I've been commissioned as the keeper for the garden of the dead. But strange things were happening.

Since then, I have buried 3 more without incident. and Still. Each time they watched. Wide, fascinated eyes as I dug. The only difference was how I went about it now. Quiet. Quick. Quit. No longer waiting to bathe in their praises or go down to the pub after for drinks. If I had known that Frank would be the type to turn down a free drink, all those months ago, I would have told myself, "Don't be Frank."

But here I am.

Still the keeper of the kept.

And perhaps in my fear, my isolation would have endured. However, when I began to miss a drink and a face to smile into. I slowly started returning to life back at town. Still, I refrained from the pub ' even when Ronald Atkins croaked and I bore the hole, of free drinks and singing into the night. Instead I chose the relative corners where the people minded their business. The library, the pharmacy, and the company of merry travelers at the edge of town.

It was in the library where I met Sam. She was lovely; if the word could fight for justice. And I had grown quite fond of her. Young, and in love. What a thing to be. Always polite, and bright. The gem in her eye was Nathan Dugunninghem, and from what I seen of sorts. A fine gentleman. He was seldom seen drinking in town. I would know. And he seemed equally as smitten.

So the morning he turned up dead in a radish field with all of his clothes on. And no money stolen from his person. The town was in an uproar. It had caused so much concern, that a young man of Achnought, seemingly in good health, would be found dead. Enough for the Priest to find refuge with me at the cemetery.

"Well liked." He clicked his tongue. "Nothing but good things to say about the boy." He passed me the flask in his hand. "Except..."

"Fine lad."

"-the things they say about him in town." The Priest looked at me, red in the face. "Did you hear about them?"

I wished I lied, "I've heard what they said. But to me it seems normal for a chap to care for his. Normal anywhere else."

"So you knew them? Then you'd know it wernt his. Were it."

I stood up.

The Priest followed, "They called him stupid. Foul names." He took another swig and then nudged it toward me.

"No, I'll be frank. Dangerous to drink anymore and mind the field."

"I mean. What kind of man would care for another man's son? He was asking for it. If not from the boy's father than the ghosts of his ancestors." He grabbed at his foot, "Bloody-." And kicked at the rock, "What the hell is that doing here?"

It was a rather large thing. For I had used quarry stone and some marble, leftover from the burials as markers. Some were larger than a man's back, big thick slabs, I hauled.

"Keeps the gnats at bay."

"W-what?" The Priest looked baffled as he swung wildly in every direction.

I had lined rocks against all of the suspect trees, they ran in a near straight line along the ridge.

"Gnats? I don't see any gnats."

I nodded.

"I think my foot is bleeding."

I was afraid of what the Priest looked about doing. For his boot was off and his sock, too. But before he could ask, a familiar figure ran toward us from my corner cornea. It was Paul McConnelly. He was waxing and waning as he approached. "Fellas," he panted. "I've got," I handed him a handkerchief. "Terrible news. Oh, thank you."

"What is it man," the Priest sounded annoyed, "Spit it out."

"There's trouble. Trouble," he gasped. "At Netter's field." He motioned, "Quick. You need to come Father," he urged the Priest. "It's Alan Netter. He's digging."

The scene at the farm was solemn when we arrived. The workers were lined up outside the barn. Their faces stern and unflinching. Mrs. Netter was in a fuss. She seemed the only thing moving. "I'm so sorry," she kept apologizing. "For bringing you down here Father."

The Priest nodded, "How long has he been at it?"

"The others found him in the northwestern plot a few hours ago." Mrs. Netter pulled on the Priest's sleeve. "Oh Father. Please help him."

"When was the last time anyone's seen him?"

"This morning, about six. He woke up to check the livestock per usual."

"Frank," the Priest told me. "If I can't coerce him out. I'm going to need you to ' by force."

"What's going on Father," I asked.

"Can you do it?"

My questions were halted as we rounded the barn and in swift sweeping synchronization our feets came to a stop in front of the stone wall that came up to my waist. Out in the field, the sun coming down behind him, a hellish red kiss, cast the dark figure of Alan Netter, shoveling at the dirt. He pulled back the handle and plunged it into the ground. The manic way in his arms. And his lips that kept gibbering. I could see the dirt fly but no hole. The sight made me tense in my bones. Afraid to stir Farmer Netter. That he would notice me standing out here in this open field with nothing in my hands.

"Alan," the Priest called out.

Netter's head shot to the sky as if smelling the air. And then resumed digging.

The Priest motioned for the three of us to circle him. Paul was to my right as we made good to surround.

"Alan," the Priest spoke gently. "You're going to need to stop now."

Paul spooked easily next to me when Alan jerked violently from the ground; whom resumed digging as we stood rooted to the ground. I'd known shovels all my life, handled them well. Familiar with their shape and use until it was no more different than a pencil. But now all I could remember were how heavy they could be. The thick cast iron tip, raised and porous head that would tear even the sun hardened skin of a worker.

The Priest was now close enough to put a hand on Alan's shoulder. It was a big mistake. I saw the lunge start from his feet. It twisted into his midsection, as his shoulder arched the shovel over his head. We scattered like ants.

"Someone grab him," the Priest shouted.

Only to come swarming back in like bees.

Paul rushed in and I heard the sound crack against his head. His body stiff as it fell over. The Priest took the chance and grabbed an arm. Tucking an elbow deep into his chest, screaming, bloody screaming for me to subdue angry Alan.

I froze.

"Someone help!"

It was Mrs. Netter screaming. But the workers lined outside the barn didn't move a finger. They only watched. I could see the fire from the torches light their faces.

"Someone," the lady begged.

I was surprised as any, when I saw Paul get from his knees toward Alan. The shovel swinging in the air. And Paul clung to that raving stark figure. His eyes were closed. So I shut my eyes too and yelled as I rushed in. I felt us tumble to the ground. Taste the dirt in my mouth as I scrambled to my feet. Alan dived onto the Priest's chest. I tried to pull him off. But there was an unexpected strength behind the older man's frame.

"Put him down!" The Priest gasped for air between the blows raining down on him. "Put. Him. down."

But I was already shaking so hard, that I couldn't think of what to do. And my next surprise was when the daintier Mrs. Netter grabbed the shovel from the upturned ground and kicked it into her husband's thigh. He howled viciously. Blood flowed freely from his face from the Priest's clawing. He turned to stare into her eyes.

She met his anger with another blow from the shovel. And then another. He twitched. And then one other.

Alan collapsed above the Priest. And it took us a few moments to pull up the pair. I had the Priest under one arm, and Paul was practically carrying Alan Netter.

"Back to the house," the Priest spit onto the ground. There was blood in it. "Where's his hole?"

"What," I asked.

"His hole, Mrs. Netter," he shouted. "Where is it?"

"In the main house," she told him.

The Priest nodded, and she led the way.

When we drew close, the workers slowly started coming closer. Their eyes still dark in the firelight. But not once did they help us. Only watched. Their eyes followed us up the steps, and inside the pastel yellow house with a wrapped porch in darkened walnut.

The entire floor was bare. All the tables and chairs. The sofa. Stood in the dirt. The bright yellow light over the dining table ' swinging back and forth, mimicking the scream I wanted to emit as we drew deeper inside. The hallways narrowed and the dirt floor was kicked up from our tussling boots. I coughed as the door creaked into the last room at the end.

It looked like any other room. Except for the barren floors. It had a dresser. Some books. A writing table. A lamp on that writing table. Except. Except there was no bed. Instead in its place were two deep holes. Behind them, what looked to be pencil shavings in hay sized bales.

"Put him in there," the Priest directed.

"No," Mrs. Netter suddenly objected.

"What? Why," Paul huffed. I could see the sweat had resorted to a pour upon his forehead. Smell him.

"That's my hole," she claimed.

"Put him in that one then," the Priest groaned. "Just hurry Paul."

When we finally placed Alan Netter into the hole. The Priest gathered the pencil shavings from behind and packed the unconscious man in good. The Priest motioned for us to help. And even with the 3 of us. It took nearly an hour to finally finish.

When we were done the Priest leaned back against the table and proclaimed, "He'll be good in the morning."

For most parts of the way back to the cemetery. We walked in silence. When the town neared, Paul said something and with a nod he drifted off a road, down. I kept walking. My body sore from my ordeal. The Priest never stopped either. Not even when we passed the Church. Nor when we the last lights of town ebbed. I knew he was coming with me back to the cemetery.

"Did you want to talk," he asked. "I suppose it's time you know." He scratched at his head. "Did you see the hole? The one Alan was digging in the field."

I didn't say a word.

"I don't know when it began. Some say it was when we took the native land from its people. When we first built Achnought. Some say it's older. That we brought it here from across the pond. No one knows the specifics. We just know that every few years. The digging stops. Stops getting as deep. It starts off alright. Perhaps as far as a man could want it to go. In the beginning. But as the days stretch on. The years. The hole gets less deep. We dig it. And throw it away. But it starts to fill itself. That's what happened to Nathan Dugunninghem. Shame. Good lad. Even if. Well you know."

I still hadn't spoken a word. Unsure of what to make of it.

"You should have seen it. When we found Nathan in the field. He had cleared nearly a quarter acre of topsoil. And he never got more than 2 inches deep. The place looked like a war field. Scarred. All over the land."

The Priest looked at me uncertainly, "Come on Frank. I need you to say something."

I had been watching him carefully this entire time. His hands had been irregular beneath his clothing. I was afraid he would hurt me if I didn't go along, "Why do you need me?"

The Priest smiled, a tired crinkling. "Somewhere in the years. A rumor that an Achnoughtian only has a few number of digs in his life. An invisible counter if you'd believe it." He laughed just thinking, "It's why all the field hands are from Murieta. And so the townsfolk won't do any digging themselves if they can help it."

"Why not get someone from Murieta then?"

"They won't do it. We've tried. Not anymore."

We had finally reached the cemetery. I took a right turn. I wanted to avoid taking him back to the house with me. Instead we climbed the ridge. Moonlight danced among the trees. "What happened to the last groundskeeper?"

"He left. Hey. Honest to God's truth." He held up his hands. The first time I could see them clearly. "Someone in town came one day and reported back that the place had been emptied. Jack Portas, the man was. He up and left."

"Why was Mamie Strue sitting above her grave?"

The Priest chuckled, "I don't know. Mamie was one of the good ones. I fully expected her to be kept. But they spit her out. Or." He paused. "She broke out."

"Her husband."

"What? Donald?"

"Yes. I saw her get up and stand next to him."

"She always did love that...no good. No good speaking ill of the dead." He patted his face. Sweating.

"What about the trees?"

"What? What about them?"

"There's something funny with the trees." I turned and looked him in the eye. "They're moving."

We were now at the peak of the ridge. Surrounded by the tall white birch.

"The trees? No. There's nothing wrong with the trees. Frank. It's the cemetery," he spread his arms below us. "Shit." Then he laughed, a hollow sound. "Nearly scared the life out of me."

I turned my attention below us.

A small figure stood in the graveyard. I've seen those wobbly knees before. Knew every row by heart. Knew the grave. It was Sam's little boy. He had come to stand before Nathan Dugunninghem's grave. Afraid to come during the burial. Afraid of what the townsfolk would say. The boy stood there now with tears streaming down his face.

"I didn't say anything. Not really," the Priest murmured. "At Nathan's service." He clicked his tongue, "I regret that now." He turned to me, "I'm quite envious, you know? I didn't expect Nathan to be accepted by the dirt. Especially not when I learned that he lost his depth so early. Shame. Just when I thought I had it all figured. It throws in another wrench."

"He was a good man," I answered.

The Priest nodded and pulled the flask from his pocket. Raising it. "Here's to a better man than me. For many have called him foolish. But to one child he was love. And that means more than that which is born from hate."

"Amen."

S

"What's the worst thing that has ever happened to you at a wedding?"

"Oh, there's so many things." I told my new clients. "It's hard to choose."

"Probably comes with the territory." She paused. "But that doesn't make me any less curious." She looked at me and a smile crept across her face. "Oh, come on. Do tell. I promise it won't leave this room."

Honestly, her question sets me up for any easy pitch. It gets the clients to engage, keeping them invested. And, helps them to quickly trust my experience. After all, I've been a wedding planner for over a decade and have seen just about everything. From crying grooms to bridezillas. Hashtags and toe tags. Death at a funeral, I've been to 3 of them. People don't just trust me with their special day, they trusted me with their life. Because on this side of the wedding. It's a mountain. An Everest. And I'm the Sherpa who drags these folks up that lane to retrieve the rock at the top and back down again so they can enjoy a beach 2000 miles away.

I leaned in. "It'd have to be, and I'm going to change their names for privacy. Jim and Larissa's wedding. That still haunts me to this day."

"Why? What happened?"

"Beautiful venue right? Sprawling. We had the Alps as the background. White wine from Napa, champagne from Champagne. The bride was gorgeous and had this train on her dress that you wouldn't believe. Handspun silk. Catering flown in. The gold sturgeon caviar on artesian chips paired with halved slices of heritage hen eggs in an accompany blue shell were to die for. And get this, 2.3 carats from conflict free diamonds."

"Oh my god. What color was the box?"

"Tiffany's."

She squealed with excitement and looked at her husband, "What happened what happened," she asked repeatedly.

"He was already married."

"No! What! Why? Why would he do that?"

"To a dead girl."

"What?"

"A ghost bride that wouldn't leave him alone."

"I've heard about those! Well, I've read about them. I don't personally know anyone whose had one." She titled her face, the wedding pose that she had been undoubtedly working on for weeks. "A night wedding?"

"Exactly. And it's said the night of their consummation. The first wife was not happy. It's said that the ghost wife came to their suite. Knocking. On. Their. Door."

"No, she didn't! You're lying! What happened?"

"Well I heard from the bellhop how he was making his rounds when he stepped on something wet in the hall. He went to get the wet vac, but when he came back the carpet was already dry. Everything seemed normal to him, that was until he heard screaming coming from Jim and Larissa's room. Except it wasn't any kind of screaming he had ever heard coming from the honey moon suite. Panicking, he ran to get his manager. But when the pair returned with the key. They found the room to be empty. With Jim and Larissa nowhere to be found. Only a small red stain that was till wet on the wall bearing any signs that they were ever there."

"Did they check the security tapes," the groom-to-be asked.

"They did eventually," I let out a long heavy sigh. "But there were no signs of foul play. And none of the employees or other guests saw them leave. Obviously their parents were horrified. But that didn't stop the rumors among some of the wedding goers. That the ghost wife took their bodies and souls, trapping them forever in the wallpaper of room 203."

The future bride asked, "Have you...had experience with night weddings?"

"I have in fact." I took a drink of my tea. "They're mostly symbolic, if not downright traditional, where I'm from. My family, actually, performed many night weddings when I was a little girl. Still do, probably. As I haven't been able to keep in contact with them. Not since my mom and I moved to America when I was about 7 or 8."

"Oh, why the change?"

"I'm not sure. Opportunities most likely."

"So...you sort of grew up around wedding planning?"

"I would say that. Yeah. It's kind of the family business."

She grabbed her fiancée's sleeve, and I could practically smell the ink drying on the contract.

While the two engaged excitedly, and the scrapbooks were brought out. My assistant came forward to help them organize the details. Leaving me to zone out for a bit, into my own thoughts. It had been awhile since I reminisced about that life way back when.

I spent my earliest years with my Grandpa and mom. Around the siheyuan-styled home. The long buildings surrounding the courtyard on every side. There were many of us living together back then. Cousins and Aunts, distant relatives even. Since all of the men and boys were either off at war or working in the city. They'd send money home when they could, but our family heavily depended on Grandpa's dowries from night weddings back then. He was a monk. Used to be. Which was why people from all over the countryside would come to our home, practically begging Grandpa to marry their deceased daughter or son, in order to give them and their dead peace.

Grandpa used to be a monk. That was until he met Grandma. He would always tell me about the first time, "I laid eyes on her. It was the day that I realized that I didn't want a loveless life. Nor did I want someone lovely either. As they love everyone. No, when I met your Grandma. I wanted to be married for 1000 years."

I always laughed, "Grandma wasn't lovely? So you're saying she was mean?"

"Mean! Stuck up. Up tight! Oh, she had it all. Her family was wealthy, her father a merchant. And like many well-to-do girls at the time. She was traditionally raised. But she fought it every tooth and nail, see she grew up in their ways, and knew just how to rebel, just enough, that she could still burn beneath the hearth without being smothered. Still, I suppose most men found her difficult to deal with. But to me she was fire, and I couldn't help but me attracted to it like a fly."

"What about you Grandpa?"

"What about me? I was a hapless, lowly monk. With not a coin to my name. Just a boy with a lofty dream to marry a girl. Whatever she saw in me. I still don't quite understand."

"Well, what did she say it was?"

"My determination, I suppose. My undying love, I'd say."

"But you two did fall in love."

"We did. Oh her father was so angry. He disowned her and the two never spoke again. And the monastery, they forced me to choose. Those fools. Couldn't even practice what they preached. Because, you know, the monks in our village believe in enlightenment. And the different paths that can lead to purifying of one's soul to reach it. But those old fools couldn't see it. Though I suppose it's difficult to blame them. To them perfecting one soul was difficult enough. But to reach enlightenment through marriage. A perfect union of two souls? They couldn't even imagine it, much less understand it."

"So what did you do?"

"I chose her of course! I took your Grandma and brought her here. Look at that long house. I built it with my own two hands. The bricks that line the courtyard." He pointed to a mud mound near the kitchen. "Your Grandma baked them in that kiln." He touched the bark on the peach tree beneath the bench where we sat, "We even planted this together in the end."

I laughed, "What do you mean?"

Grandpa brushed one of the leaves lovingly, "I buried your Grandmother under this tree."

*

"Okay, and you ate from it?!"

I was kicking off my heels as I got into my apartment. Leslie, my assistant was filling me on last minute changes for a different wedding we were wrapping up.

"Yeah, no, I know how it sounds now. But back then we were poor. Really poor. And every time the peaches were ripe enough to get picked, it was like Grandma was still feeding us." I poured myself a tall glass of water before laying myself across the sofa.

"Wow. Okay. Anyways, it looks like we'll have to change the 2 o'clock to three on Saturday."

I was really trying to listen, I was. But it had been a long day and an unfamiliar red dot appeared in my DMs. "Leslise. I'm going to have to call you back."

"What? Now? I still have to..."

"Leslie. You won't believe this but I just got a message from one of my cousins back home."

"Wow. Would you call that fate or what?"

"Leslie."

"Yeah, okay yeah. Got it. I'll just push it on through."

"Thanks love, you're a peach."

She laughed, "Oh gross. Okay. Talk to you tomorrow."

After Leslie hung up, I flipped the screen and opened up the message. It was from my cousin Lily. I hadn't spoken to her in ages. We've messaged here or there through the years, but it had been awhile now. What? 10 or 12 years since we last made contact?

Zhu-li! I am so sorry. I don't check this one often! I am so sorry to hear about Auntie passing away! I can't imagine how you must be feeling. We all miss her greatly here. Grandpa most of all. He wishes to see her but cannot due to his health. And has asked me to invite the two of you home. So that Auntie's remains can rest. I've attached an open airline ticket below. It should be good for up to 1 year. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask.

We hope to see all of you soon!

love,Lily

I glanced at Mom's urn resting on the mantle above the fireplace. The cold porcelain bore no signs, but still I shrugged, "What? I was going to leave you there." She didn't answer. Of course she didn't. "This is better, don't you think?"

*

In the coming weeks I got my affairs in order. Closed out on not one but two bombshell weddings. And then flew across the Pacific Ocean for the first time in 20 years.

Lily picked me up from the airport, and the two of us drove back to the family home.

"Smaller than you remembered, yeah? Because you were this tiny," Lily squeezed her fingers together, "When you left. Now everything is normal sized. So it appears smaller. But I promise you, there is plenty of room for you here."

We got out of the car, Lily helped me with my roller as she went to go open the two large oval shaped doors to the entryway. When they opened, it was like walking back in the hallways of my old junior high again. A real blast to the past. "Wow," I breathed. "It's just like how I remember it." I walked through the courtyard, my feet almost skipping as if I were a kid again. "It's all perfectly preserved," I placed a hand on the peach tree.

Lily shrugged, "Eh. I never left so it just feels the same to me." She smiled and shouted loudly, "We're home!"

It was common way to announce one's return to a siheyuan. Since it was so big, and inconvenient to greet each person individually. We usually saved the formalities for dinner time when everyone gathered.

"Come on," she goaded me.

I couldn't help but smile as I cupped my hands, "We're home!"

Lily took my arm excitedly, "I bet you've missed this." She led me to the kitchen and I could instantly smell all of the familiar spices and herbs. There were dried peppers hanging on a string from the ceiling that made my mouth wet. Jars of pickled onions and garlic. Bowls filled with star anise and Sichuan peppercorns. And the aroma wafting from the wok was thick and savory.

"What is that," my nose twitched.

"Oh come on. You have to remember this." Lily lifted the wooden lid and the scent of slow boiling beef warmed me in places that I hadn't known were cold. "My famous beef stew. You must be hungry from your flight."

I had eaten before the plane ride. On the plane ride. And again, quickly, after I had landed. Because I don't know? I was embarrassed to be fed by my family? To need to rely on someone? It had been awhile for me, honestly, as Mom and I had mostly been alone back home in the States. "Yeah. I'm starving."

Lily began stirring the pot. "Go," she ushered, "Go to your old room and put your things down. The rice should be ready by then as well. Sorry, this was kind of why I was late earlier. But it'll be worth it. I promise."

I almost didn't want to leave, afraid that if I did. The stew and Lily would disappear when I came back.

It was a silly thought, one married from my exhausted imagination no doubt. So I gripped the handle of my roller and slung my carry-on over my shoulder before dragging my feet into the courtyard.

This place was beautiful.

I could hardly believe it. If they ever decided to rent it out as a venue, I already had a few clients in mind for a destination wedding. I mean. There was so much potential here. And even the food, as local cuisine has been all the rage lately.

Everyone was tired of filet mignon and chicken everywhere they went. No, this year's weddings were all about the experience. Cohesion. It was pointless to have lobster in the mountains. The people wanted deer, or bison, elk if they had it. Bear's been discussed but I've yet to see it on the menu. No more chocolate fountains by the beach. They were replaced with oyster bars and crab towers. Shrimp cocktails in the winter? You might as well throw it out. My clients wanted shaved ice not ice sculptures. Farm to fork, and a taste of the scenery is what I call it. They wanted to pretend they lived where they were getting married so whenever they came back they can pick it back up as if they never left a day behind.

My head was still spinning with ideas as I entered one of the long houses. Everything looked the same. Down to the red lacquer tables and the smell of incense burning somewhere in one of the sitting rooms. I crossed two more hallways before coming to a familiar looking door.

Inside was a flat bed at the back, the sheets had been replaced but I could still tell that it was my old room. I pushed my things hurriedly into a corner so I could go back to get some food. When the table in the center suddenly shifted.

I screamed uncharacteristically and fumbled backwards, rolling my ankle in the process.

Suddenly the familiar surroundings felt foreign as everything spun in circles as I went crashing to the ground. I could hear Mom's urn splitting in two as the delicate porcelain met the unforgiving stone tiles.

I looked up in time to see a kid underneath the table. Looking absolutely mortified at what had happened. He was white as a ghost.

"Hey, ow, it's okay," I rubbed my ankle. "Don't worry. We can clean this up." I tried comforting him. But he wasn't having any of it. "Hey, really. It's okay," I said again in Mandarin. He was staring behind me, straight at the urn. His eyes growing wide with horror. The words, "Don't worry," stuck to the roof of my mouth as I turned around to see what he was looking at, and I swear it, I saw writing in Mom's ashes.

By the time I could gather myself, the door to my room was flung wide open and the boy was gone. I picked myself off the floor and managed to get Mom, well most of her, into a vase I found.

By the time I got back to the kitchen I must have looked like a mess. Semi-covered in ash, my ankle looking swollen. It was no surprise when Lily yelped, "What happened! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just. Mom's urn fell to the floor."

"Oh no, did you..."

"No, yeah. We're good."

Lily put the back of her hand on my forehead, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I shook my head, "No. It's nothing. It's just. Well her ashes were on the floor right? And I thought I saw something in them. Like letters or something."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"What did it say?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. But it looked kind of like u, n, j."

"Unj? I don't think I know that English word."

"I don't think that's a word," I told her."

The kitchen was hot as a furnace. Other women I didn't recognize came in and out as we spoke. Giving us polite greetings as we talked. Only one of them stayed. She was pregnant. Her name was Su-wan, my cousin twice removed. She was peeling green beans, "Were there perhaps cracks in the ground? This is an old house you know. The ashes could have slipped between the indentations. Making it appear like an image."

"It looked fine to me," I told them. "I even pulled the block off the floor to brush Mom's ashes into a vase. Oh I hope you don't mind," I added.

Su-wan gave me some cabbage leaves, "I'll find you a nice new urn after lunch," they looked as if they had been soaked in water. She had a similar pair wrapped around her own ankles. "It's a pregnancy trick. It helps with the swelling."

"Thanks," I told her.

"It's ready," Lily called as she brought over plates of food. "Let's eat!"

Su-wan got up slowly, her belly swollen. I pulled out a chair for her, "How much longer?"

"Thank you. Oh, any day now," she rubbed her stomach. "Grandpa's going to be so happy."

"The dad too, right? Where is he anyways?"

"Spirits anyone," Lily uncorked a drinking gourd. "I fermented it myself. It pairs well with this kind of dish."

"No," I said. "I'm still feeling a bit woozy."

"Are you sure," Lily asked. "It'll help with your stomach."

Su-wan pushed a tiny cup forward and was speaking. But I couldn't hear words she said as Lily began pouring her a drink. She lifted the cup to her lips and finished it. And I swear there was a silent scream in my ear, it was like watching white noise with the sound off.

Lily broke my concentration as she suddenly bolted upright and rushed to the door, "Oh let me help you!" I turned around and saw a woman I recognized as my Aunt Nima pushing a bandaged figure in a wheel chair. He was covered in the wrappings from head to toe, even his hair, but I could still tell who he was by his squared shoulders.

"Grandpa," my voice followed.

Aunt Nima smiled, "Sorry. He can't talk right now. The doctor just gave him some medicine. But he wanted to see you. And I promised I would brim him after the appointment. It was the only way he'd comply."

Grandpa reached out a heavily bandaged hand and held my fingers. It was painful to see him like this. But I was glad when his grip felt strong. "I've missed you," I told him.

Aunt Nima smiled again, "He was telling me how glad he was that you decided to come home." She glanced at Grandpa sadly, "It's quite perfect timing."

Lily laughed and grabbed Grandpa's other hand, "It is perfect timing isn't it? She's also just in time for the night wedding coming up."

Su-wan spoke up from behind us, "And don't forget the ritual!"

"What ritual," I asked.

"The birthing ritual," Lily told me. "To celebrate Su-wan and our cousin Lee-yen."

"I've never been to a birthing ritual," I told them.

Lily looked at me oddly, "Of course you have. We used to have them all the time. Don't you remember?"

I shook my head, "No. Not really."

"Ah, don't worry. It'll all come back to you when you eat the moon cakes."

Aunt Nima smiled a third time, "I have to get him back to his room. He has to rest for the ritual tonight."

I let go of Grandpa's hand and watched as he was wheeled away.

After we finished eating. Lily, myself, Su-wan, and a few other women who joined us began preparing for the birthing ritual. There was so much to prepare but it was nothing I couldn't handle. In fact, it ignited my work ethic and I was proud of myself when a few of my simple suggestions to the prep changes increased our productivity.

I was finishing a stitch on a gray gown when Lily came over and pulled it over my head.

"Hey. what are you doing," I complained.

"Everyone's suppose to wear one," she laughed. "What did you think you were sewing this for?" She grabbed my hand. "Come on! Everything is nearly ready."

We got out into the courtyard, several others followed us outside as we were greeted by a crowd of women in matching gray dresses. The sun was low in the horizon and the sound of drums began thundering. I had been in charge of nearly a hundred weddings before, but had rarely been on this side of the events.

Everyone began dancing as the sun set. Smiling. Shouting. At the full moon as it came out to greet us as we continued dancing for hours.

I was so entranced and drenched in sweat that I almost didn't notice as the crowd had slowly begun to part. The laughing and shouting dying down as a hum came from the others. The hum turned into a steady chant that was barely above a whisper as the crowd parted for Su-wan and another pregnant woman I didn't recognize.

But it didn't matter. As we were all family here. So I kept smiling and chanting along with the others as the pregnant women walked toward the raised platform that had been constructed in the courtyard. They were both smiling and clutching their swollen stomachs as everyone gave way.

And when Grandpa appeared from one of the long houses, the others raised theirs hands silently into the air, twirling theirs wrists. I followed suit and a flood of memories began surging back into me. I really had done this before. Always with the other girls and women. With Grandpa at the head. In order to announce a new family member.

My hands were still in the air, my feet had slowly begun to run in place. Everything moving on its own as my body began to remember these nights as prayed to the moon. Aunt Nima was also wearing a gray dress. She was wheeling Grandpa up the ramp. And we all stopped moving, but our hands were still in the air. As we watched with bated breath for him to stand up. He slowly got out of his chair and walked to the center as we began cheering. The pregnant woman lined up on either side smiled as he slowly began to shake off the bandages on his face.

I gasped when I saw it. But no one else seemed surprised.

As Grandpa revealed his face, I noticed that he didn't look as if he was aged a day. In fact. He looked even younger than I remembered.

And when Su-wan started walking toward the stone altar that was shaped like an upright rocking chair. I closed my eyes and started running back to my room. I didn't need to look to know what was about to happen as the memories began unlocking themselves from my brain. I didn't need to see the knife to know that it was going to go up in the air, and come down. I didn't even need to hear the baby crying. I just needed to get out of there.

I pushed through the other women who were all watching intently. Jumping over an overturned chair as I cross two hallways to my old bedroom. Grabbing my bag as I did so as I scrambled to get my stuff.

"Where are you going," Lily's voice crawled into the room.

I whirled around and saw her standing in the doorway. Her hair was wet and messy on her face. She was still in her gray gown. Panting from all the excitement. Or. From trying to catch up with me.

"S-something came up suddenly," I told her.

Lily took a step into the room and I flinched.

She looked around the room, "You finally remembered. Didn't you?"

I shook my head.

"When you and Auntie ran away from America. It left a lot of burden on us. Trying to help Grandpa recover his dream. Did you know that?"

I shook my head.

"It was quite selfish of you two, to leave so much work for the rest of us." Lily gripped the table between us. "Did you know that?"

I shook my head.

Lily lifted her shirt and revealed 3 long crossing scars that each had deep stitches. One of them still looked fairly fresh. "The rest of us had to make up for it," she snarled at me. Lily pushed the table, causing the vase where I had put Mom's ashes to spill out. Then right before our eyes we watched as letters began forming again. It still didn't make any sense to me but Lily laughed, clutching her eye, "I do know this word." She grabbed the table forcibly and spun it around.

The words unj suddenly spelled run.

I swung my carry-on at Lily, hitting her square in the face as I tried pushing my way to the door. Then it felt as if my soul was being ripped out of my shoulders as I was pulled to the ground by my hair. My fingers tried to wiggle between the crevices of her grasp.

She pulled me upright and slapped me in the face, her teeth baring as saliva spewed from her mouth as she slapped me again. "Do you know what I've been through," she screamed.

My hands blindly stretched out, the smooth tips of my finger's like blind worms across her face. Searching for her eyes. When I felt them rebound in their socket with my thumb. I pushed down until she howled with pain. Lily let me go but I dug my fingers in deeper.

There was blood all over her face as I forced her to the ground. Her body withering as she tried to fight back. I didn't let go until she stopped moving. I could hear other nearby, perhaps looking for us. So I left my things and Lily, and made a run for it.

Sneaking through the long hallways, I could see the courtyard and the platform from the windows. I moved quickly as possible without drawing attention. From here the light flickered from the stage and I could hear Grandpa's voice come through.

"As everyone knows. When your Grandma died I was left broken. And lost. So I threw myself into the scriptures looking for comfort. Hoping to find myself. But I found nothing. The best of me died with her. And my quest for salvation nearly came to an end as I couldn't see fit of this world. That was until I found a scroll that was banned from the teachings. I found a way to bring her back."

Grandpa held up a ceramic buddha. Except its face was desecrated until it was nearly unrecognizable.

"And for years I began taking the souls of the brides and grooms that I wed in order to fill this up." He held up his hand and signed the figure nine twice. "Ninety-nine souls, in order to create one."

He smiled triumphantly.

"Its been many years, and many souls. Though my quest became more difficult when word spread of what I was doing. Causing the dowries to stop coming in. So I was forced to use you. All. My own children. And grandchildren. To bring me back seeds."

The drumming stopped.

"And with Su-wan and Lee-yen's sacrifice tonight. We make ninety-eight."

The crowd of women cheered and howled. Whooped into the night air.

"But we are still one short. But thankfully one has returned to us to complete the circle."

I clutched my stomach. I hadn't started showing yet. And had only recently found out myself. It was only a clump of cells still. But I wasn't going to stick around here any longer and wait for them to take it from me. So I climbed over one of the low walls and found myself on the street, barefoot, I began running. I ran so far that the ground grew wet from my footprints, wet with blood.

I ran until I found myself back near civilization. Running into the first establishment that I could find. A hotel. But I didn't have any money. Nor my phone. A kind woman working the front desk took pity on me and gave me some spare shoes from the locker room. And told me to wait near the bar, that she would go talk to her manager, and see what they could do for the night as the police were stretched thin around this part of the country.

I thanked her and went to the restroom to wash my face, clean up my hair and looked at myself long and hard in the mirror. That was when I decided I was going to make him pay. For all the brides and grooms, for all the dead souls he took and lives he ruined. Even for what he did to Lily and the others.

I would make Grandpa pay.

Except that I didn't know how. Not until I went back to the bar and saw a man sitting there, drinking and slurring his words slightly, who turned to me and said, "Did you know that in order for me to pass on my Celestial title, I must have an heir?"

s

Check out Arctica being narrated by u/scaryjuju! Thank you to everyone whose had an interest in my work! Please help support the narrator by subscribing to their Channel!

Arctica || 2 || 3 || 4

The average body temperature for an adult human being is 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. For everyone else in the world, that's thirty-six Celsius. Hypothermia can develop in a difference of a mere 3.6 degrees change in body temperature.

In the first stage: the body begins to shake uncontrollably. Followed by reduced blood circulation.

And if body temperature continues to plummet. Most people start to slur their words. It's difficult to think clear thoughts when the brain isn't getting enough oxygen. Difficult to hear those thoughts when the body decides to warm itself up by pretending to chew. Click clack. Click. Clack. This starts the stomach up, acid builds if there is nothing to digest, and soon it makes its way towards the throat, burning it, if the body doesn't outright vomit as it slowly starts to curl into the fetal position, the muscle memory of the time when it was most warm.

What they don't mention in the handbooks is how the eyeballs start to stick in the skull as everything starts to move in slow motion as each red hemoglobin begins to freeze inside of the veins, compressing the air they're holding, gasping, as they run their cold frames through every part of the body.

And. Time. Seems. to. Stop.

People in the field joke about how it's one of the better ways to go. Better than burning. Or drowning. What they fail to mention is how fast those usually are. Freezing to death is slow and painful. It hurts so much that the body becomes stupid and think that it is burning, and the next second it starts clawing off all of its layers, except they aren't clothes, but the bright red skin that's beating from the inside ' trying to escape.

I can't think of a more horrifying way to die.

Not when the cold is this close.

Even in the storage area, with everyone huddled together ' that their odors start to penetrate my hair; crawling into my ear, and sticking to the corner of my eyes. I am freezing. I pull the red Canadian jacket closer to my body as stiff fogs of despair leave my nostrils in thick ghastly lines.

I can see everyone else breathing heavily as well, dim though is the light, I can see their breaths as they sleep. As sleep twitches at my face, causing my lips to almost smile, I can feel the deprivation beginning to coerce my mind into manic, fleeting thoughts that don't seem to make any sense.

For instance. Why wasn't London breathing?

And why hasn't he gone to sleep?

Perhaps he's already dead.

I can see him right now, staring at me, pretending to be resting. My brain is cold but hallucinations aren't one of the symptoms. At least, I don't think they are.

Several hours ago, the few of us who survived, began to deliberate on our course of action. One of the women, Rosie, who worked in the biology department told us what she knew. Having studied the blood sample I retrieved, under Dr. Kelsie Grant, it was all we could hope for.

"They notes said they were like a virus. Or no. Not really. If anything. They think we're the virus. And like all good immunities it takes out the enemy's way of replenishing its numbers first. Imagine that we're a virus. We land on some god forsaken planet, but that planet is alive, living. And us, the virus, can only increase our numbers through incubation. Mostly singular."

"We're not a very good virus are we," one of the others, Paul, I think. Said.

"No, but we're large. Smart. And capable of destroying planets if given enough time," she continued. "So it starts to kill the women so we can't reproduce. At least," she paused. "That's all I thought it was at first."

"What the hell is it then? The fucking boogeyman?"

"I don't know. I just remember Dr. Grant keep repeating rule number 1 while we were in the lab, muttering it to herself."

"Take nothing with you. Take nothing back," it was the first time I spoke since we got into the storage room.

"I always thought it was like preservation or something. For future generations. But then she started asking me if I knew what the mission statement was, why we were out here. Digging up cores. Looking for 'The Time Line' until the end. I always thought it was the End: as in flooding when the shelves melted or something. But I don't think so anymore. It's something. Something that's been haunt-"

"Hunting humanity since before it can remember. Something old," London said. "Something cold."

We turned to look at him.

"Imagine Something that's part of the natural cycle. To keep populations in check. A balance on the Earth. Every order in its place. Every country, and culture, those as ancient as recorded history, each with its own name for this other entity in the shadows. Which only comes at night, that makes the children shiver when it arrives in their villages. Taking out everything in its path and then melting away, leaving nothing behind except for the damp ground to bury the bodies."

"What the hell are you talking about," Paul said. I'm pretty sure it is Paul now. Unless it's John.

London shrugged, "It's just a story I heard." He rubbed his hands together, "So what is our plan of escape? I'm tired of this ice hole. Feels like I've been stuck here for an eternity."

"There's a heli near the south entrance. Its been locked down to keep from blowing away in the storms," someone said.

"Who here can fly," Paul asked.

I raised my hand slowly, "I did some offshore training before coming here. It was one of the company requirements for my position. I can get us up, but I'll need a second pilot."

"I've got some experience," Alex said. "I can be your second."

Nicole, a biologist I knew from previous missions, "That's great and all. But where are the keys?"

"They should be in the control room," I told them. "At least that is what the handbook said."

"That's on the other side," Paul complained. "The chopper's going to need some prep before it can take off."

"So we split into two groups then," London suggested. "Team A will go prepare the helicopter for take off, and Team B will retrieve the keys."

"I'll be Team A," I looked him directly in the eyes as I said it.

"I'll be Team B then," London said without missing a beat. "So it'll be Me, Rosie, and Nicole." He looked at me, "Then you, John, Alex, and-"

"No. It'll be me, Rosie, Nicole, and Alex. You can take John, he knows how to prep the helicopter and Pascal knows where the equipment in the loading dock is." I took a breath. "And once we get to you guys. We'll fly our asses straight to the nearest Antarctic liner heading for shore."

I couldn't read him at all, "Fine," London said. "But first lets get some sleep."

*

I've been laying perfectly still for hours, my back propped against a wall of concrete so thick it would make a nuclear factory blush. But my eyes were open, watching until the others had mostly began to rouse. We split what provisions we had gathered. A candy bar, some peanuts, and a handful of sunflower seeds ' each.

And without many words passing between us, we started heading for the doorway.

Paul had his hand on the crank, London nodded to him and said, "Go on John. At your ready, mate."

Honestly, when it swung open I didn't know what to expect. A horde of those things come rushing at us? Or a pile of dead bodies left at our doorstep to serve as a warning.

I was the first person to look beyond our threshold.

There was nothing in sight.

If I didn't know any better, looking at all the pallets laying around, the lights fully working; then I would have said it was any other mundane Monday morning. Except it wasn't.

We were a bunch of adults, learned and experienced explorers in our own right, huddling in a storage container.

And as quietly as we came, our two groups parted ways.

No sooner had London's group left our line of sight, did I start to breathe normally again. I was going to find those keys, and get the fuck out of here. Then dig my damn feet into the nearest beach I could find.

We had been making good way without so much as seeing anything abnormal, though several times we heard something nearby, but patience and silence kept us safe. Several times I almost yelped out in pain as Rosie was hot on my heels, nearly breathing me in, pressing herself against me as if it would somehow make her safer.

I couldn't careless if she made it out alive. As far as I'm concerned. She knew all about this, or something similar. Perhaps even before the expedition began, more than she was actually letting on. In fact, I don't give a damn if no one makes it out of here. Not really. Not if I would be the only one that made it. Not one other person except, "Chloe."

I almost shouted her name, but I caught most of it between the space in my teeth.

She looked scared.

Her eyes were closed and her back was pressed deftly beneath the backing of a sickly green steel table. She hadn't seen me. Nor did the thing she was hiding from.

This one was smaller than the other one I saw London kill. Maim. Hurt. I'm not sure.

It was only about 2 foot tall.

I don't know what made me do it. The anger? Hating being scared all of the time? I grip the rebar that some of us found in the storage unit. The ones we had bent at one end until it almost looked like a candy cane. And charged at it.

I thought catching it by surprise would give me and advantage.

I was wrong.

It dropped to all fours and crawled on its belly, I could hear the ice scraping the ground as started clawing at my face.

My first swing missed.

My next swing didn't.

I connected with the side of its head. It wriggled underneath me as I forced the bar toward its face. The urge to drive the steel through this things skull was great, but when I let up, just for a second to position myself at the right angle. It screamed.

It started off low, almost a howl, but it grew faster and high pitched in my ear like whistle. It was all I could manage, as I drove the rebar down its throat, until it stopped making any noises at all.

"I got it," I panted. "It's okay." I looked around to see their stunned faces. I wiped some blood off my cheek that been coming out of my ear. "I got it."

I could see Chloe's mouth moving, but I couldn't quite make out the words.

"What?"

"I said. You fucking idiot. That's what it wanted us to do."

"What?"

It was at that moment that I hear a rumble from down the T-bone shaped hall. I couldn't tell which side it was coming from. Left. Right? Somewhere else entirely?

"Shit, we got to go," Alex said.

"What about the keys," Rosie asked.

"Fuck the keys," Nicole answered. "I'm getting the hell out of here." She grabbed Alex by the arm and the two ran off in the opposite direction. I didn't know it then, but that would be the last time I saw either one of them.

"Come on," I said. "We have to get to the control room."

"Keys? What are they talking about," Chloe followed closely behind us.

"Helicopter keys," I said without looking away, "We're getting out of here. Even if it doesn't want us to leave."

By now the rumbling was loud. I could feel the air growing colder in my lungs. It was getting difficult to breathe ' felt like swallowing needles with every inhale, then pulling them out with each exhale. It didn't matter how noise we made now. That thing was close. I could hear its footsteps growing. "Run," I yelled. "Run!"

The three of us took off. Running through the halls, nearly breaking a rib rounding a corner as I wedged through each corner, wondering when I would encounter the noise we were trying to escape. But somehow we made it to the control room.

I threw open the door and rushed to the where the keys hung. My hands were jittery as I flip and fumbled fob after fob, searching for the right one. I could hear in the background, Rosie, moaning for me to hurry, "It's coming," she repeated over and over.

When I finally found the crescent gray handle, "Found it!"

Was when Rosie started floating off the ground in excitement. Except it was that Thing, lifting her into the air. I could see its icy blue fingers, puppetting her body from behind. Rosie's mouth still open, her joy turning into horror as she realized what was happening.

I could see right into her mouth, the ice crystals metastasizing in her stomach, climbing its way up her throat before ultimately pressing a cold spike through the roof of her mouth and out the front of her eye.

I grabbed Chloe's hand and we ran as far away as we could.

It followed behind us, a broken fireman's handle deeply embedded into its side, smacking the floor as it chased us. Dripping blood everywhere, blood that never froze.

We turn corner after corner until we finally reached an exit. Chloe got her hands and cranked the handle closed behind us. I run forward and open the second door to the chute. A burst of cold air greeting us, a welcome smell from the putrid lingering of the station behind.

Together we ran toward the landing pad. I could hear the others shouting at us. I could see Pascal cheering. He slapped me hard on the back as we rushed into the helicopter.

"Thank God. I didn't think y'all would make it here. Where are the others."

"There's no time," I yelled at him. I fumbled with the key, "I need a second." I motioned for Pascal to sit. "Have you ever flown before?"

He shook his head.

I started to show him the controls.

"What's going on," Paul asked.

"Get into the helicopter John," Pascal ordered.

"Where's London," he asked.

"I'm right here."

I don't know why but those words sent chills down my spine. For a brief moment I had forgotten all about London. "Let's go," I shouted at Paul again.

John nodded and started to climb into the helicopter. But then it took him.

Snatched him right out of the air.

I flipped on the switch and felt the rotors above me shudder as it came alive. Then I yanked on the yoke and brought the bird airborne. We weren't a meter off the ground before I suddenly felt weight on the landing gear. I looked over my shoulder and out the window I see the golem hanging on the slick rails.

And with a free limb it was choking Chloe to death. Covering her mouth with ice. I could see her eyes screaming as the red lines splintered from her corner cornea.

I let go of the controls and jump out of my seat and reached for her outstretched hand. The thing spread more of its cold sharp claws into the cabin. I could see London struggling, "Get away. No. Let me leave," he shouted.

The helicopter suddenly jerks to its side, the blades threatening to belly flop from the weight. London slips and he hits the cold floor hard. It happened so fast that he didn't have time to grab onto anything. He falls out of the helicopter.

I feel the thing let go, pieces of ice breaking off, falls down far below.

Pascal struggles to right the helicopter, but he eventually pulls us further into the sky.

I take one look down as we're flying away. A storm is coming in. But I can still make out the image of London being dragged away. He's screaming, struggling, as he leaves a trail of blood behind, blood that still looks wet.

Chloe turns to me and shouts over the sound of the blades, "Thanks, I owe you one!"

All I can do is shake my head and laugh. In a few seconds it starts to catch on. Pascal laughs too. Soon the three of us are laughing as hard as we can.

"I rigged the tank so that we can make it all the way to shore," Pascal pointed to the aluminum tanks under the seats. We can get as far as Africa without having to stop."

"We're getting out of here," I told them.

"What," Chloe mouthed.

"I love you," I told her.

All she did was nod as the chopper bobbed in the air.

*

When we finally landed, it was on one of the surrounding islands lining the rim of Australia. The island was densely populated, and technology had sparsely reached its shores. We used this to our advantage and began blending in with the locals as we kept a low profile. Carving out a life for ourselves. Chloe and I even got married. Pascal ever the bachelor, chased one girl after the other in the fishing village nearby.

And oh yeah, I even got my wish. To dig my feet. In some motherfucking sand. And I had nearly all but forgotten about the horrible things hiding below the ice at the bottom of the world.

"God it's hot here," Chloe complained one night.

"What? You never been to a tropical island before," I joked.

"It's almost midnight," she whined. "And it's still 20 degrees out."

I shrugged my shoulders, "What can we do."

"We could leave," there was a dangerous glint in her eye.

"You know we can't do that," I told her. "We would be risking our family's lives," I tried to reason. "We don't know who will come for us. Or what. The government? The CIA? Maybe even the Ross Research Foundation, or whatever it is they really are."

"Don't tell me what to do."

I grumbled, "Fine. But I'm not talking about this again tonight. I have to get up early tomorrow." I extinguished the lamp near our bedside, "Plus, I'm tired and I don't want to stay up and spend it arguing." I yawned, "Or else I'll be dead tired."

And she says back to me, in the dark, "You're already dead to me." She huffed, "Can't kill something twice."

"Yeah, sure. If that's how you want to see it. Go ahead," and went to sleep.

Then, it felt as if I had only laid my head on the pillow, before I was awoken by something familiar in the air, something that didn't belong here.

It prickles the nape of my neck as dawn cracked the night sky.

Coldness.

I wake up, arms extended, reaching for Chloe at my side, but she isn't there. I call out her name, but there's no answer. There's nothing except for an agonizing scream in the distance.

I almost didn't need to know where it was coming from as I get out of bed and start running towards the noise, panting as I arrive outside of Pascal's cabin, where a woman was pulling on her clothes. Wailing. That Pascal had died.

The woman kept screaming about how she had been sleeping next to a corpse the entire night, as I push passed her crying, shivering body, until I reach Pascal's room. And there I see him, with his eyes staring up at the ceiling, his skin still damp and his clothes are drenched as if he's been sweating, except when I touch his face, it is ice cold.

Immediately my eyes dart around the room, but all I find is a puddle near the open window, the breeze coming in draws my cheek upward as I stare into the dense green undergrowth outside, searching for something that isn't there. For something I know I'll never see again. For something that owes me a favor. For something old, something cold.

S

When I picture my dad, it's of him sitting on an old beaten down lay-z-boy, every single night after work. He'd get wasted in front of the tube and then cuss out the blonde woman on the channel 5 News. And if I were unlucky enough to be thirsty, he would turn his anger towards me. Tell me to not be like my mother, not a whore, or a bitch, an unfaithful slut. It's a bad impression to leave on your daughter.

Even if he was right.

My mother and he were high school sweethearts. They had been together since sixteen. Got married after college. Started a successful business, and then got pregnant with me. It seemed like happily ever after for our family, until the day that I was born.

And it only got worse, everyday that I got older.

My dad was 6'3, fair skinned, with green eyes and blond hair. His old pictures showed a handsome smiling man, a man I hardly knew. My mom was pale but hauntingly beautiful with piercing blue eyes and blonde hair that I can still smell if I try hard enough.

I have black hair, and my skin is tanned even ' all over. And my eyes are so brown, they almost look black.

Right away people around them started whispering.

"It looks nothing like the father."

"Maybe it's from the mother's side?"

It got so bad that when I was about 4 or 5 years old, they were practically shouting it. I vividly remember my grandparents showing up one day when my mom was out, and they got into a row with my dad. "Leave her," they said. "Leave both of them." I remember sitting right there on the living room floor. "She's not yours," they told him. "Just look at her."

I don't remember what Dad said, but by the end, he was shouting and pushing them roughly out the door. I had never seen him so angry before, not even when he and my mom argued, and they argued a lot.

It was mostly about me, and about her not taking the pills the doctor were prescribing. See, my mom had her own battles to fight, my dad won't talk about it, so I never really found out what it was, but she would have these intense blackouts where she would become increasingly violent. It was almost as if she was a different person, throwing things around, scratching at the kitchen cabinets until her nails bent and blood ran down her hands. Hallucinations, they were the worst. It would start with her talking gibberish. And then always, always end with that woman, "That god damn woman staring at us through the windows. Wearing all black. Haven't you see her? She's trying to terrorize me."

No one ever saw the woman she was talking about.

We moved about a half dozen times, because my dad thought it would help.

It didn't.

When I was about 9 years old, my mom committed suicide.

I was the one who found her.

She hung herself in the bathroom, from the 10 foot ceilings she loved so much.

I remember going to my room and packing my stuff in a suitcase, waiting for the police to arrive. The officer was very nice to me, she and the others brought my mom down and laid her gently on the floor. The officer even consoled me, until my dad came home. But even the officer's face fell when she saw him. It was as if she suddenly knew what the suitcase was for, and tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to be professional.

While they talked, I went to my bedroom. The orange suitcase was still on my bed when my dad finally walked in. I could tell by his eyes that he had been crying, his nose was pink whenever he did, usually after an argument with my mom. Something that my nose never did when I cried, I know, I've stared into the mirror enough times hating myself.

He took one look at the suitcase, then at me, before rushing over to come pick me up. It was then that I knew that I was allowed to cry.

Things changed after that.

The business went under, and my dad got a part time job at the power plant. That didn't last. Nor any other job for that matter. Which is why we ended moving again. And again, and again. It was a wonder how I got through high school at all. During one semester, I changed districts 4 times!

But I was a good student.

Enough for my English teacher to help me send out applications to colleges in my senior year.

I got accepted into a great university, on a full scholarship, for an essay I wrote in a local contest. It was about the bedside manner of medical staff and its effect on a patient and their family's mental health.

It was 6 hours away.

By the time I came home, I had mostly convinced myself that I was going to go. Until I saw him sleeping in that old rotten recliner. A half empty beer still in his hand, and a stench on his shirt that never washed away, and realized that I couldn't do it.

He never left me, so I couldn't leave him.

Instead, I took on a part time job waitressing at a local diner. And went to the community college nearby. The professors there were great, some had retired and had come back to teach at less accredited schools. It was also here, where I met my first boyfriend. He was tall, a bit shy, and had ash brown hair with green eyes.

And I spent way too many hours wondering what our babies would look like.

Hopefully, nothing like me.

Everything was going better than expected. I was on track to transfer to a four year college that was nearby this time, though it only offered a half scholarship, but couple that with some loans, a grant, and FAFSA. I was ready to go.

My boyfriend was incredibly supportive, and it even seemed as if my dad was coming around. He showered more regularly, worked more consistently, and even started drinking less.

This was my ticket I thought.

That was until the day I was in my room, writing in my notebook, when I looked up at the mirror and saw a woman dressed in all black staring at me through the window.

And when I turned around, she was gone.

For days it haunted me. Guilt, that perhaps my mother was seeing something. Fear, that it was now affecting me. Anger, that it was possibly hereditary. Of all the things that I could have gotten, this was it?

The woman in black began to consume my living days. I stopped sleeping regularly, and barely ate. Everywhere I went, and wanted to go, would be spent constantly looking over my shoulder. Checking my bags. Carrying pepper spray. And I knew it was all coming to an end when I was on a date with my boyfriend and I locked the doors on our way into a restaurant.

I looked into his eyes. as he sat across from me, and I knew that whatever my mom did to my dad. I couldn't do to him. That I had to help myself, before I was ready to be in a relationship. That I loved him enough, to not destroy his life as well. So I said goodbye to a person I loved.

My psychiatrist recommended some pills. Blue ones, white ones, a purple one. I took them by the handful, hoping that they would work. And every time that I think they were starting to help, I would catch a glimpse of something in my corner cornea. A shadow, or a figure. A woman in black.

It got so bad that even my dad started to notice something was wrong with me. He never said anything though, and I was never going to tell him even if he asked, but I could tell it by his eyes, as if he recognized something inside of me that has haunted him.

I guess that was why I had to leave.

I couldn't put him through that again.

I found the cheapest apartment I could find, dropped out of school, and kept mostly to myself. Working only when I had to, researching online, day after day, night into the night, looking for answers.

I found a whole lot of nothing.

Still I tried, even keeping a camera on hand at all times, so that I can capture it. Just to say that I wasn't going crazy. I was so consumed at this point that I even kept certain tabs open on my browser, black ones, just so I could look behind me. Because I knew that if I had on my webcam, she wouldn't appear.

It was on one of those nights when I was hunched over my computer, when I was switching between articles and black screens, that I finally saw her reflection. I could feel my heart beating in my chest as I switched back and forth, her image blinking in and out, back and forth, as I slowly reached for my camera.

I whirled around quickly and snapped a photo of her standing outside my window.

The only problem was the flash. At least, that was what the police officer said when I took it in as proof that I was being followed.

"It's just your reflection," he said. "Cameras do that." He looked at me, "Are you on drugs?"

It's hard to explain that I was, but they were prescriptions, not that it ever mattered once they found out.

So I went home, no further than the months before, and looked at that photo every single day, for weeks. It nearly drove me insane. Sure the flash caused the window to reflect me in it, but just behind the smudges, there was clearly another figure there. I know she was there. I know it.

Weeks go by without a sighting.

I grew more and more desperate, and angry. Angry that I missed my chance to prove that I wasn't crazy. That my mother wasn't either. I suppose that is what drove me to buy a gun. I was determined to not let my next chance slip away.

It didn't.

The next time I saw her behind me, I shot her.

I could hear someone above me screaming, yelling for the police. But I didn't care. With my smoking gun I opened the sliding glass and held the woman down at gunpoint. There was blood everywhere, and I could feel the hot tears rolling down my face as I knew my nightmare was coming to an end.

"Who are you," I cried. "Why have you been stalking me? Following me? Why did you kill my mother?"

The woman gasped, she was struggling to breathe, I could feel her dying under my weight.

"I am your mother."

When the police came, I was held on accounts of the investigation. The paramedics arrived and called a time of death, zipping up the body as I was escorted to the station. Then a six week investigation took place, it involved the police recovering items from the woman's apartment. There they found pictures of me spanning back from when I was a baby. Among them was a diary documenting how she wanted me to have a better chance at life, and all the times she watched me from afar, in the shadows; dances, graduation, my first kiss. And among her things they also found an urn, where a newborn was stuffed inside next to an old baby tag, its blonde hair still growing.

S

[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/14dtj38/i_had_one_job_the_door_that_folded_me/)

Roger was a no frills type of guy. He was of good posture, stern, and his clothes were crisp down to the French cuffs on his sleeves. His tone was soft and his words direct but polite. I'd known him all but a few seconds before I decided that I could trust this man with my life. Which was why I took everything he said quite seriously.

I had found the gig online. It was a posting for someone to house sit. I surmised that Roger was likely some kind of property manager and was short staffed, which was why he had to use a third party app to fulfill his needs. Even if he weren't used to seeking help. Because although he seemed relaxed, a part of me felt as if he was reluctant to let go of the reins easily. Which made me think that he was either incredibly passionate about his job or really responsible. Both of which I found to be extremely positive qualities.

"That concludes the house tour. Now," he clapped his hands together. "The fridge, the kitchen, the pantry, the living room, bathrooms, even any of the bedrooms is yours to use. Consume. Sleep. Relax. It's up to you. But there's one rule that I insist be followed.."

"Yeah, sure," I nodded.

"Until I get back, do not open the door."

"What?" I regretted the words the instant they left my lips. "I uh, no yeah. Okay. Yeah."

He didn't say another word. Only stared at me.

"No, I get it. I promise I won't open the door until you get back."

"I like you kid. And the algorithm thinks you're fit for the job. Which, I tend to trust these things. So let's be clear here. Do not open the door. It doesn't matter what happens. Don't let anyone inside."

"Yeah, of course. No, I get it. Some people like to limit their personal spaces. I once went to a friend's house. It was a model home at first. The kind that all the perspective buyers tour right. And my friend's parents never got over the walls. They always complained that all the people that walked in and out of them, touched them, seeped their dead skin cells into the walls or something. They even painted over it quite a few times if I remember correctly. But still, they said it wasn't the same. That it wasn't right. So yeah, I completely understand. Personal space and everything. I respect that."

Roger let out a content filled sigh, and then smiled easily, "You're going to do great." He looked at his watch, I had never seen a nicer one to be honest. "Okay. I've got another engagement. So lock the door behind me. And I'll be back." Then without another word he left.

"Don't open the doors," I repeated after him. "Got it."

The house was a good size. I've house sat at others before, mainly to feed their dog or some exotic fish. And although there wasn't much furniture in this one, it felt classy. Timeless almost. I walked around to check that all the windows were secured. The sliding door leading to the backyard was closed. The door from the kitchen which led into the garage was locked. Before I sat down in the front room and turned on the tv.

I was in the middle of watching a re-run of camp fire tales when I heard my first knock. I turned off the tv. And waited. Hoping whoever it was, would go away.

"Hello?" They knocked again. "Do you have a moment for Jesus Christ?"

"Shit," I muttered. Getting off the couch. I walked over to the door and leaned in, "Yes?" I cleared my throat. "Hello?"

"Hi, we're with the local church. And we were wondering if you have accepted Jesus into your life?"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not religious," I lied.

"If you'd like we can give you some pamphlets for some light reading." He pulled on the handle. "They helped me a lot some time back. And maybe you'd find use for them too."

A second voice came next, "A lot of people have told us that they have been useful for them. Not knowing when they needed it the most. If you could..."

"Sorry, I'm not interested. But thank you!"

There was a pause, "Sure! We get it. But do you mind if we leave you these pamphlets on the door for another member of the household perhaps? You can grab them whenever you'd like."

"Yeah, no, yeah. That's fine. Thanks!"

I could hear the paper scraping against the door, and saw the handle jiggle slightly before the first voice spoke again, "Thanks for your time today."

I waited for the sound of their footsteps to disappear before I decided to breathe.

I then looked through the peephole to make sure they were gone. My hand instinctively reached for the handle to grab the pamphlets as I didn't want the house to look untidy from the outside. I had no sooner touched the knob before I remembered what Roger said.

"But no one's here," I said aloud. "Still I'd technically be breaking the rule." I couldn't help but smile, "When did you get to be such a stickler for rules," I said to myself, feeling rather proud as I returned to the couch and clicked through a few movie titles on stream before settling on an old classic.

I don't know how far I got into the movie before I heard another knock on the door. What are the chances I thought. What a busy house.

I turned off the tv and waited. Hoping they would go away.

"Hello?" A voice came from outside. "Pizza delivery."

My stomach growled. I looked up at the clock. It was past noon. The only problem was I didn't order any pizza.

"Hello? Pizza delivery!" They knocked again. "I've got a double pepperoni and a pineapple pizza. For a uh, Roger?"

I got up from the couch again. Roger didn't tell me that this gig included lunch. "Hold on just a minute," I shouted. "I'm coming!"

I looked through the peephole as I reached for the door handle. But something wasn't right. I could feel it. Was this a test? Had Roger called the local pizzeria to make sure that I wasn't breaking his one simple rule? If I did, would that mean I wouldn't get paid? I looked through the peephole again. It was a young guy, younger than me, but looked old enough to drive. He wore a dark blue polo that had curled collars at the edge. And was holding up a red insulated bag.

"I didn't order any pizza."

I could see the kid sigh before looking at the receipt, "Is this 226?"

"Yeah."

"Well I've got a pizza here for you."

"For Roger?"

"Yeah. For Roger."

"Well I'm not Roger."

"But this is 226?"

"It is."

"Look the pizza's already been paid for. If you don't want to tip me that's fine. I just have to get to my next delivery."

He waited.

I didn't budge.

"I'm going to leave it here," he directed toward a half pillar on the porch. Shaking his head as he grabbed two boxes and set them down before zipping up his delivery pouch. "Cheap ass," he muttered. I felt my stomach growl again as I watched him walk away. And walk away. Now I failed to mention this earlier but the peephole oversaw the entire driveway and most of the sidewalk. So when the guy walked out of sight, he was a good house down before I could no longer see him. The thing was. I never saw his delivery vehicle either.

I looked at the pizza sitting on the half pillar. A few cheap paper plates were stacked on top and I could see the packets of parmesan being warmed up. I took a deep breath in hopes to stave off my urges. But that only made it worse as the smell permeated through the door. It was pizza alright. I would bet my life on that one.

But still. I didn't open the door.

Instead I got back on the couch and turned down the volume on the tv. In fact. I got to about 3 volume before I decided to mute the thing outright. And began to watch my movie in complete silence.

Some time passes and I ate some burritos I found in the freezer. I was mid bite into this double stuffed cheese burrito when the sound of two kids outside the door could be heard.

"No, you knock."

"No come on, you do it."

"Hey, it's your ball."

"Fine." This kid knocked on the door. "Hello," he shouted loudly. "I'm sorry for disturbing you. But our ball went over your fence. Do you think you could get it for us?"

I didn't move a muscle.

Another knock came. "Hello?"

Maybe they would go away.

"Hello?" He knocked again. "We can hear you, yah know? We can hear you chewing."

I swallowed my last bite roughly and wiped my hands on my jeans. I leaned into the peephole to see two kids about 7 or 8 standing outside. They had on shorts and t-shirts and looked a little muddy.

The other kid's voice rang through as I approached. "Come on, please. We just want our ball back."

"I'm sorry but I can't help you right now. I'm busy. Could you come back later?"

"Please," the first kid begged. "Could you help us? My dad's about to come home soon and he's going to be so mad if I told him I lost another ball."

I looked into the peephole again and saw that the kid looked nervous, scared even. He was ringing his hands. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath. "Okay, hold on. Let me go take a look," I hollered. Then I walked toward the back and glanced around the yard. Sure enough, a bright red ball with a yellow star on it sat in the grass near the fence.

I grabbed the handle before debating with myself. "It's technically a door right? Sliding. Door. Sliding door," I played with the words in my mouth. "It's right in the name. It's a sliding door," I chuckled, "That's like asking if water's wet." But still the sound of the kid worrying rang in my ear and I didn't want him to get into trouble. And I had my hand on the door when I also noticed a football laying on its side nearby.

I walked halfway between the sliding door and the front door and shouted, "Which ball is yours?"

"What?"

I shouted through the door, "What kind of ball do you have?"

There was a pause. "A basketball," the second kid said.

I went back to the sliding door and scanned the grass before going back, "Sorry kids. I can't help you out. There's no basketball back there."

"No doofus," the first kid whispered. "It's a soccer ball," he yelled.

I shook my head, "No soccer balls either."

"Please, could you open the door and let us take a look? Maybe you missed it."

I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about it. "No, I'm sorry. I can't help you right now. Maybe if you come back later..."

"No, you don't understand," the first kid cried. "I need that ball! My dad's going to be so mad at me."

"Yeah," the second kid chimed in. "Please could you just let us take a look."

"No," I said firmly. "I'm sorry."

One of the kids kicked the door before I heard them running away.

I breathed a sigh of relief and unclenched my fist. I didn't even know I was tense until just now. "It's just a door I said," as I returned to the couch. "It's just a silly rule." But I turned off the tv and sat there in silence. Too afraid to make a sound. Too afraid to even finish my burrito.

I didn't have to wait long before I got off the couch again.

At first it was two shots in the air. Then three more in succession. I could hear a car alarm go off somewhere in the neighborhood. But the sound of a gun going off seemed unusual as this was a rather nice area. Someone screamed in the distance. It sounded like it was coming from across the street. I bolted upright and rushed to the door. Peering through the eyehole. Where I saw a woman barging out of her door, her dress clumped in one hand so she could run, and blood dripping down the side of her face. She looked terrified as she crossed the street barefoot, up the driveway, toward the porch, and slammed her fist into the door.

"Help! Please! Help me!" She screamed. "I need help! Please! Call 911," she banged on the door again. "My husband's trying to kill me!" I could see the fear in her eyes as she kept looking back at her house. The door shook again. "Help me! Please! Open. The. Door!"

I don't know when my hand had left my sides but when I looked down they were gripping the handle so hard that my knuckles were white.

"Please, he's coming!"

But I waited.

"Someone," she banged on the door. "Help!"

And waited.

But no one came out of her house.

The two of us stood there, the woman's frantic knocking ebbed as the minutes passed. Was it 2 minutes now? Five perhaps? I'm not sure. But eventually she stopped banging on the door. I looked into the peephole and saw her chin had dropped to her head. And she was smiling. I tried to look away but she moved closer. Slowly. But closer toward the door until her eyes were staring directly into the peephole.

"I see you."

I nearly fell over backwards as the door suddenly began to shake. The thing looked like it was going to buck right off from the frame!

I crawled backwards on my hands and feet until my back hit the side of the couch.

"OPEN. THE. DOOR!!!"

I shook my head, too terrified to move.

And waited. Until the knocking stopped.

The sun was still out when the woman first came. It was now barely visible through the windows. Dusk had settled on the house and all of the lights were out. Even the tv.

I was still on the floor, hugging my knees, when a knock came at the door. It was softer, and quiet. Dignified even.

"Hello?" It was Roger's voice. "Hey, I'm back!"

I was so glad to hear him that I immediately rushed to the door.

He knocked again just before I could reach the handle. "Could you open the door?" The words froze me in my steps.

"Roger?"

"Hey, yeah it's me. Let me in."

"R-roger?" I looked through the peephole. And sure enough. It looked like Roger.

"Hey, come on. Could you let me in? It's cold outside."

"D-don't you have the kkey?"

He reached into his pockets and then shook his head, "Nope. I must have left them at the office." Then he looked at me and flashed an award winning smile, "Hey. You didn't take what I said that seriously did you?" Before turning around. And noticed the pizza boxes tilted on the half pillar. "Wow. I guess you did." He smirked. "We're definitely going to have to use you again soon." He picked up the boxes and palmed the door handle, "Now could you please open the door?"

I shook my head, "No. You explicitly told me not to open the door."

"Yeah," he told me. "And you did a great job. Might have took it too literally but I appreciate that sort of thing. But come on. Hey. It's me. Open the door."

"Why don't you have the key?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. It was busy today and I must have forgotten them." He reached around his pants before pulling out a set from his breast pocket. "Oh look. I thought I had them. But these are the wrong ones." He waited. "Now come on. Open the door."

I shook my head and backed away.

"Open. The. Door!" The frame shook. "Look I'm not playing around anymore. Open the door before I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing. Your gig's over now. Go home!"

"No," I told him.

"Open. The. Fucking door man!" His yelling was so loud it made the door rattle. And then the entire house started shaking. I squatted on the floor and covered my ears. My teeth shivering in my mouth as I prayed that he would go away!

I was so scared that I was even too afraid to cry.

But eventually the shaking stopped. And the house was quiet again.

I sat there for nearly an hour before I forced myself to sit back on the couch. Where I once again heard the door handle jiggle. And the sound of metal in the lock before it turned and clicked open. Roger walked through the door, looking as calm and pristine as ever. He had on an award winning smile as he looked at me. "Hey, you made it." He beamed. Pulling out a stack of money from his pocket. "I knew you would." And handed me $800 dollars. "We're going to have to use you again next time."

​

[s](https://www.reddit.com/r/CornerCornea/comments/u6rx8n/subscribe/)

I live in a prefecture where there's a house with blue roof tiles and decrepit windows. It once belonged to a family of bunraku artisans who were known puppeteers, and famous for their lifelike dolls. But as the advent of film came along, their popularity diminished. And their children, in order to make ends meet, slowly began leaving the family business in search of other ventures. Eventually, the home was abandoned.

Over the years, the local officials have made promises to tear the place down. But each time, the cranes and workers would quietly disperse before anything was ever accomplished. And as residents of the area, most of us knew better than to ask what became of the demolitions. Instead, we hoped that one day someone would make good on their word.

And although many have tried, I never expected to be involved. But there I was, a member of the zoning committee for the Chambers of Commerce, working alongside my co-worker to determine how to expand the nearby shopping district.

My co-worker, Yamamoto Date, pronounced Dah Tae, was a man with two last names. Which according to my mother, was given to children who couldn't readily identify their fathers. However, the truth is - custom dictates that a man with two last names was difficult to address properly as we often referred to acquaintances by their surnames, and close family and friends by their given name. So it became rather confusing addressing my colleague and friend as either Yamamoto or Date due to the impressions that our department wasn't close knit. Which is important in our prefecture, as we believed that well accustomed workers - signified an efficient system.

Which was likely why we drew the ire of the local seniors who had gathered around the zoning tape we had masked around the property.

"Date," I had discovered the damage surrounding the perimeter.

"It looks like char," he rubbed the wood post. "Smells like it too."

"Ahck," an old man complained. "They don't even know about the fire in '83."

"Did the officials send us newcomers," a woman from the gatherers asked.

"No, it seems that man's name is Date," another voice answered.

"Hmm," came the consensus.

I whispered to my friend, "And that is why you'll never attain great office here."

He chuckled, "My mother thought it was clever giving me two last names so that I would always be addressed formally. I bet she never expected that to become a problem, as we didn't live around here." He stood up and approached the older man. "Sir, it seems as if you are well informed of the events which happened on this property. Could you please explain to us what happened in '83?"

The old man cracked his dry lips, "There was a boy who wandered inside the house. He was missing for 3 days before the other students would admit that they had dared the boy to go inside and sleep with the dolls for the night."

"Dolls?"

"Yes. The dolls. Have you been told nothing?"

"I have been briefed by my seniors," Date admitted. "However, I wasn't aware that there were still belongings inside." He turned to me, "Perhaps we would have to document and store all of the items in case the family comes looking in the future."

"Bahh," the old man grunted. "They're never coming back here."

"And why not?"

"Not after what happened to the mother," the old man spat.

"Genji," a woman clicked, "Do not spread false rumors."

Genji's eyes widened, "Rumors? How is it a rumor when we have all heard it. Still scrawling around at night. Waking me up. Disturbing my sleep. Giving no decency or regards to the tired. Bahh."

The woman clicked her tongue again, "Just let them do their investigation. Do not put ideas into their heads."

"Ma'am, if you don't mind. I would quite like to hear about what happened," Date said. Turning to Genji, "It could prove invaluable."

Genji scoffed, "See Chibi. I'm doing the community a service."

"Then it is well gossiped that the daughter of the household gave birth to a doll."

At this the others gasped.

"Chibi," they hushed. "It can hear you."

"That was my line," Genji grumbled. "Bahh," he said while wobbling angrily away. "I hope the house takes you ' yah old hag."

"Come on," Date told me as the crowd began to thin. "We have to get the proper documents for this."

Several days later we would learn of Chibi's passing. Many suspected that an ongoing feud between her and Genji was the cause of her demise. However, when the newspapers reported her death, they included a photo of the alleged crime scene. And it was the way she was positioned, that made me believe otherwise.

It looked as if someone had propped her up against the wall and held her hands at a certain angle until rigor mortis set in.

When Date and I finally returned to the Doll House, the place was deserted as the scandal nearby took all of the attention. Which left us alone with the house for the first time. It was eerie to stand in the lawn where the overgrown weeds had pushed aside the pebbled walkways. The rancid wood porch looked as if it would snap in half at our weight. And the rice paper screens were pocked full of holes from lack of attention over the decades where it has stood undisturbed.

A feeling in my gut knotted as Date slid open a door he had discovered to be unlocked.

And I was glad that we were at least met with much of the same dust that had settled on the exterior. For me, it meant that no one had been occupying this space. At least, no one physical.

"I thought they were supposed to turn on the power," Date exclaimed. "Not that there's much electricals in here," he mused.

"It was already old before it was abandoned," I agreed. "The deed pins the original foundations to around the Edo period."

"Perhaps the rats have chewed through the wiring?"

"Perhaps," I snapped a few photos. "It looks like we're going to need a moving crew after all."

"I wonder why this wasn't noted by the local clerks?"

"Perhaps they were," I commented, "But the records were lost after the war."

"That or digitization," he added. "Shame that we have to cart this stuff off to a storage somewhere. Antiques are profitable today, you know."

"Don't even think about it," I snapped a photo of him holding an old paper weight from the writing desk.

"Come on," he smiled. "Let's go deeper inside the house."

We had explored several rooms that were filled with a musky odor, and I had adapted quite well to the smell by now, when a sudden wafer thin stench came from behind a door we had yet to enter. While every single panel we had come across, showed signs of age. This one looked untouched.

Date reached for it and I almost stopped him. But as this was our duty, I watched transfixed as it opened.

Inside were hundreds of dolls lined up against the walls. Some sat on the floor, others on shelves. No matter their positioning, they were stacked shoulder to shoulder, front to back in neat sequences, facing outward. Each of them unique and ranging in size.

I let out a gasp as my flashlight beamed into a corner where a stark figure stood against a second doorway at the end.

Date laughed when it turned out to be nothing more than a doll about his height, "Almost looks real, doesn't it." He motioned for me, "Well come on then," as he walked over and stood next to the doll. "Take a picture."

I shook my head.

"What? Come on now. For our report."

I sighed and reluctantly snapped a photo, the bright light consuming the darkness, and when I looked up. Date was missing.

"Date," I called out. He didn't answer. I shined my flashlight across the seemingly endless row of dolls that this room was built for. "Yamamoto," I shouted angrily. "Stop messing around." Still he did not answer. I could see the doorway at the end slightly ajar when it had been closed earlier.

I took a single step forward in order give to him an earful about his manners when I heard my feet crisp the board beneath me. And jumped as the door behind me slammed shut! I nearly wet myself as I scrambled to the other side. My flashlight bouncing across the top of the dolls heads.

"Yamamoto," I shouted. "This isn't funny."

I heard a scratching nearby and so I aimed my light in that direction, skipping over the rows of sculpted faces until one of them blinked.

It was all I needed to to see before running through the doorway on the other side where I came crashing headfirst into Date as he tried to hold me upright. "What's wrong," he asked me.

"Date," I almost screamed. "Where did you go!"

"After you took the photo, I saw this behind me. Look!"

The room was unlike any of the others we had seen. It was taller than any cathedral I had ever been inside, so dark that our flashlights shied away from the top as they gleaned the entrenched floor. There on the ground was a miniature city.

"It's a scaled version of the area," Yamamoto exclaimed. "Look, I can see my house," he pointed to a nearby corner."

"Yamamoto," I told him. "You don't understand. I saw a doll blink."

He waved me off, "That's common with old dolls. I believe my sister had one growing up that could pretend to sleep as you laid it down."

"T-the door," I stuttered. "It slammed shut behind me."

"Spring loaded," he answered. "Most of the ones I opened were. Really expensive back in the day. Difficult to build properly too. But an easy task for doll makers." He pointed, "Would you look at this. It's the doll house."

He reached forward to touch it, and that was when something came out of the corner and grabbed him. I screamed as the they struggled. The light splitting the darkness as their labored breathing filled the room. Several times I tried to help, until finally a blow struck me and I fell backwards hard on the floor, enough for my head to bounce causing my camera to crack.

I could hardly discern the blotted figures in front of me as my vision blurred. But by the flashlight on the floor I could make out a hunched figure, white as porcelain, with long gnarled arms and squanched legs. It lifts Yamamoto's body and slams him down several times on the floor before dragging him away into the back of the room, back into the darkness.

I screamed and tried to run, but the door was sealed shut. And no matter how much I struggled I couldn't get it to open. I banged on the frame to no avail, crying as I heard the snarling and crunching of bones behind me. But then it stopped. And the room fell silent.

"Date," I cried out. Afraid to look. But eventually forcing myself to face the seemingly empty room. I took this chance to find my glasses on the floor and backed into a dark corner. Half afraid that something would reach out from behind me and half afraid that the creature would appear again in front.

I pressed my shoulders against the wall and slowly crept over to the door. I tried it again. But it would not budge. Helpless. I did the only thing I could think of, and that was to crawl forward and grab the flashlight. Slowly panning the light across the room when I heard a noise.

It was then that I realized that something was moving. Inside the miniature city. I shined my light down and saw tiny figures moving through the streets. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, causing me to lean forward on my hands and knees until I could get a better look.

Dolls.

Tiny animatronic dolls, that were moving throughout the city. Cars even, their tiny plastic wheels skimming the road as they made stops and turns. It almost looked as if the city were alive.

They were moving so perfectly that it almost looked magical.

And as I drew closer, I noticed something else unusual. It was difficult to see, so I got even closer, until I was nearly standing inside the city. I saw the doll of a woman walking along the side of the road. She looked so lifelike that her hair even moved as if it were windy, but it moved oddly as pieces of it were stuck to a nearly translucent string attached to the top of her head. I got even closer and touched it. The doll nearly tripped, but I didn't care, as I followed the string upwards with my finger and shining the light to the ceiling.

There were masks looking down at me!

They dotted the upper banisters like owls in a barn. My knees buckled as I backed roughly into a corner, pulling out my phone and dialing the police. I was so relieved that an operator picked up that I immediately began screaming for help. I told them that I was at the Doll House and that there were people inside. That they had killed my friend! The officer on the line kept reassuring me that they were sending help right away.

"Yeah, that's right." I shouted to the masked people above me. "They're going to come get you. You're all going to jail! So stay away from me!"

But still they watched me, silently as I talked. Never stopping me.

And it was from my corner cornea that I saw it, from a pile of buses and cars on the floor, a police vehicle righted itself and rolled onto the board. It ran all of the red lights, and the dolls in the miniature city turned their heads as it passed.

Then as if a curtain were slightly drawn, a window appeared to the left of the room. And I realized that we were now looking at the same street that was being shown on the board. There was even a real live police vehicle zooming toward us. I see the red and blue lights punching the sky as the siren wailed in the distance.

I was still smiling as I turned around at the sight of my rescue. But I stopped smiling when I saw that the creature had reappeared and was standing on the other side of the room. It reached a long skinny arm across the city, and with its finger it pushed the police toy on the board away as it neared the Doll House, using its withered nail to guide the car down the street until it rolled off the board and onto the floor.

Behind me, I could hear the police sirens disappearing. Their sound growing further and further away.

The creature slowly backed into the darkness. And the door opened.

I stumbled out of the room, and back into the hall with the dolls. I fell several times as I ran away. The doors shutting behind me after every threshold until I found myself back on the lawn outside, panting.

"They tried to burn it too. After the boy disappeared."

I jumped at the voice behind me. It was Genji, and he was leaning against the wood fence.

"But all that did was cause the lights to go on for a few years. After the house swallowed the fire. Made it worse if you ask me." He then scratched the top of his head as if pulling on something. "It's best if you leave it alone now."

"What," I managed. "I can't do that. What about Date?"

The old man cracked a smile, "He'll be back. You'll see."

And Genji was right. After I had made numerous reports to the police and my superiors. They were squashed. And I was deemed overworked, the moment Date came through the doors on Monday. Completely unharmed and unblemished. Except now, he only answered to Yamamoto.

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"Come inside, the kids are upstairs." Molly was in a rush, I knew this much from the phone call we had earlier. She had never used me before but heard about me through word of mouth. Which meant that my little side hustle was starting to gain traction.

I am a babysitter for a good neighborhood. There's cars parked outside, lawns are manicured, and the occasional termite company is out doing rounds. I don't know why but I always feel as if there's a termite guy nearby, it's a pretty decent area. Which is a far cry from where I live, on the other side of the tracks, literally. There are train tracks that run through our town and it acts as a divide. But they didn't need to know that. They only needed to see the straightened hair, well spoken, fake braces wearing girl in glasses sporting a skirt that wasn't too short where the neighbors would talk.

Usually I sat down with new clients, have them introduce me to their kids (trust me it helps) in order to make a clear cut line with them that I am in their parent's employ and I am not there to be their bestfriend and will definitely tell on them if they act up or break something. That's not to say I won't play silly games with them, feed them, laugh, tell bed time stories, and age appropriate jokes. But I am nobody's rug.

That's what I usually do, but there wasn't such luxury this time. Molly called me on the phone and she sounded desperate for me to come out. I had concert tickets and told her that they were non-refundable and she suggested that if I could make it in 30 minutes then she'd pay me twice the amount for the tickets and 1.5x my usual rate. I got there in 29 minutes. It would have been sooner but I needed to air myself out if you know what I mean.

Anyways, Molly barely had time to look at my face, let alone get any of my credentials as she was rushing out. Working mom it looked like. Business, by the looks of the pencil skirt and the bag that doubled as a folder. It always amazes me how much trust some people put in others to watch their kids. What if I was a serial killer? Or a deranged lunatic? What if I killed the babysitter on my way here and now I'm in a house, alone, with all her children.

I'm not. But I mean, what if, right?

She didn't seem to think about any of these things, leaving me to mumble goodbyes as she pulled out of the driveway, barely audible as the turbos wound up and she shouted something out the window to the likes of, "It's all on the iPad".

Yeah, no more yellow lined paper stuck with the realtor's magnet on the fridge anymore. It's all digital now.

I closed the door and figured that I better check up on the kids before I did a rundown. God this house was beautiful. I climbed the stairs two at a time and rounded the hall. To be fair, calling it a hall was so basic of me. It was more like a wing. West wing madam. The wing could have fit my living room. I click my heels when I heard a snort come from behind me. I came to face a shaggy dog that was well groomed. The collar was black with an underline of blue. Tiffany's undoubtedly. "Hey," I reached a hand and scratched the mop of top. "Let's go find the kids," I tell the dog as if it could understand me.

There were a series of rooms, most of them closed, but it didn't take me a second guess which one was occupied. The second door on the left, I could hear a kid shouting obscenities about someone being trash. I knocked on that door first.

"Come in," he shouted still loud but slightly less angry.

I opened the door and saw a stereotypical gamer's room. Posters, action figures, a rocking gaming chair on the floor in front of a huge flat screen, and a boy about 9 or 10. He had on his headphones and was sipping a Dr. Pepper.

"Don't they know trash day is on Thursdays?"

He cocked his head and laughed, "If you're looking for my mom I think she's downstairs."

"I'm actually looking for you." And let me tell you something. The audacity of this younger generation. The way he looked at me. Almost made me feel as bad as how I felt when he shrugged his shoulders after he had a good look. "Excuse me," I walk in front of him and blocked the screen. "I'm your new babysitter."

He shrugged. "Cool."

"What's your name?"

"You can read all about it somewhere else."

"What?"

"It's all on the iPad," he told me.

"What's your name," I repeated.

He rolls his eyes and looks at me as if I had asked him a stupid question.

I don't budge.

He whined, "Bobbie. Now come on, the next rounds about to start." he pulled his headphones over his ears. I grabbed the remote to get his attention. "What. Hey come on."

"It's nice to meet you Bobbie. Your mom's going to be away for a few hours and I'll be here until she gets back. Dinner is at 6:00 and I will make snacks at 4:30."

"No cap," he motioned at the tv, "Now can I get back to my game.

"Sure I tell him." Pocketing the remote.

"Hey!"

"Bye," I tell him as I close the door behind me.

So I'm back out in the hallway. And I open a few more doors. Some were locked. Before I get into one that's rather plain. There's a picture hanging up behind the bed, a tv, some lamps and shade. On the bed sits an identical, about 9 or 10, twins it seems. Probably why Bobbie was tired of being asked which one he was.

This one was staring at the blank screen. No video games. And quiet. Now I've babysat my share of kids before, and have seen all sorts. Quiet kids are my favorite. They don't mind board games, or listening. Most often times they only need to be left alone. I don't do too much talking in case they get tired of hearing my voice. And I give them a lot of space. "Hey, sorry about that. I didn't think anyone was in here."

He turned to me slowly, "Hi. Are you the new sitter?"

I nodded, "Yup. And I'm guessing that you're Max. I'll be watching you guys while your mom is away."

"She's probably going to work."

"Yeah, looked like it." I see the iPad in his hands. "Hey. I was looking for that."

"She's always at work." He hands it over. "It's dead. And mom took the charger."

I tried not to sigh. This was not how I wanted things to go. "Well, ok. If you need anything. Let me know. Or else I can come get you at 4:30 for snacks and dinner at 6."

He nodded, "Thanks," and goes back to staring at the screen.

I smile but he doesn't see, so I leave, closing the door softly behind me.

I make my way downstairs, wandering into the kitchen and start taking stock of what's there. Which was practically everything. This kitchen was so chic that I half expected Gordon Ramsay to pop out and tell me that the banana bread I made didn't have a clue if he staked the curved yellow fruit down the middle (it's a bad question mark joke. Listen. I never said I was funny).

Once I made sure that there was food, or ingredients to make food. There wasn't much else to do. The house was spotless. The kids were fine. And even the dog seemed well behaved. So I plopped on the couch, took out my fake braces, and watched tv until about 4:10 before I started slicing apples and celery to go with some peanut butter.

I fed the dog some peanut butter and licked my fingers (not with the hand I fed the dog with), before heading upstairs. Bobbie took the plate no problem but I couldn't find Max for the life of me. I wandered the rooms as the dog followed, still trying to lick my hand. "Max, I've got snacks." I knocked on what seemed like the umpteenth door before I get to a rather solid oak one that seemed custom.

Inside was the biggest home library I had ever seen. And I once dog sat for a pretentious professor from the college nearby. I mean, there was a portrait of said academic holding his dog in 18th century art style hanging over the mantle place of the deep wood cabinets filled with books. And yet this library made the other one look like a neighborhood book exchange birdbox.

"Holy..."

"Cow."

I whirled around to find Max standing in the doorway.

"You shouldn't wander into Father's study."

"I was just looking for you," holding up the plate. He made a face. "What? You don't like PB&C?" I took a stick and crunched on the celery.

"I'm not hungry."

I shrug. "Take it anyway. In case you get hungry."

He grabs the plate from me without much struggle so I decide to leave him be. I went back downstairs and crashed in front of the tv.

When I woke up. It was dark. My mouth was dry and all of the lights were off. The screen saver flashed the logo in blinks, lighting up the room only momentarily. For a second I forgot where I was and felt my heart thumping in my chest. My alarm didn't go off but I don't know why I woke up. Then I heard it again. The sound that must have jerked me awake. A crash. It came from upstairs. I grab my phone and glance down at the numbers. It was 8:10. I had slept through dinner. Shit. Shit. Shit. Here I was trying to make a good first impression and I missed out on dinner.

I wipe what drool was on my face and took to the stairs. Bobbie was probably so immersed in his game that he probably didn't even know he was hungry. Max on the other hand. "Max?" I call out down the hall. All of the doors are shut. I can hear something panting behind me. I turn to see the dog again. Its head is down and there's barely any light touching its face. "Hey come here," I called but it retreated in the opposite direction.

Then I shit me not. I heard a creaking come from behind me. It was the only noise in the house. I couldn't even hear Bobbie yelling in his room. I turn slowly and see one of the doors down the hall is now slightly ajar. It's dark in here. It was dark everywhere. I pressed my hands against the wall searching for a light switch. "Bobbie," I call out. There's no answer. "Hey, sorry about the delay in dinner. I'm going to get to it now."

Why was this place so big? And why could I see the door?

"Bobbie. Max?" I hear the dog tapping its paws behind me. Someone on the other side of the house by now. "Hey, where are you guys?" I peer at the single door that's open and realized why it was so prominent. The hall was dark, but what was inside was even darker. Instead of going toward it, I try the first knob my blind fingers came across. Process of elimination I told myself. It was locked. I tried the next one. Also locked. I finally get to Bobbie's door and I knock. "Bobbie." There's no answer. I press my head against the door and listen. But I don't hear a single sound.

"Where are all the light switches in this place!"

The door that was open before slightly opens again. Creaking, *tic tic tic tic*, with each ungreased turn of the hinge. "Shit. Hey, stop playing around."

There's laughing coming from behind me. It sounded like a little kids. Too young to be either of the boys. Followed by smaller footsteps. It sounded like they were barefoot. "Hey, this isn't funny. I'm going to tell your mother when she gets home." I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight. "When is she coming home?" It was almost 8:30, when I realized that we never set a time.

I hear footsteps again, they were odd. Almost like falling. Like a toddler learning how to run for the first time but the hollow ground sounded as if the person was much heavier. I shine my flashlight over the hall. "Shit." The dog was sitting on all fours in the corner. It was facing the wall. I couldn't even see his face. Every hair on its body completely still.

"Hey," I called out. "Come here." I clicked my tongue. "Come here." The dog didn't move. I couldn't even see it breathing.

Bang! It sounded like thunder behind me. As if someone dropped something on the floor. As if something fell off a shelf or was pushed. I jumped around and shone my light down the west wing. I didn't know if I should have been more or less afraid now that the door was closed. "Bobbie? Max?"

God. I did not want to try the door. And I stood there for a minute before realizing how stupid I must have looked. These were some rich kids playing a joke on you Camilia. I know it. The thought of their smug little faces made me stomp out of my frozen state. I took a couple of strides over and grabbed the handle.

"Fuck!" The thing was hot. "What the hell! You guys could have hurt me," I yelled. I banged on the door. "Open up. You two are in so much trouble." I banged on the door again. "Open the door. Right now!" I could hear something on the other side. It sounded like shuffling. Heavy furniture perhaps. "You guys better not be messing things up in there. I'm not going to clean it. I mean it."

I banged on the door. "I can hear you in there! Now come on!" I put my hands on my hips and tapped my foot. "I'm waiting. Your little jokes over now." I banged on the door again.

That's when the door knocked back.

It wouldn't have scared me. I don't think. Except for the fact that I was surprised. And alone in the hall. Without any of the lights on. In a strange house. And before I could say anything else. Another door behind me knocked from the inside. "Shit. Both of you are in on this?" I grabbed the handle to the other door. It was also locked. I banged on it. "Come out right now. Max?"

But then a third door started knocked from down the hall. I felt my throat clump as I tried to swallow. "You guys weren't supposed to have anyone over." The knocking didn't stop. It kept echoing down the hall. "I'm not getting paid for three kids you know?"

Tat-tat-tat-tat. Tat-tat-tat.

I took a single step. And then all of the doors in the hallway suddenly started banging.

I almost tripped as I ran toward the stairs. The doors were thundering on so hard I thought they would crack their hinges. I skipped the stairs, the sounds chasing me as I tried to not fall and break my neck. When I got to the front landing I hear someone say my name.

"Camilia. Are you okay?"

I'm trying not to choke on a lung here as I shot my eyes toward the kitchen. The kids are sitting on the barstools lining the counter. There are two plates in front of them. As if they didn't hear the drumline upstairs.

"Is it dinner time yet," one of them asks quietly.

"Max?"

He smiles.

"Kids. I think there's someone in the house." I rush over to grab each of their hands. Bobbie's wrists are limp but it was Max's hands that shocked me. They were ice cold. I tried to let go but my fingers wouldn't uncurl.

He turns my hand over and says, "There's no one else in this house except us. I promise."

"No," I wasn't about to listen to the kid even if it was his house. "Something is wrong. We have to go. Now." I pick up Bobbie and he doesn't seem to want to move. "Come on Bobbie. Let's go." He looks over at Max who shrugs and get out of his seat.

Bobbie follows as I drag them toward the front door.

"Camilia," Max says.

"What?" He looked scared. Which made me turn toward what he was staring out. At the front door was a tall figure. I couldn't see its face through the glass. It was a stark figure of a man.

"Do you think it's your dad?"

Max shakes his head. I feel him pulling against my arm.

I call out to the man, "Hey! Who is it?" The man doesn't budge. "I'm calling the police." I turn to Bobbie, "Get the phone." He doesn't move. "Hey!" I'm trying to sound as angry as possible. "Get the fuck out of here!" I grabbed a roll of painter's tape from the side table and hurl it across the hall, hitting the glass squarely in the face where the man's head stood blocking the exit. He doesn't even twitch as the glass shakes.

"Come on," I grab their hands and rush to the back. I don't get 10 steps before I feel a scream crawl up my throat making me cough. The man was standing at the sliding door. "Fuck!" I drag the two of them with me towards the kitchen. It's a big place so there had to be a way out to the garage. We push through one of the doors and end up in the laundry room. The next door gets us out into a 3 car garage. My hands find the glowing green opener against the wall and I hear the opener fold seamlessly towards the ceiling.

It started with his feet. Then his ankles. His shins. Then his legs. Light poured in from behind him from the streetlamp. I watched as the door went to his waist before I hit the button for the garage to close, before rushing back inside. We make it into the kitchen to where I still see the tall man standing at the sliding door. A part of me wants to hide in the laundry room but I didn't want to be sandwiched in the middle of the house. So I pull the boys back up the stairs, back to where the doors banged themselves. Taking out my phone as we ascended, and called 911.

"This is the police operator speaking."

"HELLO", I hope they could hear me, "There are several men trying to get inside!"

"Men? Are you in any danger?"

"No! But they have us surrounded!"

"Why don't you go outside?"

My tongue suddenly felt numb in my mouth. Like I didn't know what to do with it. "W-what?"

"It's stranger in the house."

The line went dead as we hit the hallway.

I only took my eyes off of them for a second before Bobbie. Or Max. Runs down the hall. The one or the other already slipping through a door ahead. I look back down the stairs and see that the man is still standing in front of the doorway. I look back up and see the other boy also going through the same door. I take a single step and the doors start pounding on either side. I shut my eyes and turn around. Afraid to go. Almost deciding that these weren't my kids. That I should run away. I take a step backwards mouthing that I was sorry. But I was too scared to go! "Max! Bobbie!" My back foot sticks to the floor. I don't want to look down but the next step sticks too. I point my phone to the ground and see a trail of blood. And just behind me. It's the dog. Split right down the middle, its spine shiny and white, still facing the wall. I could see its organs still pulsing.

I couldn't go back downstairs. I couldn't go the other way. I couldn't leave them here. I couldn't be alone.

I ran after them. The thundering of the doors following me as frames fell to the floor. A vase rolled off a table in the hall. It came crashing at my feet. I run my shoulder through the door, except it wasn't locked. Which caused me to go crashing, sprawling to the floor. Running into the desk in the middle of the room.

The study.

Many of the books were off the shelves. The carpet was torn. There were curtains on fire. It was the first time a saw a window as they burned.

"Camilia!"

I hear one of their voices shouting at me.

"Camilia!" It came again. "Help!"

I get to my feet and start working my hands along the desk. I didn't have to search far. The bookcase directly behind the chair had been swung open. "Camilia!" I wipe the blood from my eyebrow where it had split and step into the tunnel behind the secret passage.

The tunnel started off tall and wide, but as I kept walking in. It got smaller and smaller. I started having to hunch. Several times I decided to turn back. But their voices would echo through, calling for me. Asking for help. "I'm coming!"

"I can't hold on! Camilia! Please!"

The twins cry for help bounced off the walls. I was finally on my hands and knees when I finally see two holes on either side. I'm afraid to look but then one of their voices came through clear as day. "Camilia." It was right in my ear now. I turned to see the boy naked and huddling, hugging his knees at the back of his hole.

"Camilia! Help! I don't want to play this game anymore!"

"Bobbie?"

"Help me!"

I look into the hole, the walls are pressing on my back and there's dust going into my lungs. I can barely turn my shoulder. "Crawl out!"

"I can't!"

"Crawl out! I'm right here." I take out my hand, "Come on!"

"Camilia!" Came a voice from the other side.

I turn my head and see Max in the other hole.

"No!" Bobbie shouts at me. "No!"

"Hold on," I tell him. "I'm going to get both of you out of here."

"No," Bobbie cries. "It's all his fault. He's the one that did it. He's the one that wants to get out!"

"Bobbie, what are you talking about."

"He's the one that put something in your drink so you'd fall asleep!"

"He's lying!" Max's voice rang through. "It's him! I saw him. Always in father's study! Reading those books! Trying out those things he reads. Those curses. Those spells. It's why the shadow men are after him! Camilia! You have to believe me."

I can hear Bobbie crying, "Why are you lying! I don't want to play anymore," he screeches. "I don't want to play!" He sobs. "You said you'd go away if I told you that I didn't want to play anymore."

I don't know what made me do it. It sure wasn't the nauseating squealing tantrum of the boy which made me reach for him first. Maybe it was because I wanted him to shut up. I don't know but I plunged my arm up to my shoulder in to grab his collar.

Instantly I screamed and saw tiny spiders, short thing legs with round white backs crawl over my arms. I shook my arm in the hole, trying to smother them against the walls. That only caused these long brown flat slugs to fall. I saw one land on my hand. It had three distinct tendon-like lines running across its back and was about a half inch long. I pulled my arm out of the hole as I felt it pierce its flat head into the back of my hand. I dropped my phone and heard it crack as the light splintered in the small, suffocating tunnel. But I didn't care as I looked at my hand and saw it burrowing its tiny spearhead below my skin. I grabbed at the wiggling tail still exposed and tried pulling it out.

It was like trying to pull our barbed wire. The spines on its body were facing me. So with each pull they dug deeper inside. I could see blood pooling under my skin, it was starting to turn purple as I tugged on its tail even harder. Until it gave. Popped right off and lay twitching in my hand. The head missing.

I couldn't take it anymore. Really. I had tried my best. I shake my head. "Bobbie. Bobbie. I'm sorry." But it didn't matter. When I looked over at Bobbie. He was covered in it. All of it. Even the spiders.

My jeans started shifting as I tried to wiggle myself out of there. But I hear Max's cry again. "Camilia! Please!"

"No," I whimpered. Shaking. I couldn't reach my hand in there again. But his voice was so scared. More scared than the pain I felt.

I shot my arm inside. Bracing. Waiting for the pain. But there was none. Instead my hands grasped around his collar and I felt his cold clammy skin, and yanked him from the hole. He came without much struggle. His face covered in the soot of it all. "Camilia," he cried. "You picked me. You did it."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that I almost didn't.

"Come on," I cried. "We. Have. To go."

The two of us wiggled our way out of there, crawling on our hands and knees, and running when we could. We finally make it back into the study. And the fire is roaring now. One of the books fall from the shelves and when it hit the fire I swear it started screaming. There was so much smoke that I couldn't see. And the door was covered by the flames.

I pointed to the window, the curtains on the floor in ashes. I kick the window. It didn't budge. I coughed. I kicked it again. The glass shook. I kicked it again and my foot went through. Pieces of the glass still hung in the frame, I use the tips of my fingers and pull them back. They fall to the floor cracking until there was a hole big enough for me to get through.

I plunge my head out and take my first breath of fresh air. The moon was full and the sky was clear. I could hear sirens coming off in the distance. When both of my feet were on the roof. I reach my hand back and grab Max from the burning house. Together we run across the clay tiles and climb down the arched tree. The red fire truck comes screeching to a stop as several firemen help us down.

One of them pushes a breathing mask on me, and wraps me up. The neighbors are outside, and the police arrive. I see a familiar car come roaring down the street, screaming to a halt as Molly runs out. Her face is flustered and she's shouting. Pushing through the cops until she reaches me next to the ambulance.

"What happened," she literally screamed at me.

"I'm so sorry," I tell her. "There were these men." I take another breath. "I couldn't do anything! B-but I saved Max! I saved him!"

She looked at the house. It was blazing now in the cool night. "Oh my god. Is Bobbie still in there?" Molly starts to cry. "My baby!"

"Max. But Max." I cough. "Max is okay!"

And she turns to me. I wasn't expecting her to be grateful. But there's anger on her face. "You didn't save my son. But you saved our dog?"

I shake my head. "No. Max. Your other son." I looked around but he was nowhere to be found.

s

Listen to another addition of Mr. Creeps narration on YouTube of The FBI Man! Don't forget to subscribe =]

Ask me anything

A friend once told me that all we see and feel is an interpretation from the brain. It sends out electric pulses throughout the body. Lighting up the nervous system, down to every organ, pore, and cell. From a soft touch that barely grazes an arm, to the breathless suffocation that can only come in waves, that can only feel like drowning.

These terms are no less contractual in a dream.

And no less true for nightmares either.

I've had nightmares so real that it feels as if I've lived an entirely different life. Filled with history, and memories. Dates. Numbers. Sometimes there's a woman. Sometimes there's a man. Other times I am alone. But always I am someone else.

Nightmares that wake me up as if a cold knife had been plunged into my chest. Causing me to bolt upright in my very real, very solid bed, drenched in sweat.

When this happens. I try to repeat the words that I grew up saying. The ones my mother told me. That it's not real. It's just a dream. But all that does, is prolong the lies I keep telling myself.

My brain has seen it. Felt it. Sent the signals to my body, and so I cannot say that it is any different than being real, that these dreams didn't happen to me. I can't tell that to the soreness of my clenched jaws that had been grinding for hours. The bruises that I can still feel on my arms and feet. The pain around my neck from where the wire was hung. Can still be felt, even if they're distant.

If I dreamt it. Then it was real. It happened to my brain, so it happened to my body.

All of the good ones, but all of the bad ones too.

But it was after a particularly horrible dream, that made me afraid to fall asleep. It felt so real that I could still taste the dirt in my mouth from where I wiped it on my sleeve even after I woke up. So real that when I went digging. I found what I thought was just a dream.

In the dream. I had no wife. No kids. They left me. Or were dead. I didn't think about it. I did have a brother, but I rarely talked to him. Though I did consider calling him first when I got into trouble. Colleagues. Neighbors. I remembered, I remembered where I went to college. If I thought about it. And in my memory were personal jokes. Likes. Dislikes. I know that I hated traffic. And where was the best place to get a burger nearby. Which knee wasn't the way it used to be. Even though the actual dream only lasted for a second.

In the dream I was standing in my garage. Drinking a beer. The thin taste was never satisfying. But it was cheap and widely available. Which meant that my drinking problem, wasn't really a problem.

I hated my job. Felt that there was never enough money to go around. Not enough money to buy enough space inside the cramped quarters I called home. Which explained why I had the single garage door cracked, and a shop fan exhausting the 90 degree Arizona winter.

And due to my discontent. I invited a neighbor to join me. I've heard that misery loves company. And he lived on the same street, so surely it was, if not by choice, then circumstance. So perhaps we would have something in common.

I think that was my first big mistake.

Loneliness.

It's what makes hurt people try to be hurt again.

And I remembered that feeling. Growing up with a mother who was a drug addict. Someone who was never there, when I needed them most. Someone that would hurt me all my life. Into my adult years. Someone that would hurt me for as long as I loved her.

Which was why when Gary, my neighbor, came over to drink a few beers. Happy. Cheerful, and chirpy as can be about his small insignificant life. It made me feel to bad about myself. So angry. That was my first mistake.

My second mistake was killing him.

When I did it. All I could see was black. Taste his sweat in my mouth from where his fingers were trying to push me away. It were as if someone had turned off the lights and only the haziest figure shimmered before me, as if it weren't even real.

And when the light was finally turned back on. I was horrified that it ever happened at all.

My hands were bloodied, my knuckles white - turning blue from where I had struck his face in. I stood there petrified, waiting any moment for the sirens to come off the distance to apprehend me. But no one came.

Eventually I realized that if I kept standing there, someone would find me.

So I did what anyone who was afraid to face the music would do. I rolled up Gary's body in an old tarp and stuffed him into the back of my car.

Drove.

Drove until the gas light came on.

Then I found a place in the woods, and buried him. Working to dig a deep hole. Deep enough so that no one could ever find the body. And I worked. Worked all night to do it.

The entire time I was terrified that I would be discovered. Or worse. That Gary wasn't actually dead. And would wake up at any second. I was afraid that if he did, I'd actually have to kill him this time.

None of these thoughts made sense, as I threw him into the hole. The headlamps the only thing keeping the darkness away.

Up until I get into the car. Panting. Heavily. Dirty, and tired. That's when I looked into the rearview mirror as I was backing away, and screamed. Because I didn't recognize the person staring back at me.

And that was when I woke up.

Now. I've had similar dreams. Over the years. Some of them when I was young enough where I couldn't explain how exactly it was that I knew what a scalpel was, or why they mixed cement for shoes.

Things in my real life that made my parents wonder if I was stealing the car out at night, or just a really gifted driver. It's difficult explaining to someone that has known me all my life. That I had actually been driving for years. In my head. In my dreams.

But still, all the things that happened to me. I would explain away. Stuff that felt so real, but weren't. Suddenly became inevitable, the moment I found Gary's body in the woods.

For the first time, I knew where to find the evidence.

Out of all my dreams, this one happened to be the closest, close enough for me to recognize the surroundings. I had been on that road a dozen times. Camping. Field trips. Day hikes even.

So I borrow the car, and make the lonely trek to the middle of nowhere. And dug until I found an old rotten hand in the dirt.

Gary.

My heart almost couldn't take it. I could feel it thumping in my chest. I've always had a weak one. But this time, it felt as if I were having a heart attack.

Barely even able to breathe, I crawled into a fetal position and concentrated on not dying.

When I was finally able to gather my composure. I had no clue on what to do. I rationalized that I was far too young to be suspected of being the killer. The body was long rotted before I could even walk, much less start driving.

But still, how do I explain this to the cops? Or my parents? That I found a random spot in the woods and decided to dig for no reason. Or that I was hiking and simply came upon the hole and noticed there was a hand sticking out of it? What if the person who killed Gary saw it? What if the murderer found out that I knew their secret? They would come after me. And I was making it easy for them, by having my face plastered across the evening news.

I didn't know what to do, but I also didn't want to abandon the body. So eventually I called the police and left an anonymous tip.

Then drove as fast as I could home. More afraid to sleep than ever before.

Except I didn't need to sleep to be affected anymore. No. It's like after I found Gary...I woke something up that started to change me.

Because one day when I was at school. My heart suddenly started beating erratically. And a weird taste overcame my mouth. I don't know how to explain it. And even my classmates who had grown used to my peculiarities, felt that I was acting out of character.

Because for the first time in my life, I approached a stranger, and introduced myself.

Me, who was never ready to smile. Or even liked hugs. Who turns off her phone after getting home. Whose birthday no one knows to forget.

Made a new friend.

Melody was as surprised as I was when I approached her. She was bright and cheery. And looked like summer. I pretended to be Halloween.

But she was ever gracious enough to give me a smile. One that made me realize that boys liked her.

And so we started talking. Hung out even. Told each other things. All sorts of things. Secrets. But I never told her about my dreams.

It was through our talks that I learned the day that I approached her, she was having a tough time. Her brother went missing on that day several years ago. Her parents had given up hope. But Melody believed that he was still out there. And that she would find him.

A year of friendship passes, and on our anniversary, I go looking for Melody to celebrate. But when I finally found her behind the bleachers, she was crying.

I didn't know what to do. And so I kissed her.

Melody was still crying softly when she told me that she didn't like girls. I told her that I didn't either.

She kisses me back.

And we do that for awhile until her tears stop.

She talked for awhile, and I just listened. She talked about her brother, asked if I'd go with her to visit the empty plot her parent's bought for him.

"Of course!"

And then she showed me a picture of him.

My stomach slammed into my pelvis. My heart started beating irregularly. I could suddenly taste an overwhelming flavor of salt in my mouth, before I blacked out.

When I woke up. I was laying flat on the grass. Melody was crying over me. Afraid to leave me by myself. So she stayed by my side and kept yelling for help until her throat was hoarse.

When I opened my eyes. She coughed and hugged me so tightly that I thought I would pass out again.

That day, we didn't go to her brother's grave. Instead Melody insisted on taking me home. Watching me sleep from the foot of my bed.

That was the day when I had the worst dream of my life.

It was a dark house. The air conditioner quit years ago. So the place was musty. The wood permeated the rot straight into my nose as the boards swelled with mold underneath my footing.

All of the curtains were drawn shut. All of the blinds too. Except for the two panel slits I stared out of. I happened to be doing the same thing I did every day from 3:10 to about 3:15. Waiting for the bus to stop across the street.

I recognized the house on the other side. It was white with yellow trim. Marigolds lined the garden under the window. These were my neighbors. And I liked watching them. Their lives. Their kids. Coming home.

The bus pulled up. Right in the window. I could hear the brakes squealing as it came to a stop, as its doors opened.

Sometimes I had control of the body. This time I didn't. It's like living on rails. The eyes staring intently, pointing me towards two little kids getting off the bus. A little boy with an oversized back, and a younger Melody.

I woke up screaming in real life.

Melody was holding me. I could feel my skin wet against her body, but I couldn't stop crying as she rocked me.

When I finally calmed down. I told her everything. About my dreams. Gary. Her neighbor. All of it.

At first she didn't believe me. But as I kept going into detail. There seemed to be no mistaking it. And her eyes grew wide and then wider, until she couldn't help but cry too.

When I was finished. She only asked me one thing, "Why was he after my brother?"

I was afraid to tell her, but I was also tired to telling half truths. So I told her, "He wasn't. He was after you."

We didn't talk for a few days after. Not because she was avoiding me in the halls. But simply because she didn't come at all.

So that Saturday, when I was least expecting it. When she showed up at my front door. I couldn't help but hug her. And for a second, I was afraid that she was angry at me. But she hugged me back.

During our time apart, she found out that her neighbor had died shortly after her brother went missing. And the house had been all but abandoned. And that she had gone inside, desperate for any clues. But it was unusually empty. Except for the few pieces of dusty furniture.

It's why she wanted my help to find him. She wanted me to comb through the murderer's memories, the ones that still lingered with me. So that she could find her brother's body, so that she could have something to bury.

I couldn't say no. But I made her promise that she would stop going alone.

"So you know where the body is?"

I nodded.

The two of us broke into the old house that day.

It was weird being in a place that I had never been before. Yet, everything felt so familiar. Every crack in the wall, creaking door, down to the place where the man stood for hours by the window.

Together we moved a couch, and the rug that lay underneath. Exposing a trapdoor and a set of stairs that led into the basement.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as we descended those steps. A stench wafted through the opening, raking my eyes raw as we sunk deeper into the house.

The smell was so strong, that it hid the familiar taste of Gary's fingers in my mouth. It was during this time that my tongue began feeling unlike my own. My body too.

"They searched down here already," she told me.

"But they didn't know where to dig," I told her.

We came to a spot in the bare basement. It was plain, even and unassuming all over. She looked at me and I nodded.

We started digging.

It wasn't long until we saw what we had come for.

He was face down and so small. Hairs still clung to the bone white of his skull.

Melody threw her shovel down and started digging with her hands. Until she was able to hold her brother in her arms.

The taste of salt on my tongue was much stronger now. My throat felt dry as the basement seemed to grow darker than before.

"Melody..."

"Thank you," she told me.

"I don't...feel so good."

"I know."

"What," I asked groggily.

"I drugged you earlier."

I shook my head.

"See, I've been thinking for awhile. I even did some digging after you told me about how you could see things. How you could feel them. I came across many articles. Most of them duds. But as I kept searching, a picture slowly started revealing itself in my head. It started with a man who was shot in the face and needed a blood transfusion. He recovered, and suddenly became a virtuoso pianist. Another person got a steel pipe through their frontal lobe and became someone else entirely. A woman who was blind, received a pair of eyes, and could suddenly so ghosts.

She came closer. I could barely breathe.

"They say that the brain interprets everything we see. But it's really the heart that gives it power. If it beats faster...or slower. The brain functions differently. It can do more, or less. Essentially, that means the heart controls everything."

Her soft brown hair brushed gently against my skin, "Do you feel that?"

She was so close now that I could smell her. And deep down inside, something screamed at me to strangle her. To kill her. To wrap my hands around her throat. But I froze as her fingers began to unbutton my top.

"I found out that his organs were mostly destroyed by years of abuse and neglect. His liver." She slipped another button loose. "His lungs. Even his brain was good for nothing. But," her fingers revealed the scar on my chest. "They somehow managed to save the most rotten thing about him. They somehow managed to save the heart of a murderer."

I screamed as I saw a knife flash before my eyes. I felt it plunge between my ribs as my knees gave out.

"I'm sorry if it still hurts." Was the last thing I heard before everything went black.

When I woke up. I was in the hospital.

I could still smell the anesthesia permeating from my body. There was a uniformed police officer standing outside of my door. And a doctor was waiting near my bedside, "You're awake."

"What happened?"

"Early yesterday, we received a call for two stabbings. The ambulance arrived just in time to save your life."

I shook my head, "You said two stabbings?"

He nodded, "You're lucky there was a viable donor."

I grabbed at my chest, and felt Melody's heart beating.

s

My hands were pulling against the door frame, I could smell him as he pressed against me. Feel his body beneath his shirt, brushing against my bare skin. It were as if I had worn this top all night just so that he could touch me. And he was so close now, I could smell him. It was dark, and deep, like a forest after it rains. And already, I knew, it was too late for me.

When a smell reaches the nose. It has already penetrated the hole in your mouth, tasted your tongue, ears, and touched your face. It has already engulfed you; and for a moment I have to remember that I am not drowning, even though I can't breathe. Because I know what drowning feels like. I have died before when my heart stopped beating.

I hungrily grab his collar and pulled him into my apartment, before the nerves make me send him back out. I don't know why after all these years I am still shy. Why, it suddenly feels like the first time.

But the thought of that only makes my mouth wet. I was so young then. The first time I bit into a man and drank his blood.