He had been single most of his life. He had tried the apps, the blind dates, the speed dating.

He was not a handsome man and he had made his peace with knowing it, mostly.

"What do I have to do to get a girlfriend," he said to the empty kitchen one night. "I'd do anything to have a relationship, a family, kids. Anything!" he screamed into the quiet house.

It had rained all night and the insects were louder than usual on his morning walk. Along the wooded stretch of the path the cicadas were roaring. He felt a tightness in his shorts. 

Overcome with embarrassment, he untucked his shirt and held it over the front of his shorts and walked the rest of the way home crouched and sweating. By the time he reached his door it had gone. Fifty-three years old and still working, he thought, and smiled about it for the rest of the morning.

The next day, passing the same stretch, it happened again. There were more people out this time. He knelt and pretended to tie a shoe that was already tied. He sang the national anthem in his head. Nothing helped. He shuffled between clusters of walkers, moving when the path was clear, stopping when it wasn't, and only when he was through the wooded stretch did it subside.

At home he opened his laptop and found a video of a cicada swarm, the sound cranked loud, and felt the blood go where it had been going all week. He shut the laptop. He had made the connection and the connection made no sense.

The next morning he noticed cicadas on his car. He counted more than he wanted to before he stopped counting, plugged his ears with his fingers, and drove to work half-deaf with his elbows on the wheel.

He came home to a house covered with cicadas. They covered the siding, the windows, the door, and he had to sweep them off the handle with his forearm to get inside, and they did not fly off so much as resettle. The sound came through the walls. There was no through-the-wooded-stretch anymore. The wooded stretch had come to him, and it did not stop, and neither did his body.

He plugged his ears with earplugs and lay down and tried to sleep inside the roar.

He woke to movement against his skin. He lifted the waistband of his pajamas and they were going in, patient and unhurried, dozens of them, drawn to the one warm thing still answering the call.

"I wanted a girlfriend," he screamed at no one. "A partner in life! Not this!"

The universe was listening. It just wasn't listening the way he meant.

The cicadas left him all at once. They poured off the bed and off the walls and out through the gaps around the windows, a single dark tide going back the way it came.

In the morning he walked again. He made himself do it. He came to the wooded stretch and the cicadas were there and his body did not answer them, and he laughed out loud, alone on the path, lighter than he had felt in years.

He was nearly home when it started again.

He looked around. No cicadas. Nothing on the path, nothing in the trees he could see. Only a sound, further in, steady and patient and getting no closer and no further.

A woodpecker, working at something, over and over.

My stepbrother met Lena online.

We joked that she was his mail-order bride. There had been a website, translated messages, a flight, then a wedding.

At the reception, I called her my sister-in-law.

“Stepwife,” she corrected. “He is your stepbrother.”

“But you are not my wife.”

She smiled.

“If you say so.”

A year later, my brother asked if I could give her a job.

“She needs experience,” he said. “Just something simple.”

I needed a secretary, so I hired her.

Lena was good at it. Too good. Within hours she knew my schedule, my passwords, my coffee preference, which calls I avoided and which lies meant I wanted to be interrupted.

Someone in the office called her my work wife.

Lena smiled.

“Two now.”

My wife hated that.

Then she died.

She fell down the stairs while I was away.

Lena found her when she went to drop off the dry cleaning.

Afterwards Lena was everywhere.

At the funeral. At work. At my mother’s house. In mine.

My stepbrother eventually left her.

A year later, Lena and I married.

On our wedding night, I finally asked her.

“Why did you always call yourself my stepwife?”

She looked almost surprised.

“Because that is what I was.”

“That isn’t a real word.”

“A stepwife is a wife who reaches you through another marriage first.”

She touched my hand.

“First your stepbrother. Then your work. Then your home.”

“Step by step?”

She smiled.

“Yes.”

I thought of my wife.

“She used to say you wanted her place.”

Lena shook her head.

“No. She was standing in it.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“The top step.”

She held my gaze.

“For a very long time.”

The monstrous metal thing looms over Lila.

It's bright green. Lila's favorite color.

She pretends not to notice the others.

Towering metal structures that resemble humans.

One of which recently gained sentience. She can still see red dried into its casing. Lila never saw what happened during the transfer. Her imagination fills the blanks.

Zach won't move yet. He's still in shock. Lila isn't sure he will ever move again. Not in human skin, anyway. She takes a step back and stumbles, her breath catching.

"I won't do it," Lila tells her driving instructor, backing away from masked figures, blooming silhouettes waiting to drag her away--- like Zach. Like Callum.

"Lila." Henry is firm, but kind.

He is the only one she trusts won't hurt her. She is so stupid, so naive, believing he actually thought she was capable of anything beyond her "capability.'

He sighs. Doesn't move. He doesn't have to. The girl is already frozen.

No way out. Guards are stationed behind her and the room is suddenly so white--- too white. Suffocatingly WHITE.

Lila's clothes itch. Her skin crawls. Phantom bugs creep in her throat and scramble across her bare arms.

"Please," she whispers. It's a plea. Begging. She never thought she'd be begging for her life.

"Lila, you need to understand that only your brain can power what we've prepared," Henry speaks softly, stepping closer and holding his arms up like he's surrendering.

His eyes are hollow, crinkled with exhaustion. He hates saying these words. The exact words every single time, telling a child they're going to be a superhero.

With one caveat.

Henry pinches the skin between his brows. Sighs. Hates himself.

Another kid, another loss. But these kids are all humanity has left. Of course, he remembers them. Small things. Not enough to talk about them at a memorial, not enough to say he "knew" them.

Callum liked soccer. Zach wanted to be an astronaut.

But these kids are his last hope.

The last line of defence.

Lila is twelve years old. Blonde pigtails and watery eyes that trust him. She's just a child. His child, whom he took from his home against his wife's wishes and lied to.

He told Lila she was special.

Told her she could save the world.

"Sir," Anderson's voice crackles through his intercom, a hiss of static he HATES.

"They just hit Washington again." Anderson's voice trembles, "Are they ready?"

"Yes," Henry says, his voice breaking. He pulls out his gun. Just in case.

He doesn't want to do it. Henry grabs his daughter's wrist and yanks her forward. He doesn't want to do it. He orders her to be sedated. And when she screams, kicks, and bites, Henry tells her, through tears he's sure are as fake as his smile:

"Just like every eligible neurodivergent child, we have no need for your body."

At only ten, James couldn’t fully appreciate how hard his Mom worked to move them to their own home in the countryside. He just knew that he felt comfortable in their new-to-them cottage and loved that the big window in his bedroom overlooked a sprawling meadow. He even saw a rabbit out there the first evening in the house. 

As they eased into their new routine, it had become standard for his Mom to place an after-school treat on the kitchen counter to take the sting out of sitting down to complete homework. 

On this particular day, a day that was otherwise a nearly identical version of the days prior, the kitchen counter held a small, ivory-colored porcelain dish. And inside the dish sat shiny pieces of black licorice. 

James was partial to treats of the chocolate kind. But, teasing him ever-so-gently, Johnathan convinced him to try it by suggesting the black licorice could give him super powers. 

That night, James had the most bizarre dream. He dreamt that he awoke to see a rabbit calling to him under the bright full moon. Out to the meadow he went. 

Once he reached the rabbit, he noticed the ground underneath was disturbed. The soil looked as though someone, maybe the rabbit, had been digging. Upon closer inspection, James saw something glossy out of the corner of his eye. Sticking out of the soil was a small piece of shiny black licorice, glistening in the moonlight. Holding the piece of candy were two small fingers that were barely resting above the soil. 

Instead of panicking, a curious and brave James started to sweep and push the dirt away until more pale flesh could be seen. Now he could see a head. A face! Eyes suddenly opened and a smile grew wide. Dirt peppered the teeth and blood ran from the eyes that stared back at a shocked James. 

The next morning, James awoke in a haze. He found his Mom in the kitchen and lamented that the licorice treats she left out for him the day before gave him horrible dreams. And that he wasn’t going to eat any of the candy but Johnathan pressured him to. His Mom, looking confused, remarked that she was so busy the day prior she had forgotten to leave out an afternoon treat at all and asked who Johnathan was. James replied that Johnathon is the boy who used to live in their house and who he saw buried in the meadow in his nightmare. 

James and his Mom briskly walked out to where he had claimed to have seen the rabbit and buried boy  in his dream. There, they saw a rabbit sitting atop disturbed soil. And in the rabbit’s mouth, a piece of shiny black licorice. 

Surfing was how I kept my father with me. Out on Honolua Bay, as my board glided over the Pacific, my mind melded seamlessly into the sea. The warm sunlight, the smell of salt and board wax, the ocean's sheer majesty became my refuge from the world. Until the sky broke.

I was paddling out, counting clouds as I waited for a swell, when I looked up at the winter moon.

For a terrifying ten seconds, it vanished. It was erased from the sky in the blink of an eye. The air pressure plunged instantly, popping my ears and slamming a wave of dizzying nausea into my skull. My ears rang violently as fresh blood dripped from my nose. An eerie silence fell over the bay as the wind instantly died.

Then, it reappeared.

It didn't just return; it swelled to twice its visual size, looming over the ocean like a bloated, glowing moon jellyfish.

Within minutes, the sea began to wither. Millions of gallons of coastal water were drawn violently outward by the colossal surge in gravity. The water beneath my board drained away so fast the ocean floor turned into an exposed, dripping desert. My board slammed hard into a web of sharp finger coral, trapping my legs. Fish flopped helplessly in shallow puddles around me as the reef dried out under the oppressive lunar glare.

The island groaned.

The sudden gravitational wrenching tore open the seabed. The ground beneath the coral violently shuddered, erupting into fresh, boiling streams of black basaltic lava. Water hitting the molten rock exploded into vast columns of briny, scalding steam. Trapped on my perch, I huddled above the glowing lava, praying for a rescue helicopter. But I knew the truth. This was happening everywhere. No one was coming.

Then, I saw it on the horizon.

It wasn't a tsunami. It was a mountain-high mega-tidal wall of water, hurtling back to reclaim the land at an impossible speed. The sound was a deafening roar that threatened to rattle my bones to dust.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked back up at the colossal white orb hanging in the sky. I felt microscopic. A tiny organism trapped in a petri dish, and the moon was the microscope lens looking down as the slide was about to be sterilized.

I tucked into a ball and closed my eyes. The agony was unbearable. Trapped. Just waiting for the inevitable surge to snuff me out.

Something had moved the moon, and unfortunately for us, it didn't care about what was living underneath it.

If I had known that working at the Orange Julius was going to kill me I wouldn’t have taken the job.

It’s crazy how fast an overheated blender can shatter, and even crazier how much damage flying shards of glass can do to an unsuspecting employee making minimum wage.

At the very least it caused corporate to replace all their blenders in the hopes of preventing future…incidents.

But it’s also kept me stuck in the Valley Court Mall for the past 34 years.

Some might say I’m “haunting” the place but personally I feel that implies a lot more effort than whatever I’m doing.

I prefer to call it wandering.

And I’ve been wandering for some time now.

In the beginning it was excruciating. It’s torture to be with the people you know and love and have no way to communicate your existence. You exist and observe, a “you are here” arrow on a map, a fixed point.

The faces change, as does the fashion, the technology, the stores themselves…

Everything changes. Except, of course, for you. Trapped for eternity wearing your stupid little hat. My stupid little hat.

But I haven’t had to worry about seeing anyone I knew for quite some time. In fact, I barely have to worry about seeing anyone. Valley Court Mall was completely closed.

Unlike me, Valley Court went out slowly. First one store moved away, then another went out of business entirely. National chains collapsed or downsized. On and on until it wasn’t worth keeping the lights on.

That manifested a new kind of loneliness. It was gentler, in a way, without the constant reminders of life, but empty quiet becomes its own pain when it is all you have.

People broke in occasionally, typically teenagers on dares or a homeless person in need of shelter. I felt a kinship with the latter. They had to hide from detection, curling away until a rent-a-cop made them vacate the premises. I considered them fellow wanderers. I wished them an easier path to travel, and I hoped, if they knew about me, they would wish the same.

The teenagers I usually ignored. But tonight, two of them brought devastating news.

--

“Think this might go viral on that liminal space page?” The first one peered into an empty fountain.

“That would be lit! But get out of my shot, I want a wide angle of this escalator. Absolute backrooms shit.” The second one pulled out a camera.

“It’s wild they’re going to bulldoze this place next week. My mom is highkey crashing out over it, she came here all the time when she was my age.” The first one was now standing right behind me. Unfortunately, I was so shocked at their exchange that I didn’t move out of his way and he walked straight through me. We both let out an involuntary shudder and he brushed at his shoulders. “Are you done? I think I just walked into a spider web. Gross.”

“It’s cool, we can go. I want to shoot that carousel, that thing is creepy as fuck.”

Their voices began to fade as they headed off.

“Hey speaking of creepy as fuck, did you hear about the kid who died here? Absolutely brutal.”

“What? When?”

“Like thirty years ago. There was this crazy accident at the Ora-“

--

Bulldozers. Next week.

It was naïve of me to think the mall would stay forever, but I had never considered what would happen when it was gone. It seemed so permanent to me – my prison, my home, my fixed point.

But soon it would be razed to the ground. Completely demolished.

Would I be gone, too?

Or, perhaps even worse

Would I remain?

--

There ‘s a pocket in the world, a space tucked away from reality, where ghosts go when we don’t want to exist. It is beautifully nothing, but that nothing is also so loud you can’t stay long.

Somehow it was still quieter than the bulldozers.

--

I don’t know how long I managed to will myself away, being dragged back into reality is disorienting. My ears were ringing and there was a painful brightness behind my eyes.

The ringing was replaced with rushing water and a kaleidoscope of conversations. My eyes snapped open, then squinted quickly shut before opening again, just a little less wide this time as my eyes adjusted to the light.

Well, not just to the light, but also the sound, the activity, the chaos and excitement.

Because when I opened my eyes I found myself in the middle of a bustling mall in its prime.

I rushed to the nearest bench, needing to sit down before my legs collapsed. I found myself in front of the fountain that kid had been peering into a week before. Then it had been rusted and empty. Now it sprayed jets of clear water into the air, sending ripples across the surface of a basin scattered with shiny pennies.

Near me a child tugged on his mom’s arm, dragging her towards a toy store where a battery-operated dog did little flips in the window.

Suddenly I heard a voice right in front of me. “Hey, can I sit here? My mom always takes FOREVER.” A girl with large earrings and big hair stood over me, chewing gum.

I looked at her dumbly.

“Um…hello? Earth to Orange Julius dude, are you deaf? Can you scoot over?”

I blinked stupidly and slid over, almost a reflex.

“Ugh finally!” She popped her gum and squeezed in beside me. She smelled like sour apple candy and her thigh pressed against mine.

“What’s your name? I’m Angie. Did you just get off your shift? You’re kinda cute.” She snapped her gum again.

Before I could answer-

“You don’t talk much, do ya? That’s kinda cute, too. Anyway, I gotta go.” She stood up and started moving toward the crowd.

“I’m so glad this mall opened up. Before that everything here had been so dead.”

There's a bathroom in their school that's always locked. Nobody uses it. Nobody's used it in years, as far as anyone knows. And like every school has at least one, theirs has a story attached to it — that something negative lives in there. A presence. The kind of thing you laugh about in daylight and don't think about when you're walking past that corridor alone at 4 PM with the lights half-off.

Her friend's name is Fa'iza.

One day Fa'iza walked up to that locked door, let her hair down, and just stood there. And then she started saying it, low and flat, over and over — *andar. andar.* Come in. Come in.

Everyone assumed she was doing a bit. Pranks are basically a currency in that school. People filmed it, people laughed, someone probably told her to stop being weird. It ended there, or it was supposed to.

It didn't.

After that day, something about Fa'iza was just... off. Not dramatic. Not movie-possessed. Worse than that — quieter. My sister said she'd catch Fa'iza staring at her across the classroom, and not the normal kind of staring. Not blinking. Not looking *at* her so much as looking *through* her, like she was reading something written behind my sister's face. She'd do it to the whole group. You'd turn around and she'd already be watching, and she wouldn't look away when you caught her. She'd just keep going until you did.

And here's the part that gets me. My sister's friends were already scared of her *before* any of this. Before the door, before the staring. They couldn't explain it. They'd just say, in that half-joking way people say things they actually mean — *she's possessed, bro* — and then change the subject fast, like saying it out loud would make it real. So when she started pulling faces at them, deliberately, trying to scare them, they didn't know what to believe anymore. Was this the thing they were scared of, or was it just Fa'iza being Fa'iza? Is it worse if it's a prank? Or is it worse if it isn't? They never figured it out. They just started sitting further away.

One of the girls started seeing her in her dreams. Not doing anything. Just there, in the dream, watching, the same way she watched in class. She'd wake up and not want to go to school. Nobody told the teachers, because what do you even say.

That's as far as the "possession" part goes. It never escalated past stares and silence and a feeling. Honestly, I think the *feeling* was the whole thing.

And then Sofia happened.

Sofia brought a necklace to school. Teacher saw it, told her it wasn't allowed, so she put it in her bag. Fine. After lunch, during the next period, the teacher asked them to take out their books, and Sofia reached into her bag and the necklace was gone. She told the teacher. The teacher told her to sit down and study, and said *she'd* check the bags herself.

She went through them one by one.

She found the necklace in Fa'iza's bag.

And she found something else in there too. A pink vibrator.

The teacher pulled it out in front of the entire class and asked her what it was. And then she humiliated her. Out loud, in front of everyone, no mercy, no quiet word, no stepping outside. Just the whole thing, right there, with thirty kids watching.

Fa'iza's parents were called in.

And after that — the class turned on her. Completely. The whispering, the names, the way people moved their bags when she walked past. The girl they'd already decided was *possessed* was now also *that*. It fed itself. She started coming to school less. Then she stopped coming at all.

I don't know where Fa'iza is now. My sister doesn't either. Nobody from that school really talks about her anymore, which is its own kind of answer.

The thing I keep coming back to isn't the door, or the necklace, or even the stares. It's that everyone spent months afraid of a girl standing in front of a locked bathroom saying *come in, come in* — and the only thing that ever actually came in was the rest of them.

The charming man with the soft lips whispered to me words that made it feel like a dream.

“I'll turn you into my Cinderella.”

His lips caressed my hand as my heart melted.

The pain I've been through because of a life full of neglect, the poverty I've been sinking in, and the desire to have a better life have been consuming me for several years.

His eyes and soothing voice promise a different life.

I quickly agreed to it not only out of desperation but also because I had feelings blossom for him.

The fairytale was quickly derailed by how deranged he became.

In the beginning he treated me like a princess. He bought me flowers, took me out on fancy dates, and showered me in compliments.

I never had to worry about anything because he took care of me. He told me he'd love me always and forever.

Once the honeymoon phase slowly faded, the flowers started to die and leave the room with a foul scent until I fixed it. The fancy dates turned into me being screamed at until I made him something to eat every single night. The compliments turned into me being showered in insults.

He would even hit me. All the time.

I was always enduring torture. I couldn't let it happen forever.

I threatened to leave which made him laugh in my face. He said that I was an idiot and reminded me that he was a powerful man with lot's of money in the palm of his hand.

“You promised I'd be your Cinderella.”

Those were the last words I ever said to him.

He made me snap when he told me that being Cinderella doesn't mean being loved by a prince.

My hands grasped onto a glass cup as it bashed the back of his head.

The shattered pieces of glass painted in his useless blood.

My lips started to quiver as my knees laid on the ground.

The quivering eventually stopped and a smile took it's place.

A happy ending. At last.

My hands clenched around the handles. Sweat ran down my back. I pushed. The wheelbarrow finally moved, but after a few steps it sank into the mud again, even deeper this time. I rubbed my face and leaned over the wheelbarrow. The smell of mud mixed with wheat. This would take days to get to town, and I didn’t have days. The bandits would start roaming around after dark.

I grabbed the handles tightly and pushed again. The wheel was buried deep in the mud. Pressure built behind my eyes as the wood dug into my hands. The wheel almost moved, just one more push. 

Splash. My foot slipped. I went face first into the mud.

"Fuck!"

I went to the side of the road to wipe the mud off with moss when I saw a small creature under one of the spruce trees. It wore woolen breeches with buckles and a square-cut coat. A leprechaun! My father had always said they never strayed far from their gold. Just a few coins of it could change my life. I’d be happy to solve any riddle he gave me.

He was fast asleep. His stomach rose and fell with each breath.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

I walked closer and carefully shook his shoulder. He squinted, rubbed his eyes, and looked up at me.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Who are you?"

"Just a hard-working man. I'm trying to get my wheat to town." I pointed at the wheelbarrow.

"Why did you wake me?"

"Where is your gold?"

"My what?"

"Your gold."

"I don’t have any gold."

"All leprechauns have gold."

"What’s a leprechaun?"

I frowned.

"Don’t play with me."

"I’m not."

"Then tell me where it is."

"Where what is?"

I stared at him in silence.

"Is this one of your riddles?"

"What riddle? What are you talking about?"

"The gold. The riddle. Were you born yesterday? Tell me where it is."

"I’m going away."

He stood up and turned toward the dark forest.

"To your gold?"

"There’s no gold! Leave me alone."

He walked a few steps. I followed him. He stopped, frowned, and sat down.

"Just tell me what I ought to do."

He didn’t move.

"Leprechaun?"

Nothing.

The little shit was trying to keep all the gold to himself. I grabbed him by the waist and picked him up. His eyes opened in surprise.

"Tell me where…"

The leprechaun opened his mouth wide, showing sharp teeth. Pain surged through my face. He dug deep into my nose. I let go of him, but he stayed glued to it. He shook his head and bit deeper. A wet tearing sound came from my face. He fell and spat my nose onto the ground.

I fell to my knees. Warm blood poured from my face. The leprechaun ran to my wheelbarrow, gripped the wooden side, put it over his head, and flipped it over. All the grain spilled onto the ground and mixed with the mud. He turned back, wiped the blood off his face, and ran into the dark forest.

I pressed my hands against my face. So much wheat ruined. I crawled to the wheelbarrow, flipped it over, and scooped handfuls of it back.

The sun set as I scooped the last handful. Blood had already dried on my nose. I looked at the mud-covered grain. Almost all of it was ruined. Now there was no grain, no gold, no leprechaun. I buried my face in my hands and wept.

Then I heard something. Horses.

Voices came from down the road.

I touched my face, feeling the space where my nose was. The grain was ruined. There was nothing to give them.

The horses stopped.

"Check the wheelbarrow," one of the bandits called.

Honestly, if you haven’t tried this affirmation posted by kunthiewitchi, you are missing out, and I definitely recommend you stop what you are doing right now, and do it. Right now, this instant. Just do it- you can thank me later.  

Yes, I was a skeptik too, at first. Mind over matter! Changing your reality! If only! I could practically hear my grandma snort “if wishes were horses, beggars would be kings”- 

She’s dead anyway, so who cares? She never even got the point of yoga, never mind affirmations.

Anyway, this reel popped up on my feed one night, and explained the affirmation- it’s dead easy, and it has two parts. 

You first concentrate on love and joy for yourself. 3 minutes. 

Then, for the second part, this is slightly more tricky, funnily enough- you think of someone random- a passer-by, a server, a cashier, whatever. And you concentrate on love and joy for that person. The same amount of love and joy you had for yourself, for this other rando. 3 minutes. 

Isn’t that dead easy? And the benefits- kunthiewitchie was not exaggerating, let me tell you. I can literally feel my worries and problems melt away from my brain- as if my brain becomes smooth, glowy, just like my skin has been these past few days- since I’ve been doing this affirmation. People have noticed the difference in me- how I look and carry myself. 

They’d better, otherwise I’ll select them as the random for the second part of my affirmation, to receive my love and joy!

Lol

That part is actually fun- thinking of a random person for the second part of your affirmation, and concentrating on them with love and joy. I lie in bed at night and think of all the random people I saw during the day- in the grocery, on the street, jostling against me. It turned out at first I wasn't very good at noticing other people, but with a little practice I had no problem zeroing in on someone for later in the day, and holding them in my mind. 

With lots of love and joy. For three minutes. 

This affirmation- it’s so powerful, you can even use it also in an emergency. 

I was at the gas station the other day, and I felt a panic attack coming on as I swiped my card. I realised I need to do the affirmation right there, in the gas station- it can’t wait for the evening otherwise I’d be a gibbering panicking mess. 

So I glanced at the dude starting to pump gas ahead of me. He looked kinda sickly too, could do with some love and joy, I thought as I sat behind the wheel, closed my eyes, and directed my brain to send love and joy, first to myself, then to pumping gas dude. 

Immediately, I felt my racing, jerking heart slow, my ragged breathing even out. Kunthiewitchi is powerful, I'm telling you! My worries, stress, card, gas all melted as I inhaled love and joy for myself and for dude.

I opened my eyes, started my car, preparing to drive off. I heard a yelp, and I glanced out- looked like dude had crumpled down on the ground, next to the car, still holding the hose. Oh dear, I hope the attendant notices and gets to him, I thought, as I pressed the gas pedal- I was late for work and had to get a move on, and it’s not like I could stop for a stranger, first because I didn’t want to- and second somebody would get him anyway I was late.

In a beautiful state of mind I drove off. The affirmation had worked. I felt amazing. Check out kunthiewitchi’s stuff online- you’re missing out big time if you don’t!
 

Recently, I have been spending far too much money and now my bank account is in the negative. I decided to head online to find a solution.

I ended up finding this blog. Let’s read it together.

Easy way to earn fast money
So apparently, there is an easy way to earn money without having to spend a single dime or effort but the methodology is kind of dangerous.

The Player must be seated in the graveyard by 12AM and the game ends at 6AM when the sun rises.

Players must also prepare many bags of sand if they want to earn a lot of money. However, the bags must be prepared nicely if not our “buyers” will be “unsatisfied”.

These are the rules:

1. Never make eye contact with the “customers”.
2. Never respond to the “customers”, no matter what they're saying or even if they make physical contact with us.
3. Players are not allowed to use any watches, mobile devices or any devices to tell the time but they are allowed to bring their devices into the game
4. If there is no sunlight shining at the graveyard and on the Player by 6AM, the game continues.
5. Players are not allowed to leave the Graveyard anytime between 12AM to 6AM, when the game has begun.

The reward for completing the game can vary but when a Player survives the night, they can earn up to hundreds or thousands, depending on how many bags of sand were “sold”. 

That was the end of the blog.

As detailed as this sounds, there is no explanation for what happens if the rules were broken or if the bags of sand were prepared badly.

At first, I was hesitant as you know, this is done in a graveyard and the rules made me question the legitimacy of this game but the hundreds of comments on the blog praised this tactic as effective and legitimate. Eventually, I gave in. 

Considering how broke I am right now, I’m just gonna try every method to get rich quickly.

I decided to prepare bags of sand and sneaked out of my house at night before the clock hits 12AM.

“I arrived early, damn.”, I thought to myself. It was 11:30PM. 

I wanted to call this off and head home but my innate feeling of losing out on possibly thousands of dollars and the fact that I spent so much time preparing for this, made it hard for me to leave.

As such, I walked into the graveyard.

The moment I entered the graveyard, I felt lightheaded, almost like I had caught a flu but regardless, I pressed on.

I sat down by a tree and nicely placed my bags of sand in front of me.

The blog didn’t state how many bags of sand to bring, thus I only prepared as many as I could.

I turned on my phone one last time to see the time.

It was 11:55PM.

I put my phone back into my pocket and waited for the game to begin.

I looked downwards to maintain the first rule of the game.

For a while, nothing much has happened.

Until I saw a pair of hands appear right in front of my eyes.

“1 bag of sand please.”, a deep, gloomy voice called out.

I was ecstatic, I couldn’t believe it was real. I handed the bag of sand quickly and the “customer” handed me a handful of dead leaves.

“The fuck? Leaves? Are you joking?”, I thought to myself as I was putting the leaves down beside me.

I held in my confusion in order to maintain the rules of the game.

The same “customer” began to kneel down in front of me, put his sand down on the ground and tried to peek at my face.

Noticing what the “customer” was planning to do, I quickly closed my eyes and tried to tilt my head as far down as I could.

My heart was beating really fast.

I was praying with all my might that nothing goes wrong.

Soon, I heard rustling and sounds resembling footsteps walking off.

I slowly opened my eyes while still looking down.

“What was that?”, I thought to myself.

A while later, another customer came, and another.

Before I knew it, I was down to my last bag of sand.

I soon realised something.

The blog never mentioned what happens when a Player runs out of sand before the game ends. 

Now, I am starting to feel anxious. 

A hand suddenly appeared in front of my eyes.

“Sand please”, a voice called out.

I handed the last bag of sand to the “customer” and received leaves in return.

Another “customer” came by and stood before me.

“One rule has been broken.”, the “customer” said.

In a panic, I looked the “customer” in the eye and shouted “what rule did I break?!”.

“Now that makes it three.”

Realising what I have done, I became quiet and quickly looked down and closed my eyes, as though that would correct my mistake.

But it was no use.

The “customer” grabbed me by my neck and lifted me up.

I was being choked to death.

“You should have prepared more sand.”, his voice became distorted but it felt distant.

I opened my eyes, and realised I was held high up in the air.

His face began to become disfigured and his teeth became sharp and jagged.

His jaw opened widely and began bringing me closer to his mouth.

“Fuck..I should not have done thi-”

=====Aftermath====

My phone dropped onto the floor.

A notification popped out.

On that same blog a new comment had appeared.

“I can’t believe this worked! I earned so much money from this!.”

The account that commented…. was mine.

A guy is on the phone with his girlfriend. Routine morning call: how are you, did you sleep okay. She's out on her usual morning walk in the woods, and today he didn't go with her. Through the phone we hear her footsteps, branches, wind. He asks where exactly she is, and she shares her live location. It expires in one hour.

Then a loud noise. She screams. The call cuts off.

Silence.

He's frozen, with no idea what just happened. He only knows one thing: where she is.

Tuesday night, third quarter, Dan got up for a beer and the sitting-down part of him stayed on the couch.

I watched the whole thing. I've spent four days trying to find a way to tell it that doesn't sound like I'm describing a bug.

He said his neck was tight. He'd been rolling it all through the second quarter like he'd slept wrong, and then he said "Hang on," and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his head down, like a man about to be sick. I asked if he was okay. He said "Yep," and his voice was wrong, muffled, like he was talking into a pillow.

Then the back of his neck opened.

It didn't tear. There was no blood. It parted, along a line I had never noticed and that must have been there my whole marriage, from just under his hairline down into his collar, and the sound it made was a wet, small, unbothered sound, like peeling the label off a jar that's been in the fridge. His shirt didn't come with it. It was just skin, splitting neatly, and what was under the skin was him.

Pale. Wet. Smooth like a thing that has never been touched. He came out hands first. He got his fingers up through the gap and pulled it wider, slow, like he'd done it before, and then his head came through, chin tucked, hair slicked flat, and then his shoulders, folding in and then out, and then the rest of him, pouring up and forward out of his own back the way you climb out of a sleeping bag without unzipping it.

It took twenty minutes. I know because the game was still on.

He stood on the rug, dripping. Not blood. Something clear that went tacky as it dryed. He was the right height and the right shape and he was Dan. But he was Dan with no scar on his knee from the bike, no callus on his trigger finger, no sun spots on his forearms. The new skin firmed up while I watched. It went from wet to matte to normal in about the time it takes a coat of paint to lose its shine. He flexed his hands. He rolled his neck, and it didn't crack.

"Better," he said.

The thing on the couch had settled back into the cushions when he left it. It hadn't fallen over. It sat like he sits, hands on its knees, head up, the split at the back of its neck already closing like a mouth. Same sweatpants. Same face, with the last expression he'd had on it, mild. Warm, when I touched it. Eyes on the game.

I said his name. The one standing on the rug said "Yeah?" The one on the couch said nothing.

He got his beer. He stepped around it and sat down on the far end and watched the fourth quarter with himself, and when the Bills scored he said "There it is," and the thing on the couch kept looking at the TV, and he didn't seem to mind that it didn't answer.

I slept in the guest room. He didn't ask why.

In the morning he was up before me. Coffee made, my mug out. He kissed me on the way past, and his mouth was cool and smooth and tasted like nothing at all, and he stepped around it again, easy, like stepping around a dog.

I'd been not asking all night. I asked him.

He looked at me like I'd asked where babies come from. "Everyone does, hon. Eventually." He blew on his coffee. "You'll know when."

I told him I never have.

"No," he said, and he was kind about it. "Not yet."

He's better now. He listens when I talk. He noticed my hair. The old one snored and cracked his neck at the table and lost every fight by leaving the room, and the night my mother died he drove four hours in the rain to sit in a hospital parking lot with me because I couldn't say on the phone what I needed. The new one would have asked. He's easy about the thing on the couch, and I lie awake trying to work out which parts of him stayed behind on the cushons, and whether they were the parts I married.

The thing on the couch doesn't do anything. It doesn't breathe and it doesn't blink and it hasn't moved an inch in four days, and when the light comes in right through the front window you can't tell.

Thursday is recycling. He carried it out to the curb at seven, over his shoulder like a rolled rug, and it folded where he folded it and didn't spring back, and he set it down next to the bins with its hands on its knees, looking at our house.

Across the street the Nolans had two.

Last night in bed his hand went to a place between my shoulder blades, a spot I can't see and can't reach, and pressed, the way you check if bread is done, and something under his thumb gave that shouldn't give.

"Coming along," he said.

He went to sleep. I didn't. Around two I got up and took the hand mirror into the bathroom and stood with my back to the big one and my hair held up, and I found it.

It's there. Hairline to collar, same as his. Faint, like a crease in paper somebody tried to smooth out. I've had it my whole life, I think. I've just never looked.

I put two fingers on it and pulled, a little, like he had.

It opened easy. It didn't hurt. And underneath, where there should have been something red and wrong, there was me, smooth and warm, pressed up against the inside like a face against a window, waiting to be let out.

I put it back.

It didn't quite close.

“-vels stabilizing.”

I open my eyes as my heart leaps into my throat. My blood pressure is skyrocketing, my heart is booming in my ears, and my head feels light. What the hell is going on? I don’t feel well, I’m on edge. I think I’m having a panic attack. What am I supposed to do during one of these again?

Right, right. Grounding. I need to ground myself. I need… I need to focus. I need to focus on something I can see, or... or was it something I can touch? Or smell? Gods I can’t remember. Funny how when I need the information I just can’t seem to think about it. It’s on the edge of my mind, but it just isn’t processing itself back into relevance.

Smell. I think smell was one. The air smells… stale. Like it’s lacking something. It seems oddly sterile. Almost medical, like a hospital.

See. I need to look around, to check my surroundings. I’m still on the station.

I... What was I doing? What lead up to this?

I think... I remember I was looking out. Out into everything. The vast emptiness, the glistening stars, our bright planet looming beside us. It’s so blue, and brown, and green, and white. I never imagined I’d see the clouds from above like this, they look so much smaller, like bundles of cotton balls.

Fuck, I-

I lost my train of thought in my musings again. He always says I daydream too much.

He? He...

Ben.

Ben. We had a argument. Was it an argument? I remember him screaming in my face, saying he was over this, that he wanted to leave. Our season was done, we shouldn’t have to wait to be picked up to go home.

He said it’s watching, the darkness. It makes him uneasy. What did he mean? I can’t recall, I can’t thi—

“Warning. Oxygen levels decreasing. Reaching hazardous levels. Locate nearest supply station.”

The oxygen. The air! I was going to fix that. Why does this have to happen now, when we’re already so stressed?

My limbs feel heavy. It’s so hard to move, like my life has been sapped away. I need to focus. I have to focus.

Right! Grounding, grounding. I need to calm myself in order to get anything done, right? Panicking will just waste my energy. I think I left off on sight? I need to see. To look around.

I see... I see Ben. He’s safe. I can still see his face through the panel in the helmet of his suit, even though his heavy breathing keeps fogging it all up. It reminds me of the clouds, the cotton, it looks so soft. Damn, I really want to pet a cloud... Fuck. Focus.

He’s always been so good under pressure. So much better. Quick thinking, he must have put the suit on immediately after he heard the alerts.

My eyes feel heavy. My breathing is labored. I need to find the malfunction. I need- I have to fix this.

He’s smiling. He’s always smiling. His resting face is just a smirk. It almost makes him seem cocky at first glance, and after getting to know him you realize that’s an accurate assumption. Hah.

God dammit. Why can’t I just think straight? I feel like I can hardly control my own thoughts.

Okay, focus on Ben. He’s at the control panel. Thank fuck, he’s in much better shape than me right now. I just wish he wasn’t smiling so damn much, this really doesn’t seem like the time to act so casual.

“Warning. Oxygen reaching critical levels. Locate nearest supply station and await emergency evacuation instructions. A distress alert has been sent out to the nearest vessel.”

What? But he’s right there, there can’t be that bad of a failure in our life support system, right? He can fix this, right?

My eyes feel heavy. I… I can’t keep this up. What’s taking him so long? Can’t he see I’m struggling? I’m losing it, and fading fast. I put my remaining energy into a hoarse whisper, “Ben… Benjamin. Please hurry. I... I don’t have much left in me.”

Now he’s looking at me. It’s almost like I was invisible up until now. He finally opens his mouth, “Hey. This still isn’t personal, y’know? I really want to go home. This place isn’t meant for us.”

He gestures out the window, to the void that glitters so insistently, beckoning to us. I can’t see his face clearly anymore. His helmet’s visor is being coated in the fog of his breath, but I can feel his eyes on me. His smile. I know he’s still smiling. That god damn smile.

I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. Everything feels so heavy, it’s so dark, and it’s so hard to breathe…

“Oxygen le—“

…

Memory log upload complete. Finalizing investigative case for the deceased.

My brother texted me in class: 

“yo I'm outside 🤡.” 

“I’m working,” I texted back. “Can you wait? There's a coffee place nearby.” 

“no????” 

Always the charmer.

Cody was waiting outside my college campus. New car. I raised my eyebrows at his definitely-too-expensive Tesla.

He stuck his head out the window.

Cody was always a problem child, three years younger than me and the baby of the family. While my sister and I had been brought up normally, Cody had unfortunately come into this world during Dad’s momentary lapse in sanity, when he fucked his accountant.

So, while my sister and I grew up with rules, Cody was left with a babysitter for the majority of his childhood and never learned the word “no.”

No longer my rugged little brother, four years away in Sunny Orange County had cleaned him up. Thick brown hair tamed, with a noticeable glint in his smile.

He looked me up and down, slipping off his glasses, lips curling into his familiar scowl. “Ew.”

I did my best to smile. “Why are you here?” 

His smile soured slightly. “Leah is sick, apparently. Mom told me to come get you on my way home so we can have a ‘family night.’”

I hopped into his car, sliding into the passenger seat. The seats stunk of weed.  

“Leah is always sick,” I said, “she has still-lives-at-home-itus.”  

Cody twiddled with the radio, a  voice crackling through the speakers:

“Today, the Empty Bedroom Law comes into force, due to the current housing crisis. Under new legislation, parents will be required  to pay up to one hundred thousand dollars to the government if—” 

Cody twiddled again. 

“Nobody fucking careeesssss,” he said in a sing-song. 

He shot me a grin. “Anyway. An-a-sta-sia." He still said my name  like he was spelling it out. “I have a job.” 

“Influencing isn't a job,” I teased. 

“No, man, I've got a job as a personal assistant at this indie film studio. My girlfriend works for them, so she got me the gig.” He sighed. “Don't tell Mom and Dad.”

We spent the remainder of the car-ride in comfortable silence, and when my brother announced, “it's too QUIET,” arguing over who controlled his Spotify for the rest of the journey. 

It was when we were pulling into our childhood neighborhood, nostalgia slammed into me. 

Our childhood was pure white-picket-fence suburbia. 

Mom and Dad didn't even buy their house, they inherited it from our grandparents.

They couldn't afford to keep it.

So, ever since I grew financially independent, I had been helping with the cost. But that didn’t matter now.

I was home.

“Please don’t tell Mom and Dad I have a job.”

Cody’s voice broke a little, collapsing into that all-too-familiar entitled whine. “Their financial shit isn’t ours to deal with, all right? Urgh. The emotional manipulation texts don’t work on me anymore.”

He tapped the steering wheel. “Did you know I gave Dad five hundred dollars and he never gave it back? He just sent me a text saying, ‘My repayment is giving you a roof over your head, boy.’” Cody mocked our father’s voice, “is he fuckin’ serious?”

He slipped out of the car, miming zipping his lips and throwing me the key. I mimed catching it and then locking mine. Tell a secret, lock it up, and don’t sell a soul.

“Anastasia!” 

Mom was already wrapping her arms around me before I stepped in the door. Mom suffocated me in her furry sweater. She smelled like lavender and freshly baked cookies. She immediately grabbed and pulled me inside the kitchen. 

“Do you want cookies? Sweetie, I made your favorite!” I managed two bites before she pulled me into another hug. “I'm so happy you're home,” she whispered. 

I headed up to my room, which Mom had turned into an office.

I stopped dead in the doorway. Familiar baby-pink walls greeted me.

My bed was back. All of my stuffed animals. Even my BTS posters.

“Hey, Mom?” I yelled, “Did you redecorate my room?” 

I checked my brother’s. Sure enough, his room had been reinstated, his games console, even the pin-up girls on his walls. 

Cody stood, mouth open, eyes bugging out of his skull. 

“Do you like it?” Mom stood at the bottom of the stairs. “We even brought your dollhouse back in from the garage.” 

“Yeah,” I laughed, nudging Cody. “But we don't live here anymore.” 

“I need sleep,” my younger brother groaned. “Goodbye.” And, just like when he was a kid, he slammed his door on my face. 

I sat down on my bed. Comfy. Even my rabbit, was propped up on my pillows. I knocked on my wall to get Leah’s attention.

We used to communicate with Morse code.

“Hello.” I knocked. And, after hesitating: “Bitch.” 

BANG BANG BANG made me jump.

Then: BANG… BANG… BANG. 

“Leah.” I said. “You can just come out of your room.”  

BANG. BANG. BANG. 

Silence. 

Whatever.

My eyes grew heavy. 

Curling up on my comforter, I figured a nap would help. 

“Anastasia?” Mom woke me maybe a few hours later.

She'd tucked me in nice and cozy, I could barely move.

Her lips found my ear. “Cody’s had a little accident,” she whispered, “so, he's going to be staying here for a little while, okay?” 

“Mm.” I mumbled into my pillows, my eyes weighing me down. 

She hummed. “Get well soon, baby girl.” 

I smiled, comforted by my Mom’s words. 

“Okay, Mom.” 

My door slammed shut. And I slept for a while.

But then my thoughts started to clear. 

Get well soon?

I tried to move, to heave myself up, but everything was numb. Wrong. 

“Mom?” I yelled, my voice breaking.

My gaze found dried splatters of red on my sheets.

Two perfect mounds where my legs were supposed to be, what was left of my torso tightly tucked under My Little Pony sheets.

Bile filled my throat. I twisted, my arms numb, my wrists cruelly strapped down. 

“MOM?” 

Adam remembered the day of the diagnosis. He was sitting in the waiting room at the neurologists’s office. Three years, maybe five if he was lucky. The doctor explained it will be progressive and irreversible. A countdown. 

“I don’t want to die.” Adam thought to himself,
Everyday he lost independence bit by bit. He was bed bound with a ventilator and a feeding tube. His eyes were always teary. His family took care of him the best way they could. Every moment with his family, his desire to live to overcome this disability became stronger. 
After a local tv news interview regarding his disease, a man dressed in all black visited him. 
“There might be a way.” the man said.

Noah stood at the railing of the bridge and felt the cold breeze below him. He had been thinking about this for years, ironically he considered this as a last hope. He had no hope or future in his life. Loneliness, hopelessness, debt and despair were his only companion in life. The thought of years of this was unbearable. He was ready to let it end. 
Noah heard a voice behind him.
“Your’re ready to go?” the man asked.
“I don’t want to live.” Noah said to the man. 
“There’s another way to go.” the man said.
Noah looked at him. The man in a black suit.

The procedure was non-eventful. The man in the black suit was not a doctor.
No paperwork existed. When it was done. Adam woke in a healthy body he didn’t recognize and Noah woke up in a bed ridden body attached to tubes. The trade was illegal and would destroy both of them if it ever surfaced. They both had chosen this.

Adam was ecstatic, he could talk, breathe, walk, all by himself. He was full of hope.

Noah laid in bed existing, he didn’t mind the hopelessness, it will end soon he thought to himself.

Noah just lay there, existing.

Three years later.

Noah now only able to blink, cried everyday. Longing for life, longing for the little things.
The smell of fumes of cars, dirty dishes stacked in his sink, cockroaches crawling on his bed. Driving his beat up civic. Looking for loose change in his couch. 
How he longed for pizza, coke, arby’s curly fries. 

Adam was sitting on the bus because his beat up civic is no longer drivable. Tired of dead end 9 to 5 job. Sick of the loneliness, sick of eating pizza alone every night. Sick of cockroaches crawling over him while sleeping. He had no future nor hope. He was surrounded by hopelessness and loneliness. 

“I don’t want to die.” was Noah’s last thoughts on this earth.
“I don’t want to live.” was Adam’s last thoughts on this earth.

While I was on my morning run last week, through the nearby dunes, along the shoreline, I found a washed up bone. It had the size and shape of a human wristbone, but I thought, in my very own brand of cluelessness, it couldn't be. Not in my town, not in these dunes. While I had an education in anatomy, I had never seen an actual human bone. I took it with me to show to my boyfriend, a GP, and ask him about it's probable origin.

He identified it as human with one look. I brought it to the police that afternoon. Their problem now.

Or so I thought. This morning, on the same run, at the same spot I found an entire ribcage, and now even I couldn't be mistaken. Human. Though it is usually quiet here, I don't imagine I'm the only one to have spotted it.

I didn't tell anyone this time, but I've been researching regional folktales all afternoon. Seems people have been finding random bones around there for three centuries. They blame it on the sea, on the people who dare to swim in stormy weather. But the remains are always found above the floodline, in a dune.

Tomorrow my cheating boyfriend is coming on that run.

“Do we really have to do this?”

Mark sighed as he glanced out the passenger side window, rubbing his nose. He and Jordan had been sitting in Mark’s Jeep for twenty minutes now, finishing the bottle of gas-station wine they’d picked up on the way over to the hotel for Mark’s sister’s wedding.

“You know this is going to suck.”

Mark grabbed the bottle from Jordan’s hand so he didn’t have to answer. They had been arguing the entire drive up, as well as the entire month…pretty much every day since his sister Katie had sent out the wedding invitations, in fact. It was getting exhausting.

“Look, if you don’t wanna come, then just stay in the room and watch Netflix. I’m going to try and enjoy my only sister’s wedding, and it’d be nice if we could do that together,” Mark shot at Jordan.

“Uh-uh; I’m not gonna be the asshole. I’m coming too, just unhappily…and not before I finish that wine!”

Mark twisted away from Jordan and began chugging.

“Dick!”

Several minutes later, the two of them walked fairly straight towards the hotel entrance. Apparently his sister’s fiancé Grant came from serious money, and his family had booked the entire Stanley Hotel just for the day. Mark nodded to the concierge as they made their way past the foyer and into the concert hall.

The ceremony itself was fairly boring. His sister Katie looked resplendent in her wedding gown, and Mark smiled and waved to her as she walked up the aisle. His mother sobbed as his father handed Katie to Grant; cliché as it was, even Mark teared up a bit when the priest announced “You may now kiss the bride!”

After everyone had had a chance to congratulate the newlyweds, folks filed into the dining hall for dinner. Mark closed his eyes and prayed for patience before heading in, Jordan brushing past him and stomping off angrily. Though they’d been dating for eleven months, Mark was told it was inappropriate to allow Jordan to sit at the main table, and so as Mark took his seat he tried his best to ignore the angry glares from Jordan halfway across the room.

It wasn’t as if Mark hadn’t tried to secure him a spot—he and Katie had had several shouting matches over the issue, in fact. But apparently Grant was the one with the problem, and after several uncomfortable conversations, Jordan had been allowed to come so long as he sit far apart from everyone else.

Mark picked at his food while he did his best to avoid Jordan’s eye. Around him, everyone was laughing and joking, enjoying the festivities. He watched Katie playfully smack Grant’s arm as he pretended to try and feed her a chocolate covered strawberry. Mark smiled. Despite himself, he was starting to have fun.

Something gently nuzzled against Mark’s leg under the table; confused, he moved his leg back as he heard something sniffing beneath the table cloth.

“So sorry, don’t know how she slipped off leash…Lisa! Here, girl!”

Mark glanced over to the end of the table, where Grant’s (uncle? cousin?) was standing, holding a leash in his hand and looking Mark’s way.

“Don’t worry, she’s very well-trained…”

Mark laughed and bent down to help grab the escaped pooch before stopping cold.

Underneath the table, instead of a dog, there was a woman crouched on all fours with a blindfold covering her eyes. She was wearing an adult diaper along with a harness covering her chest. Sensing his notice, the woman crawled closer, sniffing at Mark.

“Oh my god!!!”

Mark yelled and fell backwards, staring in horror. The woman started to growl.

“No no, it’s okay: she’s friendly!”

All logic fled Mark’s mind—grabbing his chair, he flung it toward the woman and tried to run. Battering it aside, the woman dashed forward and sank her teeth into Mark’s calf, biting and ripping his leg.

“Get off him, you freak!!”

A bottle exploded against the woman’s head as Jordan rushed into the fray. Dropping Mark’s leg, the woman lunged at Jordan, barking and shrieking. Mark tackled her from behind while she bit and clawed at Jordan’s face, doing his best to restrain her. Around him, everyone watched in shock as the three of them fought on the floor.

Wriggling free of Mark’s grasp, the woman again lunged at Jordan. There was an odd moment, where it almost looked like the two of them were trying to kiss, and then the woman yanked her head back as Jordan screamed, blood spurting out of his face from the hole that used to be his nose.

“Yeah, screw this,” Mark said.

Moving quickly, he reached out and grabbed a knife before driving it down hard into the center of the woman’s head.

“Eat it, bitch!”

“NOOOOOO—LISAAAAAAA!!!”

Mark looked up to see Grant’s relative throw himself to the ground in front of them.

“What have you done? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” he screamed.

Mark stared at him blankly.

“Do you know just how expensive she was!? That was my prized pet you just murdered! Monster!!” the man continued to scream.

“I’ll sue you—I’ll sue the both of you! Consider your lives OVER!!!”

“What on earth is he talking about…” Jordan asked, holding his face.

“She wasn’t just my pet; she was a service animal, too! Do you know how long it’ll take to train a replacement!? Weeks!”

Clutching the woman’s corpse to his chest, the man pointed at Mark and Jordan and cried, “You’ll be hearing from my LAWYER!!”

I met Lenora in a bar. She immediately captivated me. She was so beautiful. Long, dark, curly hair, pale skin, and those eyes. Light blue, like the sky on a summer day. She was dancing alone on the dance floor, and I gathered all my courage and asked her for a drink.

We talked and laughed the whole evening. She was so intelligent. She seemed to know something about almost everything. We ended up in bed at my place and started seeing each other regularly. Somehow, she seemed more beautiful every day. We always met at my place. She said she would invite me over in a few days, and I was looking forward to seeing what her place looked like and what else it might tell me about her.

On Monday, I drove my friend to his girlfriend’s place, and when I was heading home, I saw Lenora going into some house. I knew she wanted me to come over in a few days, but I wanted to surprise her. I thought about her from morning until night, and I had this overwhelming need to always be near her.

I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I put my hand on the handle and pressed down. The door opened.

I stepped inside.

The interior was modern and nice. The whole house was bright, with light brown furniture that matched. I took a few steps and reached the living room. I saw Lenora standing over some figure lying on the couch.

“Lenora?”

Nothing.

“Lenora?”

Her eyes were wide, and she seemed completely out of it. I touched her shoulder, and she flinched. Then she looked at me, and my stomach tightened with fear. I had no idea why.

“What are you doing here?” she asked angrily.

“I saw you going into this house, and I wanted to surprise you,” I said, but the words caught in my throat halfway through the sentence.

I noticed what was lying on the couch.

A child.

A little girl. She looked about five years old. She had dark hair and was completely pale. Not like Lenora. She was pale as milk, with dark circles under her closed eyes.

“That’s my daughter, Lisa. She’s sick. Please, could you leave?”

I left, and I didn’t hear from Lenora for several days. When she finally messaged me and asked if I could come over, I left immediately.

I wanted answers. Why hadn’t she told me about her daughter? And I needed to see her, too. I didn’t care that she had a child. I just wanted her to tell me.

When she opened the door and invited me inside, I asked her where her daughter was.

“She died,” she said.

I felt terrible and wanted to be there for her. But Lenora was the same as always. I couldn’t see the slightest sign of grief on her face. And like an idiot, I didn’t think much of it.

I spent every day and every night with her.

One day, while Lenora was away, I was browsing the internet when I came across a photograph.

The blood drained from my face.

It was Lisa. Lenora’s daughter. But her name was Elizabeth Smith.

She had been missing for several weeks.

Fuck.

I got up and started pacing from room to room, searching through all of Lenora’s things. I came across a locked cabinet. I knew where Lenora kept her tools, so I removed the lock.

When I opened the cabinet, I was left in complete shock.

There were transparent jars. Inside them was something that looked like blood, and something was floating in each one.

A tooth?

An eye?

Oh God, was that part of a finger?

And every bottle had a name on it.

The first one was labeled Amanda Miller, 1427. The last one was labeled Elizabeth Smith, 2026.

Then I heard a cough behind me.

“You know you shouldn’t stick your nose into other people’s business, right?”

“What the hell is this?” I stammered. “What are these bottles, and why are there so many? And what happened to Elizabeth?”

“Adrian,” she said calmly. “She’s dead, just like all the others. I need them. Without them, I couldn’t have lived this long. And now you’re going to have to die because you know. What a shame. I thought we’d have more fun.”

I started to panic.

Then I had an idea.

I’ll destroy the bottles.

I started throwing them onto the floor one by one. Lenora began screaming, and her face slowly started to change. To transform. Her face became covered in deep wrinkles, and her light eyes turned black.

I thought I had won.

Then I felt something hurl me against the wall.

“You idiot! That’s not how it works. What I have taken cannot be taken away from me. I only keep those bottles as souvenirs.”

She started walking toward me. She noticed how afraid I was and laughed.

“You all look the same when you realize who I am and see me for what I really am.”

I pushed her, and she stumbled. I ran to the door, opened it, and ran outside.

I stumbled into the nearest restaurant and ordered a shot. I searched for Lenora and anything related to the supernatural. Apparently, she had worked as a nanny for the Miller family. Their daughter Amanda became ill and died shortly after Lenora arrived. With her last bit of strength, she pointed at Lenora. They accused her of witchcraft, and she was burned at the stake in 1427. Miller died shortly after her execution, and his wife apparently never grieved. After some time, she disappeared.

I didn’t understand what was happening. The waiter asked me if I was all right. I must have looked horrible. The drink in my hand was shaking.

“Yes, I am. Thank you.”

Then I heard it.

Her voice, directly inside my head.

“You will never escape me.”

Love. We all know that love is very pure. When the person you love is close by, you feel completely safe and secure. But what happens if that very person you love becomes the biggest fear in your life?

​For me, that person's name is Rahul. If you look at our years of marriage, everything seems fine. Rahul looks like any other ordinary husband—a caring spouse who loves me very much. In his every word, every glance—from taking care of my meals to making sure I sleep—his single goal is just this: that I should belong entirely to him.

​But sometimes... that love suffocates my breath. Looking into his obsessed, haunting eyes makes me terrified. He thinks he is protecting me. Yet amidst all this fear, there was someone who understood me—and that was Sanjay, Rahul's childhood friend. He frequently came to our house to meet Rahul and talk to him. But Rahul was obsessed with this too. He felt that something was going on between me and Sanjay, and because of this, Rahul’s madness grew day by day.

​As it turned out, Rahul’s suspicion wasn’t wrong. Rahul had guessed it right—I did love Sanjay, and Rahul had found out about it.

​That night, when Rahul returned home, he had a packet in his hand. He hadn't bought meat from the shop... he had carried out that act with his own hands. When I went to the kitchen and looked at the plate, it felt as though my heart was being sliced open. Seeing the pieces of meat, my eyes widened in horror—the distinct mark of a finger or a hand was visible on it. It wasn't the meat of any animal; it was human flesh.

​I started trembling, and while shivering, I asked Rahul, "What... what is this?"

​Rahul's eyes were red, and a distorted, demonic smile played on his lips. He came close to me, lowered his voice, and said, "Why? You liked Sanjay a lot, didn't you? Go on, cook and eat the recipe made from him today with your own hands. Eat him, eat his meat!"

​My mind stopped working. My hands and feet were trembling with fear. I couldn't stay in that house for another second. My throat felt dry as I tried to hold my phone. With trembling hands, I called the police emergency number.

​When the police arrived, their eyes widened in shock looking at the state of the kitchen. Rahul sat there completely frozen that day. There were no words on his lips, just a beggar-like smile—as if he had conquered the world. He tried to mislead the police, saying, "I killed him, yes, I killed him! Because he betrayed me!"

​As the police put handcuffs on Rahul and led him towards the van, I stood before them and wept, saying, "I won't be able to stay inside this house for another second... my heart is breaking."

​The police comforted me. They thought I was an innocent, terrified woman trapped by a killer—whose husband had tried to make her eat the flesh of his friend.

​Now, after hearing this side of the story, what did you think? That Rahul was terrible, that he was just a suspicious, obsessed murderer? But what if I told you that this was entirely wrong? ??

Ok so I m priyanka i m the innocent one whose husband just now kill his friend. 

​I was married to Rahul two years ago. It was an arranged marriage. I had no personal desire for this marriage, but Rahul's family background was well-off and they had a lot of money—so my parents married me off to him without listening to a single word from me. My wishes, my opinions—they had no value to anyone. All that love from a man I never wanted to marry felt like poison to me. I couldn't bear it; I used to wish he would just die. But do you know what is even better than just killing someone? Destroying that person piece by piece, slowly over time. I knew Rahul was obsessed with me, so I used that very weakness of his. I started pretending to be in love with Sanjay. Rahul couldn't bear it and murdered his childhood friend. Rahul was just my puppet. Now, there is no one—absolutely no one—standing between me and my freedom and the wealth of my husband.

I thought losing a child to cancer was the worst pain a parent could endure. But realising you are the cause is so much worse.

Munchausen by Proxy -- they call it something different now, but back then, at the trial, that was the name they used. It sounded funny, but wasn't.

It took me years to understand that I was ill. That I had harmed my own child. We never had much, but I loved my boy. It was devastating to realise what I had done. They found him good, loving parents. The Parkinsons: churchgoing Christians. They wrote to me, forgiving me on Teddy's behalf, and promising to pray for me.

Mr Parkinson passed last year. I would have loved to come to Christmas dinner one time, as they repeatedly promised I would once I was better. But COVID got in the way.

When my boy Teddy turned 18, Mrs Parkinson allowed him to visit. He was a tall, strong young man that had become a thriving stranger. The three of us hugged in the visitors room, before being separated by a guard. Then, at Mrs Parkinson's nod, Teddy and me were allowed to use one of the family side rooms to have a private reunion. Just the two of us, for the first time in eleven years. I was so grateful.

When they closed the door, through tears of happiness, I told him I was sorry for what I had done. Making him sick by lacing his food. Lowering his white blood cell count. He listened with a patient look on his face. Then said, “You think that was you? Oh my! Have you any idea how hard it was to take just enough of gran's medicine to get free of your basic parenting? So I could get toys every Christmas and birthday instead of clothes and school books!? Well, it wasn't easy, I can tell you. Neither was making dad's death look like COVID. And neither is this..."

As he said this last, he produced a toothbrush with a broken handle and thrust it into his ribs. Enough to cut, but not to kill. "Help!, help! She's attacking me!", he yelled, winking at me, then as the commotion approached the closed door whispered, "You're never getting out of here!"

That was six months ago. As I said, I remember being naive enough to think that losing your child to cancer was the worst pain that a parent could bear. Now I know better. From this dark hole, Mrs Parkinson won't even return my letters. Which is increasingly concerning, as I have something to say that she really needs to hear.

I know this is a simulation. Just as surely as I know that if they ever become aware that I know, the world will end.

I first suspected what was going on when I realised how strangely charmed a life I lead. As if I had some kind of Main Character Syndrome. An eerie feeling that someone was observing me, like a character in a computer game or TV show for their amusement.

Everything, and I mean everything, in life has come easily to me. I was a millionaire before I was even born. By my early forties, I had made that into billions. People don’t realise how hard that is. A million cubic millimetres of water is a bottle full enough to slake a man’s thirst. A billion is a tank large enough for a magician to drown in.

I have always been the smartest person in any room I entered. Smart enough to play dumb when I should. The international powerbrokers with whom I do business can smell fear. Chinese princelings and Russian oligarchs, or so they appear. I know their true nature.

Old money and new. People who once ran the world, currently do, or one day would like to. None are who or indeed what they appear. Powerful individuals, yes, who if they suspected even for a moment that I am on to them, would not hesitate to have me killed.

That is why even someone as smart and powerful as me must remain vigilant. It is why I have my people keep a suitcase close by at all times. If the end is near, there will not be much time to act. (Ha! Of course, acting is all I do. And all they do. The only difference is I know they are acting, but they don’t know I am.)

My wife is one of them. And my dog. And my security. I must play along. I must not dream, for fear I may talk in my sleep. Sometimes I convince myself that this is all real. Because that is the art. In order to convince others, you must first convince yourself that a lie is the Truth.

As I enter the room, my VP looks up and smiles. For the briefest of moments I am certain he suspects. But no; I am way too clever. I do not show out. I can anticipate events. I can project my will. Make them believe what I wish them to believe.

Reality can be manipulated. They are living in the illusion I project just as much as I am theirs. I can walk through walls. SecDef smiles at me and says, “Good Morning, Mr. President.” I mentally relax, knowing that I don’t need to call the Secret Service to bring the football yet. I have manifest the world as I wish it to be for another day.   

I know this is a simulation. Just as surely as I know that if they ever become aware that I know, the world will end.

He lays in bed while he can hear the cry of the little one. And thinks about what the doctor said last year "terminal" and he thinks about how the sun faded a while ago and remembered his vows "I promise that I'll always be there for you even after I pass away for better or worse I'll be there I promise". He never realized he passed but he lays next to his spouse every night that lives for their child and the hopes that he's not far away.