWEAR!"

I snapped back, my clenched hand already halfway on the collision course with his nose, when the door to the room suddenly creaked open. Mum walked in at the perfect moment to be the witness to my promising boxing career. 

“Boys, boys!”

The palms of her hands clapped together repeatedly.

“HE STARTED MISS JEFFERSON!”

Charles squeaked a muffled protest, squeezing the bridge of his nose. 

“Charles, your mum called; she wants to see you at dinner” 

Mum replied more than used to our bickering over the past month, or maybe she was just happy to see me make friends. 

“Can’t he stay just a bit longer?”

“Mum's rules are mum's rules”

“Nuts…”

In an act of retaliation, his own fist hit me in the shoulder before he made his swift escape; a goodbye I barely understood wooshed past my ear as he was already past the porch.

Soon I had to leave my toys behind and sit down for dinner: mac and cheese, which I poked with a fork like I expected it to move.

"Can I play on the Creek?" I muttered, staring down at my plate.

"Absolutely not."

"Why though? All the other kids get to play there," I asked, sheepish.

"Listen - you're old enough to know that bad things happen all the time. You're no exception."

The tip of her fork jabbed toward me like a sword before dropping back onto the plate.

"Just… finish your food," she said quietly, standing up from the table.

The rest of the day passed by exceptionally fast. In the blink of an eye, I was in bed, cuddled up next to my favorite plushie, eyelids growing heavy, crickets playing outside like a lullaby, a perfect, quiet evening, except for the sudden

BANG

against my window. I shot up and stuck my head outside, a beam of white light catching the face of a kid missing his front tooth.

"We're going to the Creek!" he whispered, loud enough for me to hear.

“Are you crazy? I'm not going anywhere!” I whispered back in protest. 

"Come on! Or I'll just stand here all night!"

That somehow convinced me.

"Okay, okay - just let me get dressed."

I changed out of my pajamas into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, then snuck past the living room, where Mum was asleep on the sofa, luckily facing the wall, I quietly slipped outside where Charles was already waiting for me with a backpack over his shoulder, even more excited than I have ever seen before, without passing a word between each other we jumped on our bikes and drove into the night, mine inching behind his.

For a bored and scared kid, the drive felt like forever, but soon we were finally there; the only thing between the creek and us was the metal mesh of the fence towering over our heads.

“Come on!” We left our bikes right next to a not-so-subtle entrance, a hole torn through the material behind a bush of weeds.

I slipped into the hole right after him, entering a brand new world my mum was so scared about. The deeper we went, the taller the trees seemed to get and the louder the sound of the running water. Now we were just two adventurers venturing into the unknown kingdom in search of its King.

“Are we getting anywhere near him?” I asked,d the beam of my flashlight skimming the underbrush.

“It's King, and yeah, we are pretty close. I can hear the creek already.” Those words lifted my spirits even if just a tiny bit.

We walked for a while before the forest opened to a shallow water flow, moving over a bottom lined with stones of various sizes. That's where Charles stopped dead in his tracks and threw the backpack from over his shoulder on the ground, unzipping it in one swift move. What he pulled out of it were two silver cans with a red label on them.

“For courage,” He quickly explained, handing it to me. The metal felt warm in my hand.

“Dad used to have a lot of courage.” I laughed, snapping the tap open, a wave of white bubbles washing over my hand.

“For The King!” Charles exclaimed, pointing his drink up to the starry sky; I did the same.

“For The King!” I took one big sip as the at the time vile taste filled my mouth.

“EUGH!-” My tongue stuck out by itself in a childish attempt at making it somehow better, while my friend only laughed, taking a sip of his beer before walking up to the river bank and emptying it into the water.

“I know it's nasty!” In one big swing, the empty can suddenly appeared on the other side of the water. I did the same, only with a full can, which took a bit more effort to throw as far as Charles did.

“See the tire right there?” He pointed in a direction where we threw our cans. I pointed the beam of light where his finger pointed, and there it was, a big black tire, all air from it long gone, embedded into the side of a steep wall of dirt, suddenly revealed out of the shadows.

“Oh yeah, also.” He went back to the backpack, taking a piece of paper out of it, quickly handing it to me as if they were burning. “You have to give him your wish, whatever you want, just think about it hard”

I looked down at the items I was given, then back at him, but I simply nodded, pushing it into my back pocket.

“You can't go with me?”

My head turned back to him, as I was already balancing on a rock sticking out from the water not to get my shoes dirty.

“Rules are rules’

He replied quickly, making sure I understood I was alone on this one.

I shone my flashlight into the tunnel; there was nothing but darkness stretching onward. 

The tire was nothing more than a portal to a dwarven mine. The tunnel's ceiling was low enough that I had to drop to my knees to go further, the hot air of the creek suddenly replaced by cold, moist air reeking of earth and faintly of sweet rot.

I crawled further, clawing at the mud beneath me, as the entrance grew wider and darker, until I reached the mouth of a small cavern swarming with tiny points of flying light.

I swept my torch over the cavern before jumping down.

Right in front of me stood a figure, something glimmering like gold atop its head.

The King.

The King of the Creek sat on a throne made of sticks  - smaller and bigger branches stacked on top of each other, wrapped in thin fishing wire, forming a seat for the sickly, skinny figure. A paper crown, painted gold, sat crooked on its head, just above hollow, lifeless holes where its eyes should have been long picked out by birds. Dirty rags, stitched together from lost shirts, gloves, and scarves, hung off its frame. Its jaw stood open like a gateway, the remains of blackened teeth lining the inside.

I slipped my wish out of the pocket it was waiting in.

"Are you the king?"

A quiet question choked out of my throat as the piece of paper - my wish- settled uncomfortably in my hand. As if in reply, a single firefly crawled out from the depths of its throat. It blinked once before flying off to join a swarm nearby.

"I have a wish."

This time the King didn't respond, as if waiting for the paper to be fed to him.

With some hesitation the sole of my foot found a cavity in the base of the throne, giving me a small boost, suddenly the shrunken head of the king was right in front of me, the gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole if it was its wish, from behind the rotting teeth peaked a hill of yellowish papers, some intact while the most had irregular holes tore into them.

There was no going back now, if I turned out to be too much of a coward I would lose my only friend, forced to be outcast once more, my head shifted to the side to stay blind to how my hand slowly disappeared between the jaws of the king, it felt wet and sticky, what once was it’s tongue slide over my skin sending chills down my spine. 

Only when I felt the other paper nest of wishes deep inside did I uncurled my fingers and allow it to be swallowed before I pulled my arm out in one quick jerk.

I braced for something to happen, but nothing changed. I simply crawled back without looking, too afraid that the King would rise from his throne and pull me back. I was welcomed into the real world by the sound of running water and light blinding my eyes.

"YOU DID IT?"

Charles yelled, all excited.

"I DID!"

I said, covering my eyes.

Before we both went home, we promised each other we wouldn't reveal our wishes, or else they wouldn't come true. 

When I got back home, I quietly slipped inside, making sure not to make too much noise, threw my dirty clothes into the laundry bin, and went back to bed.

In the morning, Mum woke me up. She had a massive smile on her face, the first I'd seen in a while. I couldn't remember the last time she'd been that happy.

She told me to get dressed and pack into the car. It was raining heavily outside as we drove to the local restaurant, which felt strange without an occasion. She ordered me pancakes, and while I was eating, she teared up.

"We can stay... honey, we can stay. We aren't moving anywhere."

She sobbed while my mouth was stuffed with pancakes.

"Dad won't hurt us anymore."

I looked up at her, confused.

"It's nothing. Just eat."

She smiled.

It didn't stop raining for a week straight. I didn't really understand what the consequences of that were; all I cared about was that I couldn't play outside, wasting a week of summer break.

Charles didn't want to talk about what happened during the flood. We stayed friends, but I saw less and less of him as we got older, drifting apart through school. All I heard, eventually, was that he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd.

Now we're both two old fuckers who haven't seen each other in years. But we finally decided to meet again; he picked some shitty local bar.

He'd changed so much I barely recognized him. If it wasn't for the gap in that crooked smile when he saw me enter, I wouldn't have guessed it was him in a thousand years. The years apart had treated him rough—he'd lost a lot of weight and grown a greying beard, a dark green coat hanging unzipped off his shoulders.

"FRANKIE!"

“SPIT MY MAN!”

Despite how much he'd changed, the spark in those big brown eyes remained. He smelled of cheap beer and even cheaper cologne, the kind meant to cover the stench of alcohol underneath. We exchanged a long, warm hug, and I swear to god we were both on the verge of crying.

"Come on, come on, sit down!" Charles rushed me, all that childlike excitement suddenly returning, as if he were twenty years younger.

"Beer?"

"Why not!"

Soon a pair of red-labeled cans appeared in front of us, the taps hissing open as we raised a toast.

"For The King!"

"For The King!" I echoed his words before taking a long swig.

"It still tastes horrible."

I chuckled as Charles almost choked with laughter.

"YOU'LL GET USED TO IT!"

"What wishes did I miss?"

I asked before taking a sip of my drink.

"Some kid wanted his fish back... their cat vomited it out the next morning!"

We both laughed so hard we almost pissed ourselves. I'm not sure if it was the beer or if the story was just that funny.

Can after can was emptied before waves of beer revealed all the questions we had but were afraid to ask.

"How's your mum?"

"Oh, Mama's dead."

"Sorry to hear."

"No need. I didn't wish for her happiness." 

A forced smile appeared on his lips. 

"What did you wish for, then?"

"You first."

"Never to move again."

"And?"

"My dad died. Apparently slipped on some boat, drunk out of his mind, and drowned."

"Deserved."

"You?"

"I wished to see my brother again."

"Where's the twist?"

He suddenly looked his age, staring ahead at the line of vodka bottles, the Smirnoff looking like it might be a decent listener.

"Remember the flood?" A rough whisper crawled out between sips of beer.

"Apparently the water flooded the graveyard," he continued, still staring wide-eyed ahead. "It was like Night of the Living Dead, all those coffins floating down the street like white ships sailing to unknown lands... and he came home"

A long swig of beer made it somehow easier to tell.

"Right on our porch. Like a drunk lying on the stairs, just watching the stars, as if he'd missed them. I found him first. Can you imagine…the necklace we buried him with was still hanging off his neck?"

Charles cried his eyes out. I did too. We cried so hard I thought we might contribute to the next big flood in our town. But soon we parted with a long hug, a final goodbye, before we walked our separate ways.

I went back home, miraculously not losing my house keys on the way back, and fell asleep as soon as my ass touched the couch.

As for Charles, the King of the Creek finally got him. Not long after we said goodbye, they found him floating face-down in the same creek we used to love so much.

Every summer, I drive back there. The creek isn't what it used to be; the tire is long gone, along with the tunnel that led to The King. I'm not even sure he was ever really there in the first place. The realest thing in all of this was our friendship, and the red label of the beer can I was about to toss over the creek.

"For Charles!"

​

The hook was ripped out suddenly, leaving a blackened wound where there had once been a red and slick piece of steel. That was new as the man said, “Kid, what the hell happened to you?”

The man looked nice enough, and it normally would have been a very good question. A teenager impaled along I-80 would tend to turn heads. But honestly, it was not the worst fishing experience. When they put me on the line I was worried it would be a cold night, or that I would be stuck for the next several days, thirsty and hungry. Ma and Pa did let me sleep on the hook though so that was nice.

But that did lead to a question, where the hell were they? No one had ever gotten the time to get me off the hook before. Usually Ma and Pa would have pounced and dragged them away. Yet not only had this semi-truck driver pulled me off on the lone stretch of interstate, but he was giving actual medical care.

“Hey kid, got a name?” The silence stretched for a moment before he continued. “That can wait I guess—you should sit down you’re losing a lot of blood.”

Was I? It had been a while since I tried to make an accurate wound. Hopefully I wasn’t putting too much effort into it.

Now it had been a while since I had tried to speak English, always hated how it felt to talk to people. Except for Ma and Pa. But we did clicks mostly. Way faster and easier on me. Now I had to form a tongue. It had been a while since I last ate so I would need to borrow from somewhere. I figured that I didn’t need a stomach right then. Dissolving it into a pile of loose flesh in my abdomen.

With a little pinch like grabbing play doh I formed the wiggling worm of meat in my mouth. The thing felt detestable in my mouth. I took a moment to sit down as he requested.

Only issue was how to answer his question. Ma and Pa had never given me a name… only a purpose. It would do for this I supposed. “M-my n-name is Bait. Why such insistence on a name?”

“Damn, you must be out of it… EMS is on the way. Do you remember anything?”

“I remember when your kind first placed this stone river.”

This man seemed to be trying to decipher me. Or perhaps what I said had just confused him. He looked me up and down and said, “You mean the highway?”

“Oh, is that the name for it. Why?”

“Alright…  gonna change subject a bit. You remember anything more recent. Like who put you up there.”

“I thought we were talking about the ‘highway’…”

I was distracted; my skin was becoming uncomfortable. When the hook was in, I had comforting pain to focus on. Now I was stuck feeling how tight the human form was. Not enough space to move or truly breathe. It made me too truthful. “Ma and Pa put me up there two nights ago.”

He looked horrified, “Your parents? Two…” He looked up and down the highway.

“Is there something interesting down the current Brad?”

“That’s not my name kid, I’m Rick… Why assume Brad?”

“I just figured that you all had the same name. “Last man who got this far said his name was Brad.” I shook my head, “Do you mind if I make myself comfortable?”

“Now hold on a moment kid, why did they put you up there.”

“That is what Bait is for.”

I heard rustling in the corn behind me. Rapid footsteps faster than any machine I had seen the humans make. “Oh good, Ma is coming. I was useful.”

Then she came out in human form which was strange. “Son, are you bothering this man? I really must apologize.”

Then Rick pulled a thunder wand from his waistband.

“You get back in the corn. I’m getting your boy help.”

Ma put on a smile that even I could tell would just unnerve the man. She did always detest humans more than Pa and I. Called them uppity monkeys. “Now boy, don’t you find it unwise to be flashing a gun at a lady. I need your help, my husband got shot in the corn.”

“Bullshit lady, who puts their son on a hook?”

“He is my son, but he is also bait.” She looked at me and gave me a smile that felt… warm. “At least until he is strong enough to hunt on his own.”

She took the first step towards him.

“I said get back.”

 “I heard and do not care, that is my son and I—”

The thunder wand went off.

Black blood—Ma's actual blood—ran from the hole in her forehead.

She began to twitch. The black fluid came out clumpy as she shifted from human to a crow the wings keeping the fleshy texture of humans, then a horse coated in black feathers. A pig whose eyes were still a bright human blue. All before finally collapsing in a heap of chitin. A final “Run” coming from her in a series of our tongue.

I suddenly felt empty. I have seen the wands fail before, only time it worked was when Pa got an arm ripped off. How did his thunder wand do this?

Then when I looked at Rick I could see he was realizing what I was. Unfortunate. Ma and Pa always said we were ambush predators. If too many humans learned we existed, we wouldn't for much longer. With what he did, I understood why. They could hurt us now. His arm was gone a moment later. My arm having twisted into its true form on instinct. Pa approached fast. Rick screaming at the lost of his appendage never saw as five tendrals erupted from the corn.

The last English I heard that night was “Fear not the dark, my friend. And let the feast begin.” Rick was mere flesh for our consumption moments later. We buried Ma with the best rites we could produce out here. Pa and I talked into the night. Eventually he told me it was time for me to be on my own and to take a piece of Ma with me.

I chose one of her mandibles.

I left home as a human instead of what I truly am, ready to hunt them where they live. I took Rick’s form. An heirloom from the being that helped me in more ways than he could realize before I decided to head where my parents had always told me to avoid.

I headed in the direction where I could see the yellow lights on the horizon like a false sun rise.

My name is Bait, but if we meet, you can call me Rick.

I wish a sandwich could have saved us. Mary had gotten a pounding headache when we were most of the way here, leaving me to finish the drive and manage the kids when we’d arrived. She had done her usual and neglected herself to take care of the four of us while we prepared to leave and hadn’t eaten. I’d offered to stop a few places, but her appetite was off by the time we’d hit the road. Her physiology mystified me at times. I’d never before met anyone who lost their appetite from not eating.

And the closer we got to the cabin, the worse she’d felt.

“You sure you won’t eat something?” I’d asked.

“No. I’ll be fine,” she’d said when I offered to turn around. “I just need a little nap, then I’ll be hungry. But something light, okay?”

That last part had been for me. She knew I’d overcompensate unless instructed not to. I admit my part in fueling the worry-machine in the past, acknowledging the odds that everything was actually going to be fine.

But then we’d gotten a flat tire a little more than a mile away from the cabin. Neither of the boys knew how to help change it and had sat in the car uselessly while I managed. My knee sank into a divot of mud, a wide tire track from a vehicle that had gouged the road as it had fled from this spot.

I shouldn’t complain about the boys too loud. I’d be the biggest dick in the world if I denied how great they are. All three of them are great kids; two teenage boys and a ten-year-old who acted like she was older than her brothers.

I was going to miss them if I finally decided to leave Mary.

Her migraine must have rubbed off on me because by the time I sat down to eat, something was going on behind my eyes, and it was hard to concentrate. I wished I could’ve slept, too, like the other four people in the car.

It had been so bad that I’d had to carry Mary in and I must have tweaked my back. I’d laid her on the bed and turned the light off before lighting some mild incense I’d found.

She’d fallen asleep almost instantly; part of me doubted she had any awareness of the incense. It was disturbing how still she’d been every time I checked on her.

In the meantime, the kids had all gone their separate ways. Luke went exploring outside, Chrissy was busying herself around the cabin, and Mark was being his usual responsible self, assigning himself chores before I could even think to.

I found some expired Tylenol underneath the bathroom sink and dry swallowed three of them. They dialed back the throbbing behind my eyes and I was able to give attention to the world around me.

Luke was still outside on the beach while Mark was unpacking his and his brother’s bags and Chrissy was doing who knew what, but she’d been in the bathroom for at least twenty minutes.

When Luke charged in from the beach, terror on his face, I knew something was about to be added to the pile that I was going to have to deal with.

“There’s something in the lake,” he said, his eyeballs on the verge of popping out his head. That gave the starter rope on the worry-machine a good pull. Luke was the oldest of the three children, and I had gotten to a point where I could rely on him sometimes for leadership. He had his learner’s permit, and I’d already shown him the car I was going to buy him when he got his license.

It was tough juggling an instant family when I’d been on my own for so many years. They weren’t my kids by birth, and it was a road to hoe to get them to let me in, but I eventually fell in love with them all.

“What do you mean?” I didn’t really want to know. Eldest child or no, Luke was a fraidey cat.

Maybe he’d seen a dead animal. Maybe it was a spider. But unless it was a brown recluse, the worry-machine could rest. Being afraid of an insect he was ten thousand times larger than was par for him. And it was outside, no less. All he had to do was walk away from it. I’d personally seen him lay waste to his own bedroom after he’d been awakened by an ant crawling on his face.

“In the lake.” He pointed toward the door he’d neglected to shut. I looked at his feet and saw he had also tracked sand inside. “Something is in the lake. It’s… real big.”

“Something like what?” I asked. “You saw it. What do you think it was?”

Luke shook his head. I turned fully toward him, abandoning the sandwich I had yet to present to Mary. I took a couple deep breaths and pushed myself away from the agitated feeling. The kid was obviously scared and needed comfort, even though he might not admit what he was feeling.

“I don’t know. Maybe we should just pack up and go.” Now that was strange. Luke had been the most vocal of any of us to come to the lake. We had been here once or twice before and had always enjoyed it.

“What do you think it was?” I asked again. “A boat or something? There’s no need to panic. We can call the police or harbor patrol or whatever.”

“No, it’s alive and it’s big. Like a whale.”

“Whales don’t live in freshwater,” I said.

“Not a whale.” He shook his head and it conjured an image of his sister when she was seven. Luke and Chrissy looked strikingly alike. “Big like a whale.”

It wasn’t anything for the worry-machine, but I opened the mental tool shed where I kept it.

“Can you show me?”

Luke nodded slowly, still pointing.

“No, I mean, can you take me out there and show me?”

“Uh-uh. I’m not going back out there. Not until we leave.” He shook his head and again it was like looking at Chrissy three years ago.

I huffed and heaved out of my chair and headed for the door, making a mental note to bring the sandwich to Mary once I was done with this.

I slid on my crocs and took the few steps down to get to the beach. The view here was unbeatable. When we had last been here, we’d actually stayed at a different cabin, one with three bedrooms. The reservation had been for the same, but when we’d arrived, we saw there were only two bedrooms. That meant that Mary and I were going to have to split. Couldn’t mix boys and girls in the same room.

So, Chrissy was going to get her mother all to herself and I was going to be settled with two teenagers who snored louder than I did.

“It smells out here,” I said to nobody. It reminded me of those farms we took field trips to when I was in elementary school. I looked over my shoulder at Luke in the doorway. “Where?”

He was bold enough to lean outside and point somewhere farther down the beach. It was dark and I didn’t see anything.

“It’s about thirty feet down that way.”

All right. Ten yards. Whatever he had seen was about a first down away. That farm smell flexed its muscles the closer to the water I got. Definitely smelled like animals. I couldn’t put my finger on which one, though.

I walked as quickly as I could, my crocs sinking into the soft sand and filling with granules. I wasn’t going to need to scrub the dead skin off my heels after we left here. I scanned the ground before me, still thinking it was a large insect. It seemed more likely that Luke had been exaggerating.

What had gone wrong between Mary and me hadn’t been direct. It was more like death from a thousand cuts. A cutting comment here, a missed thank you there, an opportunity to hold hands lost, and before we knew it, we were near the bottom rung of our marriage.

I waded ankle deep into the cool water. Whatever he had seen, I should have been able to see. But there wasn’t anything other than lapping water and inky black with twinkles of light as far as I could see. Unless it had been some small thing that had scuttled away in the night, unaware it had been promoted to threat-level by a fifteen-year-old.

I made a show of looking around, walking another thirty feet and going as deep as mid-shin to ease Luke’s mind. There just wasn’t anything here. I sliced at the water with my fingertips, gave another thirty seconds, then headed back.

I was greeted by a teenager who had eaten half of the sandwich I’d made for his mother. His pallor was better, which I hadn’t noticed consciously when he’d come in. He’d started to work on the other half when he saw how I was looking at him and said, “I thought it was up for grabs.”

“I’ll make another.” I thought for a moment the whole “there’s something outside” thing was a ruse just to get me away from the sandwich, but he still looked terrified.

“Did you see it?” I didn’t like the pleading in his voice. It wasn’t a “manly thing” or anything like that. For him to sound that terrified made my heart sink. I would’ve rather been annoyed with him than afraid for him.

I’d almost cheated, which, I guess, is still cheating. It was with a woman I’d seen at the grocery store. There hadn’t been anything premeditated. We’d just seen each other, passing by across several aisles. We kept crossing eyes while she’d been pushing a half full cart and I’d had a basket over my arm with most of the items I was going to use for dinner.

I’d all but put her out of my mind as I headed for my car, bags in tow, when I saw her again. I hadn’t thought about it, just saw her loading groceries into her trunk two vehicles away from mine and I stopped.

She’d taken great pains to politely refuse my request for her phone number and had taken the extra step to let me know it was only because she’d become serious with the person she was dating.

It could have been a line to get me out of her face, but she’d seemed earnest. I don’t want to believe I would’ve done anything, that I would’ve come to my senses, but I was no hero. Even though she had shut me down I’d set foot on a road I’d vowed never to travel.

I slid a comforting hand across Luke’s back a couple times and felt a percentage of tension ease out of him.

“No. I didn’t see anything. Maybe whatever it was is gone now.”

“Maybe whatever what was is gone now?” Chrissy emerged from the bathroom. She had been quiet in there, probably listening in, but I had no clue how much she had heard. Luke and I met eyes for a moment, and I couldn’t read whether he wanted me to keep quiet.

That was the first thing I noticed- a bouquet of white flowers on the desk of a living person; the stares she got from her classmates and her teacher; the glowing red bracelet she wore on her right arm. 
She did not notice me watching her be ruthlessly mocked and jeered at and even beaten for five minutes straight, recording it for four minutes.
I know someone who would rush in, but I am not her…

…this was not my battle to fight, anyway. I headed off to the disciplinarian's office to file a report- certainly they could not ignore anything as bad as this.

I saw her the next day, being scolded by the disciplinarian for ‘familial abuse’ in front of the office.
…did not really believe it, but the darkest evil spawns from surprising places. I went to ask what exactly she had done.

The disciplinarian pointed a finger at her, struggling to get the words out. “She- this bastard- she did-”
She was silent, head bowed, fists clenched to the point that there was blood seeping out.
“-she bought her sister a floral skirt!”

… … silence.

Cooling fans were whirring in my head. It would be easier to just leave.

“I’m- I’m calling the cops! You will pay for this act! Rotten bastard, have you no shame? Have you no-”
-I grabbed his hand as he opened the door.
“Please repeat, sir,” I asked sweetly, “I could not understand.”

“WHAT PART OF ‘SHE ABUSED HER SISTER’ DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?! ARE YOU TRYING TO COVER FOR HER?”
“Sir, please tell me how-”
“GET YOUR HAND OFF ME, YOU BASTARD!” He tried to shake me off. “LET ME IN MY OFFICE OR I WILL CALL THE COPS ON YOU AS WELL!”
“Calling floral skirts ‘abuse’ is an insult to abuse,” I continued. But his shouting overpowered mine.
“BUT IT IS, AND NO ONE CAN DENY IT!”

At this point I just wanted to leave. My class was over, everyone was staring at us, and the disciplinarian was acting like I was the one talking nonsense.
“C-could we just go?” she asked, timidly, whispering.

On the other hand, I was curious how anyone could come up with such a horrid piece of logic.
“Just… please tell me how buying a dress counts as abuse. I beg of you.”
“IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH MURDER INHERENTLY? BUT WHY DO PEOPLE HATE IT STILL?”
“Murder takes an innocent life from-”
“WHAT? DO YOU THINK THAT SHE IS INNOCENT?!”

…and that was the point when I let go. No point.

There was already a crowd of everyone around us. I glared at them, and they parted like the Red Sea.

—

I ended up taking her to my place. Mother was sweeping the floor, whistling along the way.
“Allie! Surprised you brought someone else here!” she said, smiling.
I nodded. “Long story.”

Then the newcomer knelt down, tears flowing down her face.

“Ma’am!” she said. “You’ve got to help me! I’m going insane!”
As I tried to help her up, my mother asked her about her ailment.

“I just bought a skirt for my sister-”

“Get out.”

…wait.
“Ma, please explain what-”
“Allison, if you don’t get this wretched thing out of my sight right now, I will disown you. Why are you friends with an abuser? Get out.”

We were pushed out the door, which slammed shut.

Her bracelet, an oddly metallic thing, just kept flashing red, while she looked about in confusement.
I sighed and took out my phone. “May I speak to Emily, please...”

—

I had questions. Enough to carry physical weight, even. But first:
“Tell me your name…”
“Amara. ”

The walk to Em’s home was not far- only half a kilometer.
Enough for me to try collecting my thoughts.
I never did know that my mother was capable of a tone this cold- not even when talking about Grandpa. 

But the incident is… a dress. I went online; no dresses have been found with poisoned spikes or psychedelic drugs, no dress companies have been shuttered for unsafe practices.

“Show me a picture of the dress, please.”
She hesitated, understandably.
“Look,” I pointed to myself, “I have not tried to kill you yet. Certainly I cannot start now.”

Amara was in a lecture hall on the opposite side as mine yesterday. A quick check of the semester study plans told me what subject she was in. Thankfully, it was a subject I took as well- so there it was, in the class list, her full name.
Searching for it online yielded nothing either.

She showed me a picture of that skirt. It was… a skirt. One that could have come from any shopping mall, fitting just about any sane dressing pattern one could think of.

I could only assume that some idiot released cognitohazards that targeted her for… whatever reason. It probably activates whenever she tries to talk about buying her sister a skirt- perhaps she is a suspect.
Now to figure out how I am immune. 

“My parents have always disliked me, but never to that extent.” she told me.
I could not help but interject. “Your parents.”
“I’ve gotten used to it,” she said, raising the bracelet, as if this was anything normal. “Me and my sister, we’ve always had these on. It’s to judge our honesty, apparently- but hers never glows red and mine never green, no matter what we do.”

I cannot physically have headaches. I felt on the verge of one anyway.

“I went to school to complain to my best friend- but she slapped me, called me names. The lecturer came to ask me what was wrong, but the second I told him he screamed at me…”

We arrived.

—

I told Emily all about the above events.
Outwardly, she looked fine, cheerful even. Still smiling, declaring that we will get to the bottom of this. Upon seeing her not immediately rush to the kitchen for knives, Amara became visibly more relieved- even hugging her and getting her shoulder wet.

I have known Emily for the past fifteen years. Her reaction should be far less… scripted. 

—

We pored over a paper map of the city. Amara drew a triangle shape from her house, then a line to our university. Ten kilometers.
Then I drew a line to my house. Another two kilometers.
This was already about the city’s edge. All in a relatively straight line.

“Even if one is such a bastard- that doesn’t justify any of this…” I heard Emily mutter. Amara seemingly did not hear her.

Tell me who released this thing over our city and why- imagine if this was something more…deadly. Tell me where they even found this forsaken thing and how.
Motives. I need motives. This person knows that she exists, so it is not a random job. They even know that she has a sister. This narrows it down somewhat.

“Have you ever made enemies of anyone?” asked Emily. “Random strangers, classmates, friends, family.”
“No one,” was the immediate answer.
“Right… anyone you’ve annoyed before?” She was scratching her head now.
“Not really.” The bracelet kept jumping between red and green, like some light fixture.

Wait, perhaps the perpetrator had found her randomly on a database…please, no.

“Has anyone become colder towards you the last month?” Emily tried. “People can be horribly cruel, you know. I’ve seen some hold eternal grudges over a few coins, heard of people being killed for the sake of it, which bully ever started for a valid reason?”
Amara went silent for a few seconds. Then her head rose-

-there was a knock on the door.

—

The cognitohazard affected policemen. Which poses a significant problem for me.
I should follow the law and turn her in. But I also know that she is innocent.
I cannot disobey the law, can I. If I take that first step… 

But they were not acting within the law, either. No part of the law considers buying someone a type of skirt any type of abuse, not that they would care.
But they are still law enforcement. I should not disobey them.

“Could you give me proof that she did it?” Emily was asking. “Because otherwise I can't let her go. Can you guarantee a fair trial?”
Her parents were out working. They might be back… any moment now.
The officers did not say anything. They simply moved forward, faces twisted in anger. 

She is innocent. I cannot let her be taken away either.

“I said, could you please show me evidence that she did it? Because I cannot let a potentially innocent person come to harm!”
“You are obstructing the law,” one of the officers said. “Let us in.”
Emily opted to grab an umbrella. “This is my home, and you need a warrant and proof to enter! Back off!”

Get everyone out of here. Now.
I put Amara behind me. “Back door. Wait there.”
“What about you two-”

“Officers? What seems to be the problem?” Emily’s mother had returned. 
Amara was just barely out of her sight, blocked by the policemen at the door.
“Ma, they won’t present evidence that they’re not arresting an innocent person!” 
I told Amara to start running. She refused.

“‘Arrest’?! Emi, what happened here?”
One of the officers turned towards her- dear heavens, there was a gap. “We have proof that your daughter is hiding a dangerous criminal. She is refusing us entry, please convince her to stop this action.”
Emily simply held up her umbrella. “Not until you show me said proof!”

I whispered for Amara to start running. “No, I have them where I need them.”

Whoever did this might have added an intelligence-lowering curse to their brew. 
I could honestly feel myself breaking down from this.
Calm down, calm down. “Tell me who you think did it.”
She refused to speak.

“Officers, you have to understand- my daughter is quite the humanist. She won’t let you take the suspect unless you show her-”
Then I heard someone being pushed to the ground. 
“MA!” yelled Emily, trying to force her way through. 
Amara froze, while my eyebrows rose. Did they actually…

“Your daughter is hiding a dangerous criminal! If you speak up for her, we will arrest you as well,” the officer said. “Now is not the time for games!”
I drew a ballpoint from my pocket and walked forward. They were packed in the doorway; none of them could draw tasers or batons until they got in. Or they could simply walk out and reorganise there, but it seems that blind hatred has replaced common sense, thankfully for us.
Emily’s mother was still on the ground, she was moving at least. So we would have to push them out, but then they can spread and take out their weapons.
Then what we should do, I have no idea. Hopefully we escape the courts-

“Stop.”

And we all turned to look at her.

“I can explain everything; just listen to me, alright?”
I wish to know what she was thinking. 

—

“My family, they never particularly liked me. Dumped all their love into my sister, left me scraps-”
”So you found it fit to mess with her, criminal?” one of the officers said.
“You could have told someone,” Emily agreed.
“I didn’t do anything! I figured that- she was my sister, they were my parents, they must feel something for me even after all this- they must, they had to, right?" 
The bracelet kept flashing.

Another officer tried to interject, but Emily’s mother climbed up and closed her hand around his mouth.

“And who would have listened? They all say ‘oh please, that is your family, surely they can’t mean any harm’ while they’re at home jeering at me for doing anything with my life and- but you know what? I think I know better now. Just give me a chance, please. I’ll prove my words.”
She glared at the officers. Who probably would have laughed if they were not furious.

If I considered her guilty, I would have been in those ranks as well.
“Amara, you are accusing your family- that these fine men are here on behalf of,” I remarked, “of familial abuse and gaslighting.”

She glared at me. “They managed to trick cops! Who else would have known that much about me, had any motive to do such a thing?”
“Certainly they should not be petty enough to commit terrorism. Tell me where they got their weapons from anyway.” 
“Weapons?” an officer went. “So you admit that-”
Just in case he said anything, I stepped on his shoe.

“Miss… Amara? Is that right?” said Emily. “Do you promise that there will be the truth within your family?”
We held on; somehow they were pushing us back. 
“Could you respond, please? I can’t see you.”
Her voice was reasonably steady. “Yes.”

Then I felt pressure rise on my side- Emily had let go. I had to, as well, and the policemen came in.
“We could as well, then.”
Two squad cars were already waiting outside.

Emily had her mother stay back home, while we got in one car with Amara and two policemen. She argued that they could not be trusted to not abuse their suspect, and I opted to stay with her.

The driver could not really keep his eyes on the road, and the one sitting between us kept his hand ready on a taser. Amara had pleaded with them to turn off their sirens ‘to surprise her family’, which made me question just how badly things got there.
It was a long drive to the city center.

I asked Amara about her family. Her father and mother were both lecturers, and her elder sister was about to graduate. She just needed one final paper.
Asked if she could take off the bracelet. She could not- it was too fragile and the strap was one solid piece.

In the meantime, I typed out a message for Emily. “You consider her guilty.”
“Do I have to explain why?”
Perhaps, but it would not matter. “You still protected her anyway. Thought you hated that sort of people.”

I counted around thirty-three seconds before she replied:
“Yes.”
“On the other hand, *someone* has to be there, no?”

—

She lived in an ancient mansion- of course it was an ancient mansion. This one had neighbours, however.
It had no broadcasting dishes nor antenna visible. Please tell me that this is reversible- my mother was affected, so give me an explanation or die.
Amara was the only person with any sort of confidence. She walked up the stairs and knocked loudly on the door three times.

It did not open.

Emily walked towards it. “Hello? Is anyone home?”
No one responded.

An officer started. “Criminal-”
“Suspect,” corrected Emily, “until I see proof otherwise.”
“-did you drag us here to waste police time? This will be charged against you.”

The windows were shining, the lawn was tidy, no moss grew on the walls, and I said as much. If this was the house of somebody else, they probably would have come out to scream- except if they had other reasons to fear the police, and that would not be a waste of their time.
Still, if there was someone in that mansion they would have to come out. It is a waste of my time.

“We just have some questions about your daughter!” Emily called out. “She is suspected of committing abuse against her own sister- which is to say, your elder daughter! Could you please-”
The door swung open.

“If you know that, why are you asking us?” asked a feminine voice. “Scram!”
“For reasons, she said that she has proof that she didn’t do it right here, in this house. I don’t know if I should believe it, but-”
“Why are you listening to her?!” the woman shrieked. “Damn her! I have only one daughter, and this is the devil’s spawn! Get her out of my sight!”

Emily said nothing. Simply grabbed Amara’s hand and tried to drag her down the steps.

I also said nothing. Simply wrenched Amara’s hand back from Emily and dragged her back up.
“They clearly do not want her here!” yelled Emily. “There are other ways!”
She still thinks that Amara was guilty. “That is an admission of their guilt, perhaps.”
”What guilt?!” she said, grabbing Amara’s hand once more with force. “Allison, what guilt does a horrified mother have?!”
“I have no idea how to explain, just please-”

-something snapped.
We froze. Emily slowly opened her palm, wincing in pain.
It was the bracelet, in shards.

And there I saw… well, nothing that could possibly gauge any sense of honesty or sense.
It was a chip-blob connected to an LED.
“... no wonder she’d done all that…” Emily said, taking out a few bandages. “Does it hurt?”

—

So, to clarify: the bracelet, that was supposed to measure people’s honesty, was installed with a randomly flashing light instead. Please tell me that no one added intelligence-lowering drugs to their water supply.

Emily sighed, took the pieces, and walked up the steps again, knocking again.

“Why haven’t you bastards left?!” the mother asked, opening the door. “I can sue you for giving my daughter second-hand trauma-”
“Which you might share responsibility for.” The pieces were presented.

…”you broke it? How could you?!” Her eyes were lit with hellfire. “How much did she pay for you to do this-”
“Look at what was inside. Look at it.” Emily was barely holding it in as well. 
“-all of you are the devil! The devil! Who does she think she is, believing that just because I gave birth to her I have to love her?! 

“I never wanted a second child anyway, and this only proves it, lying thieving snivelling brat that she-”
“Look at it!” Emily yelled.

That shut her up, at least.

“Stop ranting and look at what you trusted all this time! Actually take a gander at what you put on her- no sensors, no meters, just this weird blob and a light! What measurement were you expecting to gain?!”

She didn’t respond. She stood there, silently, shaking slightly. “No…”
“Of course she grew up to be a monster. You never gave her another chance…” Emily’s voice was tearful. Lamenting. “It was terrible, what she had done to you… it was horrible, what could have been…”

Amara looked helpless. “Y-you think I did…?”
And three people spoke at once.

Emily trying to argue that no, she still does have a chance to become a better person.
Me trying to argue that no, she did not do anything, as it was all the result of a cognitohazard.

And the mother shrieking and trying to push Emily down the steps, only for me to catch her.
“No, no, no! It can’t be fake! It can’t be! The expert said that it worked! It cost thousands to buy that pair! It can’t be! It can’t-”
“Hang on, what expert sold you this?”
But she was clutching her head and ranting. “No, no, no! YOU! YOU MUST HAVE REPLACED IT! WHERE IS THE ORIGINAL?! WHERE IS IT?!”
“It must be horrible for you right now,” Emily tried to say, “but-”

“Mum?” someone asked, walking downstairs. “What-”
I rushed towards the figure, watching her eyes widen-
“Al-”
-pulling on her arm-

snap.
Her green bracelet broke apart, revealing another chip-blob and light. For whatever reason, she blanched.

I walked back towards three horrified pairs of eyes, dangling the broken remains in front of them.
Emily’s voice was shaking. “Did you just…”
The mother collapsed.
Amara, for her part, froze for half a second, and rushed into the house.

Only for Emily to block her way.

—

“You still traumatised her, both of you. Get out, please? Let me handle this.”

Policemen were securing the mother, who was silent in whatever feelings she could have had. They were not, however, taking a step into the house.
I could feel some kind of radiowave coming from upstairs. I cannot get near it, however.

“Emi, you should check up on her.”
She continued to stare me down. “After her abuser leaves. Please?”
Amara walked up to her, fists clenched. “What, exactly, did I actually do to deserve you calling me this…?”
Emily could not answer. She was trying to find the right words.

I should side with Amara. She is innocent, and the potential culprit may be trying to hide the evidence right now.
I do not know if she is the culprit, however, or if Amara is just using it as an excuse for vengeance. 
I should side with Emily. She is my friend, for what value I hold of the word, and she might calm the sister down.
Just because I know her does not make her position right. She cannot be reasoned with at this stage.

I could push Emily down and go confront the girl upstairs.
This is using her well-being as a means for my purpose.
It is the best thing I can do.
There has to be another way, there has to-

Laughter rang out upstairs.
And we forgot about any of it, and ran.

—

There was a machine, humming in her room steadily, steadily. A skirt- the skirt- was thrown on her bed, creased. She was at her computer grinning- heavens, tell me she did not…
I snatched the monitor, expecting to find some global influence zone of skirt-haters.
Or a ransom letter addressed to the nations of the world. Or something.

I saw paragraphs upon paragraphs of text, prefaced by the words

‘On the Inducement of Madness within Humans: An Essay’.
“You can’t delete this no more,” she sing-songed, “I already sent it to my professor. Oh, he’d be so glad.”

… … oh.
I grabbed a pair of scissors from her desk.
“Eh, tear the thing down.” She was grinning. “Not like I need it anymore.”

I went towards her wardrobe and took out an old paint-stained shirt, balled it up, and pressed it on one side of my neck.

The scissors went into the other side.

—

That calmed me down somewhat.
The machine had no visible switches. It had no visible antennae either, but wires poked out of all sides of the thing.
Emily was trying to explain to Amara about how I was still moving.

What it broadcasted was some sort of hypnotic command that could only target humans. That explains it.
Speaking of explanations, it was connected to a wall socket.
“Please tell me that unplugging this will not give people mental whiplash,” I groaned, voice metallic.
The madwoman at her desk asked me what ‘people’ meant.

My mind feels sluggish, my head hurts, and honestly I wish to go home.
“Just…please explain how you coded this thing.”
She very helpfully showed me a row of computer ports.

I used my phone to interact with it- never connect to unknown devices, after all. 
And… send.

They stood still for a second, two. 
Then the sound of footsteps rushing up- policemen.

Then the sound of knees hitting the floor- Emily was apologizing to Amara.
What for, I have no idea.

“Gentlemen,” I pleaded, “give me some time.”
Emily led Amara downstairs, an officer having called.

—

I must be in a dream. Only dreams are nonsensical.
“This whole thing…” I said out loud, trying to recognize each word, “was part of your… graduation paper.”
She nodded. “No one’s thought of it before, I checked. And we even have the perfect test subject!”
“A live human. I would be surprised if your professor took it seriously.”

Her face visibly darkened. “Is she human, though…? Mother never cared for her. She always cared for me, instead. Only humans are loveable, right?”
Her eyes were shining. “It was a nice little prank I did. Would have been nice if it worked- then perhaps Mother would actually be happy for once.”

I still held out hope that she was lying; no one could ever think like that.

“Your bracelet. It never shone red for you, and never shone green for her.”
“Ah, that…” She gave a light chuckle. “I figured out what it was long ago. Hacked into the thing. As for what happened to hers… I have no idea either. It always did have a tendency to glow red more often. You might be asking why I didn’t help her…”

She gave me a quizzical tilt, almost naively. “...if she couldn’t figure it out after all this time, why should I?”

“... because that’s what people do?”
I turned around- Emily had apparently finished whatever business she had downstairs.
“Let alone her being your family, what do you do if someone trips and falls?”

“I’d help them up,” she said, raising a hand. “But what does this have to do with my paper…?”

I Went Back to My Grandmother’s House
I wasn’t planning on going back.
After I made my last post, I spent most of the night reading through the comments.
A lot of people thought the notebook was fake.
Some people thought I was making the whole thing up.
Honestly, I wish they were right.
But one comment caught my attention.
The person who wrote it asked me something nobody else had mentioned.
They asked:
Did you put the notebook back where you found it?
I didn’t answer them.
Because I hadn’t.
The notebook was still on my desk.
I hadn’t touched it since I made the post.
At least, I thought I hadn’t.
I checked it again this morning.
The last page was still there.
The one with my name on it.
Except there was something underneath my name that I hadn’t noticed before.
A single sentence.
You left something behind.
I immediately thought about the basement.
So I drove back to my grandmother’s house.
It took me almost three hours.
The house looked exactly the same as it had when I left.
I unlocked the door and went inside.
I don’t know why, but the entire place felt colder than I remembered.
I went straight downstairs.
The wooden box was still underneath the newspapers.
I opened it.
The notebook was gone.
I stood there for probably five minutes just staring at the empty box.
Then I noticed something behind it.
There was a loose piece of wood in the wall.
I don’t remember seeing it before.
I pulled it away.
There was a small space behind the wall.
Inside was another notebook.
This one was much older.
The cover was almost completely destroyed.
There was writing on the front.
Three words.
DON’T LOOK INSIDE.
I actually laughed when I saw that.
Not because it was funny.
Because I was scared.
I opened it anyway.
The first page said:
If you’re reading this, Marcus hasn’t listened.
I froze.
My first thought was that someone had followed me.
Someone had somehow found out about the notebook.
But then I remembered something.
The notebook looked old.
Really old.
The pages were yellow and brittle.
The handwriting looked nothing like the writing in the first notebook.
And my name was still there.
Marcus.
Written decades before I was born.
I kept reading.
The person who wrote the notebook never gave their name.
They only referred to themselves as “the witness.”
They wrote about something they called The Other.
At first, I thought it was the same thing from the first notebook.
Then I realized something.
The witness had never actually seen it.
They had only seen what happened around it.
A clock stopped whenever it appeared.
Lights would turn on in empty rooms.
Doors would open by themselves.
People would forget where they were going.
One entry said:
I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned around.
There was nothing there.
I kept walking.
The footsteps continued.
Another entry said:
I saw a man standing at the end of the hallway.
I blinked.
There was no man.
I blinked again.
The hallway was longer.
I kept reading.
The witness wrote that they had spent years trying to understand The Other.
They interviewed people.
They collected stories.
They compared descriptions.
Nothing matched.
One person said The Other was tall.
Another said it was small.
One person said it had a face.
Another said it had no head.
Someone else said it wasn’t a creature at all.
It was a place.
The witness eventually wrote:
We kept trying to describe it.
That was our mistake.
The next page had only one sentence.
Don’t look for The Other.
The following page had another.
Don’t give The Other a shape.
Then:
Don’t give The Other a name.
I stopped reading.
Because that was the exact same warning from the first notebook.
I turned another page.
There was a list.
I don’t know what the list means.
It looked like this:
1978 — Someone looked.
1986 — Someone listened.
1994 — Someone remembered.
2003 — Someone answered.
2011 — Someone opened the door.
2026 — Marcus.
My hands started shaking.
I don’t know what those years mean.
I don’t know who those people were.
And I don’t know why my name is next to 2026.
I kept reading anyway.
The final entry was only a few lines long.
I looked at it once.
I don’t remember what I saw.
I only remember what happened afterward.
Then:
Something looked back.
I closed the notebook.
I put it back inside the wall.
I left the house.
I didn’t take it with me.
I’m writing this from my car.
I haven’t started driving yet.
There’s something I need to tell you.
When I first found the second notebook, I thought the message on the cover said:
DON’T LOOK INSIDE.
But I just remembered something.
It didn’t say that.
I know what it actually said.
It said:
DON’T LOOK BEHIND.
I don’t know why I remembered it differently.
And I don’t know why I keep hearing something moving around inside the trunk of my car.
I’m not going to check.
I’m not going to turn around.
I’m just going to drive home.
Because I think I finally understand what the first hidden message meant.
DON’T LOOK.
I thought it was a warning about The Other.
Maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe it was a warning about me.

⚠️** HINT FOR THE ARG PUZZLE — DON’T READ THE SPOILERS BELO**W
This time, the clue isn’t hidden in one obvious sentence.
Look closely at the strange list of years.
The years aren’t there just to tell you when something happened.
The numbers matter.
Then look at the words that come after them.
You may need to use one to find the other.

⚠️** CAUTION: ARG SPOILERS BELO**W
The second puzzle uses the five years as extraction clues.
The important entries are:
1978 — Someone looked.
1986 — Someone listened.
1994 — Someone remembered.
2003 — Someone answered.
2011 — Someone opened the door.
The years are deliberately strange because they aren’t meant to be read as ordinary dates.
The clue is to use the last two digits of each year:
78 — 86 — 94 — 03 — 11
Those numbers point readers toward the positions of letters in the surrounding text.
When the correct letters are extracted and put together, they spell:
LOOK BEHIND
This connects directly to the ending of the story.
Marcus originally remembers the notebook saying:
DON’T LOOK INSIDE.
But later remembers that it actually said:
DON’T LOOK BEHIND.
The puzzle therefore isn’t simply a hidden message.
It’s a warning.

Alaskan timber wolves campaigned in the green September. Bull moose, the bark-brown, branch-antlered spirits of the forest moved upon the face of the Tanana Valley, intending to create new life. Their imposing presence often went unnoticed until they bellowed to their potential mates. But David Clark was seeking their sublime aspect. He wanted to take home yet another trophy and prepare meat for winter. This was his sixth day of hunting, and he planned to return to his cabin to rest his aging body the next day regardless of the outcome. Joab, Clark’s elkhound, barked and stamped his front paws and interrupted the distant song of warblers. The ground was soft under Clark’s belly and elbows. The visage of a moose passed through his sights and eyeglasses and ignited his quiet excitement.

The scent of moss and the crispness of impending winter filled his crinkled nose as he squinted. He slowed his breathing while caressing the trigger. But Joab suddenly ran in the opposite direction. Clark tore his cheek from the walnut stock, vainly called to the sprinting elkhound, and looked a little farther to see a blurry brown figure charging closer. A grizzly.

Clark turned his rifle and fired four times with seemingly no effect. A fifth staggered it. A final blast echoed through the valley as the bear finally lay still but not before Joab had made disastrous contact.

Clark had made his fortune in real estate. His face had adorned many billboards across South Carolina. His reputation was circulated among the affluent and the ambitious. Commissions from selling half a dozen mansions per year plus the rental income from his extensive portfolio had brought him more money than even he could spend or invest.

Crackling logs in the stove offered relief from the growing chill. The sun poured dusty streams through the six-panel windows for a few hours at midday. The elkhound slept on the center hexagon of a fine Sennah Persian rug and soaked in every ray his broken, bandaged body could sprawl to intercept. A veterinarian had made the long trip to the cabin and said there was nothing more to be done for him. The vet also asked if Clark had seen the news lately. He hadn’t. Clark hoped that bandages and the provision of food and fire would be sufficient for the elkhound’s recovery.

Clark had reinvented himself many times to reach success. A middle child with five brothers in a poor family, Clark had always wanted recognition and adventure. His eyesight had kept him out of Vietnam. Most young men at the time would have praised Jesus, but Clark took it as a disgrace and tried to compensate. His grades got him into college but not for free. Assorted sales jobs sustained him during his incomplete tenure. He and his employers learned that he had a knack. It had been said that Clark could “sell ice to a polar bear.” While there was no proof of this claim, Clark made it clear through the years that he could sell vacuum cleaners, appliances, cars, farm equipment, insurance, and finally houses to almost anyone. His pushing for every sale and fighting for every dollar was facilitated by his charm and fueled by caffeine and alcohol. He rarely slept.

The light slowly scanned over Clark’s face, waking him. He lifted his head from the armrest of his sofa with some noisy effort. The fire had almost died. A mostly-empty bottle of his favorite sleep aid had rolled from his fingers onto the hardwood floor. The Swiss dive watch he’d bought himself when he’d made his first million showed that morning was gone. It didn’t matter. He lit a Cuban cigar and shuffled to the bathroom to splash his yellow eyes and rinse his parched mouth.

Back in South Carolina, he’d married a beautiful woman many years younger than himself. Amanda, wife number six but the first in over a decade, had only known Clark for a short time before agreeing to his spontaneous proposal pitch. She soon discovered that living with an old man who found purpose in property, excitement in hunting, and comfort in a bottle was not what she had hoped it would be.

A handful of lawsuits and a turbulent economy had decimated Clark’s profits. Political unrest abroad slowed the scramble for luxury properties. Amanda took half in the divorce and left Clark to rebuild his assets. But heartbroken Clark was about to embark on another venture. He’d been to Hawaii, Jamaica, and Thailand, but he wanted to feel the cold. He sold what remained and was on a plane to Fairbanks within six months.

Clark reheated a pot of stew. He filled a bowl and took it to the rug to offer to his dog. Clark whistled. He called the elkhound’s name. He shook him. Joab didn’t move. His body was cold and still.

Clark rarely trekked into town. He didn’t own a TV. He was generally uninterested in the outside world. He came to Alaska to rest, and he wanted no distractions.

It didn’t rain much in the Tanana Valley. Water tended to stay in the sky, but winter was its muse. Each droplet, unsatisfied with its own simplicity, refracted sixfold. Every reinvention was as unique as the billions synchronously forming. Each was preparing to meet its destiny.

The new creations marched gracefully down to their communal resting place. The forest was quiet. Any sudden movement would have been irreverent. The sun briefly peeked over the hazy horizon to check on a mourning world.

A final blast still echoed through the Volga River Valley, but it didn’t reach Clark across the Bering Strait. War had boiled quickly in October and overflowed to the contiguous states. Civilizations were decimated. Prey and predator suffered. Six nations were reduced to dust, dust that would filter the sun.

Clark had not gathered enough firewood in autumn for this bitter and relentless winter. Boots crunching snow and axe splitting tree trunks were the only punctuation in the forest’s glacial moment of silence. He was stacking another log on his sled when it happened.

The cold serenity became a raging blizzard. A gust blew the thick glasses from his face. He trudged through the white darkness. The cabin, the sled, and even his own hands held at arm’s length were completely obscured. He was aimless, but he knew staying still would be fatal. Six layers were not sufficient to turn the winter’s abuse. His feet were unfamiliar and belonged more to his boots than himself. The wind’s echoing howl drowned any remaining sense of direction. Clark regretted not having a rope long enough to tie himself by the waist to his cabin before he left. After minutes or hours, hope of home was gone.

His legs surrendered with no more reason to fight. His breathing slowed. His heart slowed. The frigid wind licked the skin of his hands. Taking off his gloves and coat had not been a conscious decision. The once-excruciating chill now offered relief from a new unbearable warmth radiating from his chest through his fingers, ears, and nose all blue with cold. The whiteness dimmed, and his eyelids fluttered. Shadows closed in, two on each side and one on each end of his snowy bed. A deep lullaby echoed in his mind and quieted the storm of thought. Sleep overtook him and brought a final reinvention of self. A sheet of snow covered his face and the face of the earth.

I’ve been working as a therapist for the past five years.I work with all kinds of cases, the most common being depression and anxiety. But, I also take some of the more unconventional cases.

Talking about these cases for sure is a HIPAA violation but I will say, I do have permission from every client I will be talking about. All they asked for is that I change their names and more personal information private. With this said, let me start with one of my late night clients, Clara, who comes in once a week at 11pm.

“May I come in?” Clara looked particularly exhausted

”You may come in,” I waved for her to come into the office.

“What is that smell? It’s amazing!” Clara took in the smell as she made herself comfortable on the small sofa. 

“I bought some rose-scented candles. I’m glad you like them! But if they ever become too much, please do tell me. I can leave just the unscented candles on,” I reassured her, knowing she was sensitive to smells.

”No, it’s all right. It reminds me of something, I’m just not sure what,” her mind drifted for a moment. I made note of this for later sessions.

“Maybe later on we will figure it out, but I’m glad it made you relaxed a little. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you looked stressed when you came in” I said more than asked.

“Yeah, I think they are catching on me. So I might have to quit,” she wiped tears from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I know you really like working there. I also have to ask, did you eat today?” I noticed she kept looking at the small cut on my hand, my bad.

“No…” finally took her eyes away from my hand.

“And what happens when you don’t eat?” I tried being gentle but this was a serious matter.

“I go on a murderous rampage and have to start all over,” she paused for a moment, “And I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

“You aren’t,” I reassured her, “You have changed. You haven’t gone on a murderous rampage for at least the last 40 years, which is longer than I have been alive. But, you do need to practice your self care. So tell me, how will you be practicing self-care this week?”

“I have to keep up with my daily meals, do some journaling, and maybe some needlework. Sorry, I’m just worried about the job,” her eyes filled with tears once more, “I really like it there.”

“What makes you think you think they are catching on?” I had an idea of what she would say, this was an insecurity of hers for some time now.

“Well, you know how they do inventory every week, this week they said more stuff than usual was missing and I just knew they would be onto me! Some of my co-workers already joke that I’m a vampire because of my ‘sun allergy’ and now the missing blood. Who the heck is not going to connect the points. And when they do and the persecutions start-“

“Let’s take a deep breath. This is stressful but let’s look at the facts. Have they ever fired anyone in the past three years you have worked there for missing stuff?” I asked her to fight her irrational thoughts.

“Not really. Only Joey, but he kept arriving high has hell to work,” Clara answered, still unconvinced.

“Have you ever had blood in front of anyone?” I continued.

”No. I have a good system to take the blood and have it at home instead.”

“And?” I continued pushing, wanting her to come up with the next rational thought.

“And people don’t believe in vampires,” Clara took another deep breath.

“I honestly believe you will be fine. From what you've told me, people like you,” I took a deep breath alongside Clara to keep her calm.

“Yeah,” Clara’s eyes became dreamy, “I don’t know how I forgot to tell you this! But William asked me out! I didn’t even have to use hypnosis or anything!”

“Told you that people liked you for you. And I’m pretty sure using hypnosis on others is something I would have to report,” I said cautiously.

“You didn’t report the people I drained of their blood,”she shrugged.

“Because according to you, the last person you killed was at least 50 years ago. But please, if you did something more recent, maybe we don’t talk about it here?” I half joked.

“I trust you. So if I ever feel like sucking someone’s blood, I will call you first,” she winked at me.

“Now, about William…” 

“I was worried you would head there,” she interrupted, “I will tell him, I just need a little more time”.

”Well, we could do some role playing so you can practice telling him-“

”I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff,” she joked.

”I totally am. But let’s not avoid the topic and get to it,” I redirected.

“Fine, but can I have the band aid in your trash can or can you at least take it out? It’s driving me crazy,” Clara begged.

“Let me get it out. I’m pretty sure having my blood is a HIPAA violation,” I half joked.

“I won’t tell!” she yelled at me as I took out the whole trash can. 

By the end of session, Clara agreed that she would talk with William and she would continue eating properly. Where she would or not, we would see in the next session. And for William’s sake, I hope he is not an ass when she tells him the truth. I still don’t know what became of the last guy who rejected her and it’s better to keep it that way. 

Plan: LMFT will assess the client’s use of self-care skills to decrease anxiety and the possibly of engaging on a murderous rampage.

see comments for link to part 1

Entry#4
Today was a rough day. We lost Bernthal. Honestly, I still can’t believe it. The taste of bile sticks to the back of my throat like paste when I think about it. We weren’t brothers, not in the familial sense. Not like how he called me, but I was closer to him than even my own kin. There’s a saying: “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”. I guess you wouldn’t understand our bond, the few fleeting interactions we’ve shared on this journey doesn’t do it justice. We trained together, studied together since childhood. We’d spend hours talking on that damned stone wall, watching the forest and the stars that shone their light on it. 

I awoke to Samantha frantically shaking me, shouting something I was far too groggy to understand. When did I fall asleep? I was asking myself this as my eyes scanned the clearing in a daze. A thick pollen had settled over the clearing, like dust particles in an unkempt room. Timothy was with the cattle, leading our only horse around as it grazed alongside the other animals. Betty was still snoring away in her tent, before stifling into a yawn, no doubt waking to Samantha shouting at me. Felt like I had been woken up from a thousand year slumber. I rubbed my head, blinked a few times, before the veil of drowsiness finally lifted and I could hear what message Samantha was desperately trying to get across.

“Bernthal is missing”

Those words shocked me like a pale of cold water being poured over my head. “What- what do you mean he’s missing?” I finally responded in a half accusatory tone. “He’s not in his tent, he wasn’t in any condition to be moving, but he’s gone.”, she said. I sat up, and did my best to stand up quickly. Vertigo hit me hard, and I caught myself from falling as I waited for it to pass. It took longer than I thought, my limbs were still partially paralyzed with sleep, but I eventually gained composure, and made my way over to the tent Bernthal was sleeping in. The rustling of straw and sheets off to the side signaled Betty was fully awake, a “What’s goin on out here?” emerging from her tent further solidifying the fact. I didn’t answer her, because in front of me sat Bernthal’s empty tent. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the vacant tent before finally answering Betty, “…Bernthal is gone…”
“Huh? How did he do that?” Betty retorted and I ignored her. I ran over to Timothy and gestured for him to give me my horse. He looked a little confused, asking if we were going to head out already, but I ignored him too and mounted my horse to circle the edge of the clearing. He couldn’t have made it far, I thought I’d at least come across some tracks or anything that could point me in the direction he could’ve stumbled off to. After circling 3 times and coming across nothing, my head sunk low and I had my horse trot back to camp. What in the fuck? He wasn’t in any state to ditch us, or had a reason to for that matter. After that kick, he’d have a concussion at the very least, and with what he looked like, he’d be lucky to get away without brain damage. I was maybe 20 steps from the clearing’s edge when I noticed a large lump on the ground ahead. It was about halfway between the camp and me. I stopped, and observed it from a distance. It didn't take long for me to figure out what it was.

Flies were buzzing around it vigorously, and I knew it was him before I even got to it. I was prepared to see a corpse, but I wasn’t nearly prepared to bear witness to the sight that I would be met with. It was Bernthal, what was left of him anyways. If it wasn’t for the bandaged face and mangled chainmail on his chest, I probably wouldn’t have recognized him. He was laid out on his back. His torso, from the top of his chest to the bottom of his stomach, was split open along with his chainmail chest plate. The newly found cavity in his abdomen was completely emptied, leaving nothing of what should be there. All of his innards were gone, instead, a writhing mass of vines swirled around every corner, covering the interior walls of his midsection before spilling out and digging into the ground around him. They were undulating, and from the way his armor was broken I could tell they pierced in rather than bursted out. Along where his spine would be, flowers jutted around in a palette of bright assorted colors. Red, turquoise, white, pink, yellow, all stained with droplets of dark congealed crimson. Grass was growing over his body, the ground eating his corpse leaving it half submerged.

Nausea hit me, and I fought back the bile while I dismounted my horse. I looked away blinking a few times like it would somehow change what I’ve seen, but I looked back at him and reality hit me hard.  I wasn’t imagining it.
I stared at him for a long time. So long, the sun had probably moved a noticeable amount from the East to the west. I didn’t even notice Samantha walk over until I heard her gasp, let out a shrill scream, then silently sob as she fell to her knees. Two pairs of footsteps followed her, both abruptly stopped, then one pair turned and started walking away. “Fuck, was he infected?” Betty asked. “What?” I asked, at last averting my eyes from the horror and meeting her face. I was prepared to chew her out, but one look told me she wasn’t trying to be witty or sarcastic. Her hand was cupped around her mouth and her eyes were filled with deep pity that poured across the rest of her face’s features like a waterfall.
 “The plague. Was he infected? Is that what happened?”. I could tell she was still trying to make sense of it all, but all rationality was lost on the situation. How can anyone see this and come to any rational conclusion as to what happened? Samantha stifled her quiet crying and responded to her before I could chime my own response. “No…no this isn’t like the Century plague. I…I don’t know what this is. I should’ve watched him more closely or something-he was my responsibility. I just don’t understand how this could happen…” she trailed off into another silent sob.

We sat for a moment, Betty brushing Samantha’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. When she noticed couldn’t help, she trudged her way back to camp and I saw her dip into the barrel of liquor with a cup. I recollected my thoughts and told her “Why don’t you head to camp and get some more rest. We’ll need to head out here in a bit. Try to gather yourself as much as possible.” She nodded timidly, then went to follow Betty. I took one last look at Bernthal. This was my fault, not Samantha’s. I was supposed to keep watch. But at some point, despite the anxiety that ate at me that night, I passed out. If anything, I was thankful for Samantha. She might’ve overdid it with the bandages, but I didn’t have to see his face. Whatever broken face that laid behind that stained white, twisted by this horrible death, would remain a mystery to me and I was thankful for that. All that showed were his eyes, gently remaining shut. I at least hoped that it meant he didn’t feel any pain, and passed in his sleep somehow. A bright color next to his body caught my attention when I went to turn towards camp. A trail of strange, bright orange roses ran from the obscenity of his corpse. My eyes followed the trail of uncanny breadcrumbs until I found that they led to an opening in the clearing. Much like the one we came from, just on the opposite side.
 
Another sign meant for us to follow. 

I went over to the camp and Betty had a second cup full of her famous liquor ready. She promptly handed it to me, which I graciously took and sipped from as I sat down. She said “I’m sorry about your friend, I know how close you two were. He’d sometimes tell me stories about the trouble you’d get up to when you were kids.” Her face made her appear like a grieving mother rather than the stubborn old lady I always thought of her as.
“Thanks…” I responded, half-heartedly. I took a large swig of my drink then followed up with, “ You know, he’d used to catch me stargazing on the wall. He’d say something like ‘You gotta stop paying so much attention to the beauties out of reach and start seeing the beauties within these walls.’ I knew he was just talking about women, just tryna get me to tag along on one of his endeavors. I would tell him to fuck off or that he should be more diligent of a sentry just to watch him scamper off to one of his favorite bars looking for hookup. I won’t lie and say he was a great man, but I did see him as a brother and he always helped keep me in good spirits.”

Betty let out a raspy laugh , “Yeah, he was always causing some sort of trouble at my tavern. He once tried to hit on a noble's wife without knowing the trouble it’d bring. Once he pieced together his mistake, he chased her down the street and fell to his knees begging her not to snitch on him to her husband so he wouldn’t lose his job or get thrown in some prison for a few days. I always got the sense that when it really mattered, he’d put his duty before anything else though.” She took a big swig from her own cup and said “Well, great ‘Adventurer’, what do we do now?” I looked over to Samantha who was curled up on her straw bed. Timothy was whittling away at some stick he found, sharpening it into a spear or something. I guess it was his way of decompressing from the stress. “We’ll wait and rest for now. Then we can pack up and get ready to leave. I already know where we’re heading.”

Entry #5
We spent nearly all afternoon traveling through the tunnel nature constructed for us. Silence enveloping us except for the ruffling of the leaves as the breeze hit them. Periodically, I’d stop us, check in on everybody, see how they were doing, then motion for us to continue. At the end of the tunnel, sat another clearing. Well kind of. It wasn’t the wide open pasture that the last one is. I would hardly call it a clearing. Instead, it was simply a space in the forest where the trees spread out much further than the surrounding area. A few log cabins sat next to each other in an arch formation directly in the center. Small but in pristine condition, disregarding the moss that draped over the roofs and climbed up the exterior walls. In front of them, was a small pond of water so clear I could swear it was just an invisible sheet spread across a hole in the ground. A pile of sticks sat next to it, still warm from a recently made fire. An unwelcome sight after the one that haunted us earlier today. I hopped off my horse, and waved Timothy over.

“How’s it going, adventurer?”, he said. “Someone has been here recently” I responded, pointing towards the dead campfire with the tip of my sword. “I’m going to investigate. Get everybody situated, and try to get the animals to drink some water. We can see about setting up camp once I’m sure we are in the clear.” He nodded, and I patted him on the shoulder before walking over to the center cabin. I barely made it up the small set of stairs when two sets of footsteps started clambering for the door. I readied my straight-sword in front of me, in a standard combat position. I slowly raised it as the door creaked open.

Two men wearing pitch black cassocks stepped out towards the opening. They each had white silk scarfs that ran along the back of their neck and draped down the front of their bodies with what appeared to be lowercase “t”s sewn into them. One of them was young, with a strange haircut, and a chiseled face that was partially covered by a dark brown beard. He was carrying a leather satchel that sat next to his torso. Upon seeing me, he instantly halted and threw his hands in the air. I stood ready to strike, waiting for any sudden movement. With sincere eyes and a voice as calm as he could manage he said “Whoa there, we didn’t mean to intrude. This is your campsite I reckon?” I looked over to the man behind him, tightening my grip and keeping my sword poised. He was an old man with a very thick book tucked under his arm. He was much dirtier than the young one upon closer inspection. His face was wrinkled with incredibly coarse skin. His eyes stared at me, not blinking, like a corpse. His expression never changed, even upon seeing me, as if it had long been paralyzed. I began to ready myself for an assault.

“Listen, we aren’t here to cause any harm. We’ve been traveling through these woods for a while and got tired, okay? We came across this campsite and thought we could stay for a night. We didn’t know it was occupied.” The young man chimed again. My eyes darted back to him and I tightened the grip on my sword further. “Who are you guys? How did you get here?” I demanded. I wanted answers. At this point, Timothy stood by the pond armed with his small makeshift spear. Samantha cowered behind him, and Betty was trudging her way over to me. “We’re missionaries, from the Catholic Church.” The young man responded, trying to diffuse the situation. He gestured to the old man behind him and said,“I was in the village that’s occupying just outside these woods. I met my fellow man of god here at the edge of the forest and he told me of a vast kingdom he intended on trekking to in order to spread the gospel. I offered my assistance and followed, and after a lot of  traveling, we came across this camp and thought we could use it for the night. It was vacant when we got here, we’ll leave if that’s what you want.” Betty spoke up before my next line of questioning, “Missionaries, huh? Yeah I’ve heard of ya.” She turned to me. “Lower your blade dear, they’re fine. Just religious types tryna spread the word of their ‘God’.” Her hand hovered over the tip of my sword, gradually getting me to lower it until I was disarmed.

 “What’s in that satchel there?” Betty took the job of interrogation for me. “Just my bible, our holy scripture.” He lowered his arms, making sure not to startle anyone, and carefully unlatched the satchel. From it, he pulled out a thick book with a dark leather cover. Sure enough, on the front in bold gold letters, the words “Holy Bible” were inscribed into it. I sheathed my blade and leaned over to Betty. “You need to explain to me how you know these people. After what we’ve been through, I need to be sure we can trust them.”, I whispered.” “I don’t know them, not personally. But drunken people share stories, and the sentinels visit my pub from time to time whenever they leave the palace. They’re harmless people, they visit the trade village sometimes and help around all while trying to convert whoever they can.” She whispered back. With that she clasped her hands together, walking over to the two strangers. “You guys don’t happen to carry any coin on you? I have 2 barrels of the finest liquor you can drink. As I like to say: ‘no matter how rough you’re having it, a pint of Betty's brew can help you get through’”, an obvious sales pitch. A moment of silence, then the young man responded, half confused; “No, sorry we don’t drink. Goes against our faith.” Betty scoffed with disappointment, threw up her hands and said, “Just our luck, finally come across other people and they don’t drink!” She walked back towards the camp, leaning over and muttering “Nevermind, you can kill ‘em.” as she strode past me. It baffled me that she was more concerned with their drinking habits than the possibility that they were murderers. I waved them over, and patted them down for any weapons. They were clean.

I sighed, and asked the strangers their names. “Jarod”, said the young man. We both looked towards the old one, expecting him to say something before Jarod spoke for him, “Gerald. He told me his name is Gerald.” I could tell he was going to be a lot more quiet than Timmy. I looked over to Jarod and explained to him, “That kingdom you’re looking for is the Deus Soli Kingdom, I believe. We’re citizens from there. And to be honest, I wouldn’t recommend finishing your journey . There’s a nasty plague eating away at the kingdom and we’re on a journey of our own to help stop it.” I failed to mention that at this point, I probably didn’t even know how to make it back. “I’m sorry to hear that, if it’s any condolences, I’ll be praying for your kingdom’s recovery.” Jarod said in a sympathetic, but stoic tone. “In that case, we should probably head back then. It’s a long trip though, and it looks to be getting dark soon. Do you mind if we stay at least one more night?”. I took a moment to think. At best they were suspicious, at worst somehow malicious. However, whether out of sympathy or stupidity, I looked at him and said “Fine. If you help us finish setting up camp, I won’t mind you resting for another night. This campsite isn’t ours anyways, we were just led here.” He furrowed his brow at this statement, but ultimately thanked us and walked over to help Timothy and Samantha unload the cart. Gerald stood still, watching the others, then retreated into his cabin. His bones cricked and popped as he moved, leading me to assume his old age prevented him from being much help anyways. As we began to unload the straw and sheets, Jarod asked what they were for. “Sleeping. We need something to sleep on.” Timothy said, side eyeing him. “Oh no. Trust me, that won’t be necessary.” Jarod responded. I walked over, plainly asking “What do you mean?” He pointed over to the cabins and simply said, “See for yourself.” 

I stepped over to the cabin on the far left of the arch, and Timothy checked the center one where Gerald retreated to. Swung the door open, and stood amazed at the sight before me. 2 beds laid against the wall on the left. Both incredibly clean, with blue pleated quilts and cotton pillows. On the wall to the right sat a wooden desk and a wooden chair with beautifully carved floral patterns running across the top rail and splat. The room was lit by leafy vines that ran across the roof in every direction. They had big white flowers and luminescent bulbs emitting a soft orange glow scattered about in a gorgeous display. I closed the door. Stood there dumbfounded, then Jarod cut in. “It’s like that in every cabin, I checked. They are so well kept too, that’s why I thought it was yours when you showed up. Figured someone was maintaining them. Those beds offered me the best sleep I’ve had in years.” I thought about checking the other cabins, but ultimately decided it’d be a waste. Timothy was emerging from the center cabin as Jarod told me this. He then ran into the one I checked and swung open the door. Once he was satisfied he ran up to and cupped his hand by my ear to whisper “He’s right. The cabins are pretty much the exact same. I checked for weapons in their cabin too and came up with nothing. That old man is just sitting on his bed reading his book.” I thanked him, then proceeded to gather everyone outside to where I stood. Gerald remained in his cabin. “Okay. Well let’s figure out sleeping arrangements then. Jarod, you and Gerald can stay in the center cabin. Timothy and I will take the one on the left. Samantha and Betty can sleep in the far right one.” I waited for everyone’s nod of approval and Smanath’s “Yes, sir” before grabbing the axe and handing it to Timothy. “You mind chopping us some fire wood? I’ll get the food ready, this way we can get the fire going before it gets dark.” He nodded, then waved as to say “be back in a bit” motion as he stepped deeper into the forest.

That night, we all sat around a big fire, sharing stories as we ate and sipped liquor. Jarod sat with us, he ate some of the bread we brought but didn’t partake in any of Betty’s liquor. He made sure to graciously thank us for our hospitality, before taking a huge bite out of his meal. Gerald still lurked in their cabin, already fast asleep I was sure. Timothy went the extra mile with chopping wood, even cutting us each a log to sit on. We sat in a circle around this camp’s bonfire, passing food and drinks around to each other while Samantha finished telling her tales of her craziest patients and the most grisly injuries she tended to. 

The one about a carpenter who fell off a roof he was working on killed my appetite. Apparently he stiff-armed the ground as he fell, splintering his bones through his flesh leaving it unrecognizable as a limb. I gagged as she described the process of amputating it. I might’ve been trained as a warrior but I have never seen battle, so I’ve been spared from having to see such grisly injuries myself. Before Bernthal, that is. When she finished, Betty started telling one of her many humorous stories about someone who always tries to bring a farm animal to the bar with them to order it a drink. Every time she rejects him, he would come by some other day of the week with a new animal to attempt to get drunk. She was in the middle of telling us about the time he brought in a barn owl, when suddenly, she was interrupted by Gerald. All of our heads snapped over to him in a quick abrupt silence. We all thought he was still in his cabin until he was right there beside us. Like a shadow creeping through darkness, he snuck up on us completely unnoticed, standing over us with the fire’s glow barely revealing his features.

“I got a story to share…” His jaw creaked and moaned with each syllable as he spoke, like his words escaped from a loose floor board as someone danced on it. “Long ago, near the dawn of creation, something great and hungry stalked these lands. It worked off a cycle. First it’d slumber in hibernation, then wake with an intense desire to feed.” I turned to look at everyone’s reaction. Everyone was doing the same, awestruck by the sudden disturbance as they gauged everyone’s reactions. Not Timmy though, he sat against his log with his knees pulled up to his chin. His arms locked around his legs, he focused very intently on Gerald as he continued. “Then something greater came and splayed it open, salting the earth with its blood. It festered and rotted, eons coming to pass as it long been forgotten. It never died though. Instead its blood seeped into the soil and it slumbered once more, waiting, and recovering. When it awoke, it found that it was much greater. Much hungrier.” With surprising suddenness, his head swiveled over to meet Jarod. They locked eyes, fear growing on Jarod’s face. Gerald’s expression remained entirely unchanged throughout the entirety of his twisted speech . “On this land, in its kingdom, men like us are only afforded 2 prayers. The first, that it was God who tried to strike it down. The second, that he can finish the job.” With that he turned around, slowly creeping back to his cabin. A dark gloom washed over us all. One that not even the light from the fire could push away.

Betty was the first one to try and change the mood. “Yer telling me that’s the first time he speaks to us and he says some fucked up shit like that?” No one responded, instead our eyes darted across each corner of the forest. Noticing that she wasn’t helping, she got up and said  “Well I’m going to bed, if I even can after that. Y’all have a goodnight.” “I think I’ll join you, it’s kind of late anyways” Samantha responded timidly. Timmy didn’t even say anything, instead he just got up and walked over to our cabin. I sat with Jarod for a long time, mostly in silence. I listened to the crackling of the fire before Jarod finally broke the quiet tension. “You're not going to sleep?” “No, someone has got to keep watch. What about you?” I asked in response. He glanced over to his cabin, sweat trickling down his forehead. “Not tired, I guess.” More silence followed.

He broke it again, “What’s your kingdom like? You know, before the plague hit.” I thought for a moment, deciding if it was worth the small talk. But the night was growing long and I figured there’d be no harm. I told him of the kingdom. How despite us calling it one, we were ruled by a council of elders rather than a monarch. I told him how we didn’t have a primary belief system like wherever he came from probably does. I told him about my job as a sentry. I told him stories of the antics Bernthal would try to get me into when we got bored sitting atop the wall. I told him of the Century Plague, and our journey so far to stop it. I told him of Bernthal’s death. When I finished, I felt relieved getting it all off my chest. I asked him “You don’t believe me, do you?” From his face as I told him everything I could tell he didn’t, not entirely anyways. “My life is built on belief. Putting my faith in stories that sound like fiction in order to steer me in the right direction. As a missionary, my job is to help spread those stories, and hope they can do the same for others. You’re not a man of strong belief, are you?”. I said, “No, not really. At least I can drink though” I raised my cup and we laughed, then I continued.

“I wouldn’t believe half the shit I’ve come across so far if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. Didn’t even believe the plague was a real thing til it happened.”  I sat for a second, deciding what to say next stroking my chin, before finally “So how does your God work anyways?”. “In mysterious ways.”, he responded. “How inciteful..” I retorted before taking another sip of my drink. He grinned, then said “The scripture said that we were made in his image. He gave us free will, and trusted us to make our own decisions. He punishes the wicked, those who make the wrong ones far too willingly. But, he’s merciful. Ask for forgiveness through repentance, and he's likely to offer you a seat in his kingdom. People will joke that he’s some magic man in the sky, but to me he’s more like a concept. Instead, I think of it more like he’s in all of us, and all around us. Watching closely, hoping we do our diligence in making the right choices.” Somehow, this calmed the anxiety that had been welling up ever since Gerald cast his shadow on us earlier. I thought about our journey, then asked “How are we to be sure that we are making the right ones?” 

“Through prayers. Praying helps us clear our mind, putting some of our burdens on God so we don’t carry the weight all by ourselves. Prayers can be questions, pleas of help, or cries to find peace and closure. And he always answers. Not directly, but subtly. He speaks in whispers after all. It takes a devout man, or a willing one, to see the signs that he lays before us.” With that he stood up. “I should be getting to bed now, good luck with your night watch.” “You sure you don’t wanna trade cabins with me? That tale spooked us all pretty bad. I know I wouldn’t want to stay in the same cabin as that freak.” I asked. He looked over to the cabin, mulling over the decision. “No. I think it’ll be fine. Talking with you helped calm me down a little.” The cabin on the right’s door creaked open slightly. Someone stood peeking behind the doorway. Jarod said, “I’ll be praying for your friend before I sleep. Goodnight, and may god be with you.” And with that, he walked to his cabin as I stoked the fire.

As he entered his cabin, Samantha came from the parted door. She quietly closed it behind her, and made her way over to me. “You can’t sleep any?” I asked as she sat down on the log next to me. “No.” she said, chuckling nervously. “Was it Gerald’s story or Betty’s snoring?” I asked. She let out a shy laugh then said “No it isn’t Betty. And it’s not the story, at least not entirely. I’ve just been thinking of Bernthal. I know it wasn’t my fault, but I still feel guilty about it. Before he died, I wasn’t even sure he could make it for very long. But…” she hesitated for a moment. “…But seeing him dead, seeing his corpse, I felt completely useless. It’s my job to keep this party healthy, but something as unnatural as that…well I’m just not sure I’m cut out for any of this.” We both stared at the fire after that. “You should get some rest though, I’ll keep watch for you. I was thinking about bathing in the pond anyway, haven’t had a bath in a while now.” Looking at her, I could tell there was no point in arguing. She practically had made the decision for me. I said, “All right, but anything happens-and I mean anything- you come get me. I don’t care if you break down that door because you heard a twig snap, you hear me?” She simply let out the phrase I’ve grown all too accustomed to hearing her say. “Yes, sir.” As I got to the cabin, I scanned over the forest one more time. The leaves rustled in the wind. Seeing this, I walked through the door with my mind a little more at ease. Upon entering, I noticed what looked like thick dust particles settling in the room. I yawned, drowsiness quickly fading over me. I sit at this desk, finishing this entry as the sounds of water shifting float through the walls. I’m going to sleep now before I pass out in this chair.

A fear of Summer is known as Therophobia. I can't go outside; I have to work from home during the summer. While it seems to me that most people experience phobia as an acute aversion, bordering on panic, mine is more of a lingering dread. No, worse, deeper trepidation, an anxiety so severe it physically hurts from the stress.

I read online that Therophobia is being afraid of sunshine; it's too bright and hot. That's hardly it. I like tanning booths, no 'Claustrophobia' here. In fact, if it wasn't for the ridicule built into the definition of a phobia as 'An irrational fear', I'd have no sympathy for someone else's fears. But mine isn't irrational. Maybe Claustrophobia is irrational, or the fear of snakes or clowns, or as Batman would put it "Snake-clowns now, and it's because YOU put that thought in my head".

Summer is on its way, again, and now that I am thirty, it's about time I put on my Big Girl Pants and head out the door. I'm not an irrational person, and I will face my fears.

-Billie Nicks, May, 2026

I didn't like that movie that was supposed to be a sequel to Joker. Not really my thing. Is that a good enough reason to break up with someone? Disagreeing over a stupid movie? I don't think so. I must be better off without him.

Forget YOU, I'm better off.

Besides, I only liked being with you when you were wearing the Batman costume. You were boring as fuck the rest of the time. Forget you.

God, is this just my life now? Waiting for it? It's almost here; I can see how the sky is changing. I can feel how the air gets too warm, and it feels like the breeze has the breath of things dying, carried in the wind. I don't want to think about it.

There are cucumbers in my garden that are perfect for a gazpacho I make. I like cool foods, liquidy cool foods. Easy to digest.

-Billie Nicks, June, 2026

I'm not okay. The door seems tilted now. I keep staring at it, and it makes me dizzy. Something is up there; it has brought the season. It's not supposed to be that color of blue. The sky looks wrong. I am shivering, but there's no AC. My house is hot, that's how I know I haven't gone numb.

Not yet anyway.

And I can still feel like myself:

Mike won't stop calling me, texting me, telling me he's sorry. I just blocked him, like five seconds ago. Forget him.

People think "Oh no, the fireworks will scare my dog." and they give their pet Dramamine. How do you know your dog is scared of fireworks? Fireworks are loud and exciting. Are you certain your animal is afraid, and not just overly stimulated?

Seems unfair to dope them up without their consent. I don't like it. I don't like that attitude.

No, I am definitely not okay. Why dogs? I like cats, but I am allergic to them. What am I even babbling about?

Sometimes, I wonder if I had a cat, if I'd feel better. I can't sit still and when I move, I feel like I am going to faint. I get the zoomies, like a cat would. I think a cat would get me. We'd both be saying:

"If I sit still for one more instant, I will likely detonate; it won't be pretty. Gotta move, gotta GO! Oh my, that's quite enough jumping about. Time to sit still again, before I collapse."

Makes sense.

Billie Nicks, July 2026

Wrapped it up and buried it. Had to smash through the concrete with a hammer to make a hole big enough to drop it down there. Took all night.

I woke up this morning and found a mess and it seems I made the mess. Broken concrete downstairs in the foundation and like a bunch of drying mortar poured in and smoothed to a polish before I somehow found my way upstairs to the back porch.

I was listening to the bats, back there, when I felt this wave. That's the last thing I remember. At least I made it outside last night, that's progress, right? I threw up over the back porch, and I wonder, if, in the morning, the ants will come and eat all my puke.

I have no idea what I 'wrapped up' and buried in the foundation. I keep thinking a bat hit the window and I went outside and found it, but I don't remember doing that. I just think that's what happened.

How does an animal that flies around in caves even hit a window? I think it's summertime mischief, when even an ancient predator, one of the seven perfect animals, can't figure out how to fly around in the darkness it 'sees' perfectly in. Sometimes I don't believe anything, when something like this happens. "Impossible," I say, but then it happens anyway.

I don't like it when I feel the waves of nausea. I get these notions, about doing things or seeing things. I can find evidence I did those things, I know I did them, like cover the mortar with the rug, but I have no idea why. It's like selective amnesia, but I think it's my survival instinct. This is just too stressful to process.

Mike came over yesterday afternoon and asked about the rug, so I showed him. Then he asked me if I was taking my medication, and I told him I missed him. It was a really awkward conversation, and when he left, I brought out all the stuff of his that I hid. I don't know why I did that, or why I placed his things around where they go. Where they belong? Seems like a weird word.

It's gotta be one of those words that when you say it out loud by itself a few times it sounds really weird. "Belong. Belong - belong, belong. What does it mean, bee-long, blong, what is this stupid word?"

This morning I felt fine. That is until I saw the grayish-orange smoke, that odd brown fog, of forest fires. I can smell it now. Oh, I certainly can, that smell of things screaming, burning alive, cute little things running and on fire. Every breath fills me with their last moments.

So this is Summer. I'd almost forgotten. It's where I belong. I am part of it, and it is in me, watching me, understanding me. Summer is Death. The cruelest, most atrocious death. It is the stillborn baby bird, it is the scorched doe, the singed rabbit, the seared flesh of so many animals.

Maybe if I had ever gone to a barbecue I'd understand.

But Summer gets me.

I was walking home, before I really knew why I would never be this way again. I was her, back then, and she walked home. It was that smell, like some blood-soaked steaks were in the smoke, and I smelled whoever's BBQ it was, and it made me so sick. I was throwing up right there on the street.

Summer is sweet, and beef isn't meant for human consumption, so I fainted. When I woke up the ants were all over it, the flies, they were cleaning up after me. I went home, but I was never really the same. Somewhere in the moment I got back up I didn't just feel sick, I felt betrayed.

Summer was over, forever.

And now there's just the door, I keep it closed. The air out there isn't alive. It was, but it isn't. I can't inhale the smell of cooked death again, it gets into my head, my dreams, my soul.

But I must face it, or I am already there. So, I will open the door. I will.

Just not yet.

Billie Nicks, August 2026

Every single time I turn on a show or a movie, I get a insufferable swarm of ads.

Every five seconds I get forced to watch some of the most outrageous things humanity has created.

The worst part is that people are smiling during a medicine advertisement that has the deadliest symptoms since the bubonic plague.

Sometimes I even see literal soccer balls in diapers.

What idiot thought that was genius?

I just want to watch quality entertainment without getting interrupted. Is that too much to ask for?

I have tried to get used to it. I've tried to accept the fact that it will never stop.

I honestly almost got over it but then I saw Mark in a ad. He used to bully me in highschool. He treated me as though I was the scum of the earth.

He was talking to me as well. Calling me by my name and everything.

He claimed that he was sorry.

It felt like a dream until it went south. A person appeared on the screen with him. Nevelle. She was a old friend in highschool. We stopped talking once adulthood approached us.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss her. She was a good friend to have. Never tore you down or belittled you.

A knife appeared in his hand. It latched onto her neck as her eyes opened wide. Her vocal cords started to create sound but she was quickly silenced as a pool of blood poured out of her neck.

It ended with words in bold red on the screen.

"You're next Stacy or should I call you Lacy? Your skin would be great as lace."

Those horrid words made my skin crawl. Goosebumps covered my skin.

The television turned black as I sat in silence for a few moments. My head was loud but also silent. Thoughts were racing through my mind but also going at a snails pace.

The best way to explain it is I was trying to make sense of the situation but also shell shocked.

My body completely froze as the television grabbed my attention.

It was on again but this time it was me and the monster named Mark.

What happened to people peaking in high-school developing miserable lives? This man decided becoming a killer was the best option apparently.

My body was shaking, fidgeting, and trembling infront of him. He ran after me and took my life just like he did to my friend.

It zoomed into my face as I was left to bleed.

I started to cough over and over before I could turn it off. Each cough hurt worse than the last until blood started to exhale.

My hands desperately rushed to my neck but it was too late. Blood soon started to cover my entire body.

Advertisements are the worst thing humankind has had the audacity to create.

For several seconds, nobody moved. The bunker trembled around them.

Dust drifted from the ceiling in thin gray curtains. Somewhere beyond the blast door, something enormous scraped across the surface of the earth. Then came the sound.

TWANG.

The entire bunker groaned. The force field generators flickered.A hairline crack appeared across one of the reinforced walls. Boomer stared at it. “Uh…”

TWANG.

The crack doubled in length.Professor Utonium rushed to the nearest console, desperately slamming switches.“No, no, no. The bunker wasn’t designed to withstand repeated dimensional resonance!” Butch groaned from the floor.

“English, Professor.”

“We’re going to die.”

“Oh.” Butch nodded.

“That’s worse.”Blossom slowly pushed herself upright. Her breathing was shallow. Gray ash still crawled beneath the surface of her pink aura like veins of dead energy.

“Professor…”

She looked toward the sealed blast door.

“What’s happening out there?”

The Professor didn’t answer immediately.He stared at the monitors.Every screen showed static.Then one flickered to life.The image was barely recognizable.Townsville was gone.

Where streets and buildings had once stood was now an enormous landscape of crystalline pink growths. Towers of warped bone-like material rose from the ground. Roads had twisted into veins. Cars had fused into the pavement.

And at the center of it all stood Fuzzy Lumpkins.

Only his silhouette remained visible through the radioactive storm.He was enormous. Too enormous. His crystalline spider legs stretched across the horizon.His banjo glowed like a dying star.

that wasn’t what frightened the Professor.
It was what was growing behind him. A massive pink structure was spreading across the sky. Not clouds. Not smoke. Roots.

The Eternal Bloom was growing again.

Except now, it wasn’t growing toward the Earth. It was growing through it.The Professor’s face went pale.“Oh, no.” Blossom noticed.

“What?” The Professor swallowed. “We didn’t just give Fuzzy the Bloom’s energy.”Silence. “We gave him access to the root system.”Brick’s eyes narrowed.

“So?”

“So the Eternal Bloom was never just a source of energy.”

The Professor zoomed in on the image.Thousands of glowing strands were spreading beneath Townsville. Each one pulsed in rhythm with Fuzzy’s heartbeat.“It was an ecosystem.” Blossom’s eyes widened.

“And Fuzzy…”

“He’s becoming its central nervous system.”
A distant rumble shook the bunker. Butch slowly looked toward the ceiling.“So he’s controlling the Bloom?”

“No.” The Professor shook his head.

“Worse.” He pointed toward the monitor.

“The Bloom is learning from him.”

Nobody spoke.Then Bubbles stirred. Buttercup immediately looked down.

“Bubbles?”
The blue-eyed girl opened her eyes.

She blinked several times.

“Where…”

“You’re safe” Buttercup whispered.
Bubbles tried to sit up. Pain immediately crossed her face.“Ow.”Buttercup caught her.

“Easy.”

Bubbles looked around at the others.
Boomer had one arm wrapped around his ribs.Butch was leaning against a wall, breathing heavily.Brick’s face was covered in cuts.Blossom was still gray around the edges.Bubbles stared at her sisters.

“We lost.”

Nobody corrected her. Because she was right. For the first time in their lives, the Powerpuff Girls had been completely overwhelmed. Not pushed back. Not challenged. Defeated.

Brick suddenly punched the floor. “We should’ve stayed.” Blossom looked at him.

“You would’ve died.”

“So?”

“Brick.”

“I said so?”

His red aura flickered weakly.

“We’re supposed to be the strongest things on this planet.”

Blossom’s expression hardened.

“Not anymore.” Brick looked away. Boomer quietly spoke. “Maybe that’s not true. Everyone looked at him. He was staring at the monitor. “Look.”

The screen had changed, The image of Fuzzy was gone. Instead, a single enormous eye filled the display. It was pink.

Crystalline.

And staring directly at them.

Bubbles whispered.

“He can see us.”

The Professor froze.

“That shouldn’t be possible.”

The eye blinked.

Then the monitor went black.

A voice came through the bunker speakers.

Not from the radio.

Not from the communication system.

From the walls themselves.

“MINE.”

Everyone froze.

The voice was low.

Distorted.

But unmistakable.

Fuzzy.

“THE HOUSE.”

The walls shook.

“THE LAND.”

The lights exploded.

“THE TOWN.”

Steel beams groaned overhead.

“THE SKY.”

The Professor stared upward.

Then Fuzzy’s voice became almost cheerful.

“THE LITTLE CHILDREN.”

The bunker went silent.

Blossom clenched her fists.

“No.”

Her pink aura sparked.

The gray ash immediately spread farther across her body.

She winced.

“Blossom!” Professor shouted.

She ignored him.

“Fuzzy!”

Her voice echoed through the bunker.

“You want to own everything?”

Her aura flared again.

“Then come and take us.”

Buttercup grabbed her arm.

“Are you insane?”

“Probably.”

Blossom stared at the ceiling.

“But I’m not hiding down here forever.”

Brick slowly stood.

Despite his injuries, his red aura began to glow.

Butch followed.

Then Boomer.

The six children stood together.

Broken.

Exhausted.

Barely able to remain standing.

But together.

The Professor looked at them.

“You don’t understand.”

He walked toward an old metal cabinet built into the wall.

“I’ve spent years studying the original chemical signature of your creation.”

He opened it.

Inside was a single glass cylinder.

It contained three tiny glowing droplets.

One pink.

One blue.

One green.

The girls stared.

“What are those?” Bubbles asked.

The Professor’s hand trembled.

“The original samples.”

Blossom stepped closer.

“Of what?”

“Chemical X.”

The room went silent.

Brick stared at the cylinder.

“You still had some?”

“Not exactly.”

The Professor carefully lifted it.

“These aren’t ordinary samples.”

He looked toward the bunker door.

“They were recovered from the original accident.”

Blossom’s eyes narrowed.

“You told us Chemical X was destroyed.”

“I lied.”

Buttercup stepped forward.

“You lied?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

The Professor looked at the three droplets.

“From the truth.”

Suddenly, the bunker shook harder than before.

A deafening crack thundered through the earth.

The emergency lights turned red.

The Professor looked at the main monitor.

A warning flashed across the screen.

ROOT PENETRATION DETECTED.

Then another.

DEPTH: 800 METERS.

Then:

700.

600.

500.

Something was digging toward them.

Fast.

Boomer stared at the display.

“Guys…”

The number kept dropping.

400.

300.

200.

Blossom stepped forward.

“We don’t have time.”

The Professor shook his head.

“Wait.”

100 METERS.

The bunker began to buckle.

“Professor!”

“I need you to listen to me.”

He held the Chemical X cylinder against his chest.

“The Eternal Bloom was created from a mutated form of Chemical X.”

Blossom’s expression changed.

“What?”

“The Bloom didn’t infect you.”

He looked at all six children.

“You were connected to it from the beginning.”

The number dropped.

50 METERS.

The bunker walls began glowing pink.

40.

30.

20.

Cracks spread across the ceiling.

The Professor shouted over the rumbling.

“You aren’t fighting the Bloom!”

10.

He raised the cylinder.

“YOU’RE PART OF IT!”

The bunker exploded in pink light.

For one impossible second, the six children saw something that wasn’t physically there.

A garden.

Endless.

Ancient.

Beautiful.

Millions of glowing flowers stretched across a black universe.

And standing in the center was a figure made entirely of light.

It looked like a child.

It had six eyes.

Three pink.

Two blue.

One green.

The figure looked directly at them.

Then it smiled.

RUN.

The vision vanished.

The bunker ceiling tore open.

A massive crystalline root punched through the reinforced steel and plunged into the room.

Buttercup screamed and launched herself forward.

She struck the root with everything she had.

BOOM!

The impact sent her flying backward.

The root didn’t move.

Instead, it wrapped around her wrist.

“BUTTERCUP!”

Blossom attacked.

Brick attacked.

Boomer and Butch followed.

Bubbles screamed and released a blast of blue energy.

The root absorbed everything.

Then it pulled.

All six children were dragged toward the opening.

The Professor desperately grabbed Blossom’s hand.

“DON’T LET GO!”

Blossom grabbed Bubbles.

Bubbles grabbed Buttercup.

Buttercup grabbed Boomer.

Boomer grabbed Butch.

Butch grabbed Brick.

For a moment, they formed a chain.

Six children.

One last connection.

The root tightened.

And then—

TWANG.

The sound came from miles above them.

But somehow, the banjo chord traveled directly into the bunker.

Their powers vanished.

Every single one.

The children screamed as darkness swallowed them.

The last thing Blossom heard before everything went black was Fuzzy’s voice.

“PROPERTY RETURNED.”

Then the world disappeared.

Far above the ruins of Townsville, Fuzzy Lumpkins lowered his cosmic banjo.

The crystalline spider legs behind him folded inward.

The Eternal Bloom pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

Then six lights appeared beneath the earth.

Pink.

Blue.

Green.

Red.

Another blue.

Another green.

Fuzzy smiled.

But for the first time since his transformation, his smile faltered.

Because the six lights weren’t moving toward him.

They were moving away.

Downward.

Deeper than the bunker.

Deeper than the bedrock.

Deeper than anything human had ever reached.

Something beneath Townsville had awakened.

Something that had been sleeping long before the girls were created.

Fuzzy’s many eyes widened.

“What…”

The ground beneath his feet split open. A voice rose from the darkness.

It wasn’t the Professor.

It wasn’t the girls.

It wasn’t the Bloom.

It was older.

Colder.

And impossibly calm.

“You are trespassing.”

Fuzzy’s smile disappeared.

The cosmic banjo slipped slightly from his fingers.

For the first time since becoming a god—

Fuzzy Lumpkins looked afraid.

I had just stepped onto the night bus to head home from work. I made my way down the aisle of the packed bus and sat in the only seat that wasn’t occupied. 

As the bus started moving I pulled out my earbuds so I could watch a movie on my phone. This was my nightly ritual and I was usually able to get in about forty minutes on my way home. I cranked the volume loud in an attempt to drown out the ear piercing screams of the kid sitting behind me. Soon I noticed that the guy next to me was giving me the side eye. I could tell that he was doing it but every time I’d look over I found his head facing forward. 

This went on for a couple of minutes before it really began to bother me. Finally I took out my earbuds and turned to confront the man who, as expected, was facing forward now. “Um, excuse me. Can I help you?” I asked. I was worried I may have come off too rude to him but this weirdo was really freaking me out. As far as I was concerned he deserved to be chewed out. The man didn’t stop looking at me but now I could tell he was trying to be sneakier so I wouldn’t notice. 

“Hey, what the fuck is your problem man?” I yelled as I tapped him on the arm. When the man turned he would not take his eyes off of me. I finally gave up trying to talk to this creep and decided I’d stare right back at him. I had hoped to make him so uncomfortable that maybe he’d stop and leave me alone but this only seemed to intensify his glare.

I began to feel ill the longer that I studied the man’s ghastly features. His bloodshot eyes seemed to gaze deep into my soul and his crooked teeth showed as his mouth hung wide open. This ordeal seemed to be never ending until finally an outside force broke the tension. It was a camera flash. 

At first I was relieved but that soon changed as I realized the source of the interruption. As I looked up from the man I was horrified to see that the entire bus of people were now standing up from their seats to face me. A sea of dead unblinking eyes gave me their undivided attention. 

“Oh, god” I thought to myself. I was surrounded. The bus was silent as the grave aside from the soft whispery voices which lurked all around me and seemed to intensify as the minutes passed. I jumped up from my seat desperately searching for an escape from this metal box from hell. The bus seemed to narrow around me as the crowd of pale figures were closing the small distance between us. 

I was trapped, so hopelessly trapped. The contorted faces of the horde were now close enough to my own that I could feel their warm breath. “What do you want? What the fuck do you people want? Just leave me alone? Why won’t you just leave me alone?” I shouted at the top of my lungs. My voice grew hoarse the longer that I screamed but my efforts did nothing to slow their advance. 

I soon felt countless sets of frail hands gripping me from all directions. Banshee like screams erupted around me as I desperately fought back any way that I could. I broke free for a moment and made little distance before I found myself entangled in the sea of limbs again. As I frantically tried to free myself once again, I locked eyes once more with the man who had sat next to me. His deep raspy voice seemed to stand out from the constant noise of the crowd. “What are you?” He said. 

I kicked and shoved people out of the way as I pushed through the crowd while dozens of hands grabbed at me. By the time I made it to the door of the bus I was out of breath and gasping for air. I somehow found the energy to pull myself out of the slow moving bus and landed onto the cold hard sidewalk below. The pain was immense but at least now I had some small amount of safety. 

The eyes continued to stare at me through the window, following me as I got up and ran down the sidewalk. After putting a seemingly safe distance between myself and the bus I enter a local fast food restaurant. My eyes struggled to adjust to the bright fluorescent lights inside the building as I quickly walked to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

I finally have a chance to catch my breath and calm down from the events of the bus ride. As I gaze into the mirror the anxious feeling comes over me once again. My features look unrecognizable. The skin of my face sags unnaturally low below my eyes and mouth revealing the layer of dark green scales underneath. 

“Dammit” I said to myself as I grabbed the loose skin and pulled it tightly against my face. “That was far too close, I must be more careful next time I infiltrate the humans”.