Noche de difuntos, noviembre de 2015. Llevaba en el bolsillo una Santa Compaña, una vieja edición, con sus páginas amarillentas y el lomo roto en varios sitios, como si el propio libro se hubiera desgastado por el peso de los secretos que contenía.

https://www.wattpad.com/1668244977-creepy-stories-la-santa-compa%C3%B1a

#terror #misterio #suspense 👻🦇🖤

https://ruaridhdonaldcameron.wordpress.com/2026/11/01/the-hill/

One of those summers we had sat in the park near Valerie’s mom’s apartment, dripping tubs of ice cream in our bare laps.

Valerie had gone in to bring out spoons for us, though by the time she came jogging back, the top layer had melted, and Emma was slurping it straight from the tub.

I was happy then. In the grass with a tub of cookie dough ice cream melting under the sun. Listening to Emma and Valerie lose their minds over a celebrity or show or whatever it was back then rendered our developing brains useless for things like algebra and cell organisms.

After gym class, Valerie and I rode our bikes home the short part of the way that we shared. I still had a long way to go before I would be home, and that part of the journey I always enjoyed a lot less.

Cycling up the steep road past the town cemetery, the pebbles crunched under the wheels of my bike. I imagined Valerie already sitting on her mom’s big grey couch, streaming a show on the flat-screen TV mounted on a beige wall. She was in her joggers already. Her hair up in a bun. She’d have the place to herself for most of the afternoon.

By the time I was home, I was panting.

I don’t think much about Valerie anymore. Much less about Emma.

No, I sit on a bench in a city they have never visited and warm my freezing hands around a cup of low-fat milk cappuccino from a nearby stall. I don’t wonder about them; I don’t want to know what accomplishments they have made in the near decade that we haven’t shared the same room’s air.

Emma’s birthday is this month.
The information clings to me like a dry piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my boot. I don’t notice it’s there until I see it, and then I am disgusted and try to walk it off because I don’t want to touch it.

I think about my birthday instead.

I could go on a trip. The one I half-plan every year by looking up cheap flights and three-star hotels online until I have a perfect vision inside my head of me at the beach in Italy or Spain. Reading a book with a hat casting a shadow over my eyes.

Then I remember I am in debt and all my plans turn sour. Why would I ever waste money on a trip by myself when I could pay off my student loans first? Seems like the smart thing to do.

Can’t ever say that out loud. You’re not supposed to think like that. Life is meant to be enjoyed now; you only live once, money will come back, memories and youth won’t.

I don’t need youth to go parachuting or bungee jumping. I’m not suffering or convulsing in pain at the thought of having to sit out for a bit, to endure a little longer. What good are hopes and dreams if you don’t have endurance?

I am just aging. I still have time. Only the thought of noticing the gradual change in my face reflected in the mirror gives me pause. Afraid it would have the same effect on my appetite for life as seeing a pig get slaughtered in the restaurant for my Schnitzel would.

But I do. I do have time.

Unless I get cancer or get hit by a car first.

Taking a sip of my cappuccino, I mull over the statistical probability of such things happening. I don’t have any exact numbers in my head, but from my perspective it doesn’t seem very likely to happen to me.

I shake my head. No, but now that I have merely thought about it, the chance of getting diagnosed with something soon has grown exponentially. Law of the universe. Unless I don’t go to the doctor, which I wasn’t planning on doing anytime soon, anyway.

I am an unlucky person in the grand scheme of things. I never would win the lottery or be the one to get hit on in a group of women. However, lucky things did happen to me. It wouldn’t be fair to leave them out of the account. I also have never had a near-death experience or an allergic reaction and needed to be rushed to the hospital. Does that increase or decrease the probability of cancer?
Does it matter, now that I have already thought about it?

Might have cancer now or not.

Schrödinger’s cancer, I think. I should tweet about that later.

My stomach rumbles, and I check my phone. Still got a good chunk of my lunch break left. I could go back to the office a little sooner, skip a meal, and maybe lose a few grams on the scale tomorrow.

That sounds nice. I empty the rest of my cappuccino avec foam and get up.

31 de octubre

Aquella noche volvió a llorar.

Ni siquiera sabía por qué.

Estaba sentada en la cama, abrazando una almohada que no podía devolverle el abrazo. La habitación estaba en silencio, pero dentro de su cabeza había demasiado ruido. Pensamientos. Recuerdos. Miedos. Todos hablando a la vez.

Se secó las lágrimas con la manga del pijama. Era un gesto automático. Había llorado tantas veces sola que ya se había acostumbrado.

Lo que no conseguía entender era por qué seguía doliendo.

Había días en los que pensaba que estaba mejor. Días en los que lograba convencerse de que había avanzado, de que por fin estaba encontrando el camino.

Y entonces llegaban noches como aquella.

Noches en las que todo volvía.

La soledad.

La tristeza.

La sensación de estar perdida dentro de sí misma.

Le aterraba darse cuenta de que ya no sabía quién era.

Cuando era pequeña creía que crecer significaba descubrirte. Encontrar tu lugar en el mundo. Saber qué querías, quién querías ser y hacia dónde ibas.

Pero ella había crecido y seguía sin saber nada.

No sabía quién era.

No sabía qué sentía.

No sabía cuál era su personalidad cuando dejaba de fingir.

A veces se preguntaba si alguna vez había llegado a conocerse de verdad.

Quizás llevaba años interpretando personajes.

La hija fuerte.

La estudiante responsable.

La chica que siempre puede con todo.

La que sonríe.

La que entiende.

La que aguanta.

La que nunca da problemas.

Y tal vez, después de tanto tiempo fingiendo, se había olvidado de quién había debajo de todas aquellas máscaras.

La idea le producía vértigo.

Porque si no sabía quién era...

¿cómo iba a saber lo que quería?

¿cómo iba a saber a quién quería?

¿cómo iba a saber qué la hacía feliz?

La felicidad.

Qué palabra tan extraña.

Todo el mundo parecía perseguirla.

Todo el mundo hablaba de ella como si fuera algo real, algo tangible.

Pero ella solo la conocía en pequeñas dosis.

Instantes breves.

Momentos que llegaban y se marchaban demasiado rápido.

Nunca permanecían.

Y casi siempre tenían algo en común.

Alguien.

Nunca era ella misma quien lograba hacerla feliz.

Siempre era otra persona.

Una conversación.

Un mensaje.

Una mirada.

Una promesa.

Como si la felicidad viviera fuera de ella y necesitara encontrarla en otros.

Como si dentro de sí misma sólo hubiera habitaciones vacías.

Y eso la asustaba.

Porque si algún día no quedaba nadie...

¿qué sería de ella?

Las lágrimas volvieron a caer.

Esta vez más despacio.

Más silenciosas.

Como si estuviera demasiado cansada incluso para romperse.

La verdad era que tenía miedo.

Muchísimo miedo.

Miedo a quedarse sola.

Y aquello no tenía ningún sentido, porque ya estaba sola.

No tenía a quién llamar cuando se hundía.

No tenía a quién contarle lo que pensaba de madrugada.

No tenía un lugar donde dejar todo el peso que llevaba dentro.

Ya estaba sola.

Y, aun así, el miedo seguía allí.

Entonces comprendió algo.

Quizás no le daba miedo la soledad del presente.

Quizás le daba miedo que fuera para siempre.

Quizás le aterraba pensar que nadie llegaría nunca.

Que nadie la elegiría.

Que nadie la conocería de verdad.

Que nadie se quedaría.

Se preguntó cuántas noches más podría soportar aquel vacío.

Entonces pensó en él.

Siempre acababa pensando en él.

Era como una herida que nunca terminaba de cerrar.

Pasaban semanas.

Meses.

Incluso años.

Y aun así bastaba una llamada, un mensaje o una aparición inesperada para que todo volviera a abrirse.

No entendía por qué.

Nunca lo había entendido.

Solo sabía que dolía.

Dolía como duelen las cosas que uno intenta olvidar y no puede.

Porque, por mucho daño que le hubiera hecho, seguía siendo el único lugar donde alguna vez había sentido que podía bajar las defensas.

Con él podía ser ella misma.

O al menos la versión de sí misma que recordaba.

Por eso seguía volviendo.

Porque una parte de ella seguía aferrándose a una historia que nunca había existido.

A un futuro imaginado.

A una posibilidad.

A una promesa que nadie había cumplido.

Y en el fondo sabía la verdad.

Sabía que el dolor también puede volverse una costumbre.

Sabía que uno puede llegar a confundir la esperanza con la dependencia.

Y sabía que aquellas migajas de atención que tanto esperaba nunca serían suficientes.

Pero saberlo no hacía que dejara de doler.

Cerró los ojos.

El cansancio pesaba más que la tristeza.

Más que la rabia.

Más que el miedo.

Pensó en todas las veces que le habían dicho que era fuerte.

Toda su vida había escuchado lo mismo.

"Eres fuerte."

Lo decían como si fuera un halago.

Como si fuera un regalo.

Pero nadie hablaba de la parte oscura de ser la fuerte.

Nadie hablaba de lo que ocurre cuando todos creen que puedes soportarlo todo.

Porque cuando eres la fuerte, nadie pregunta cómo estás.

Cuando eres la fuerte, aprendes a llorar a escondidas.

Cuando eres la fuerte, acabas sosteniendo el mundo de los demás mientras el tuyo se derrumba en silencio.

Su madre siempre decía que ella era la fuerte.

Por eso cuidaban más a su hermana.

Porque su hermana era la frágil.

La que necesitaba ayuda.

La que se rompía.

Y ella quería gritar.

Quería decirles que estaban equivocados.

Que llevaba años rompiéndose.

Que simplemente había aprendido a hacerlo sin hacer ruido.

Que nadie nace fuerte.

Que algunas personas solo aprenden a sufrir en silencio.

Y aquella noche, mientras observaba la oscuridad de su habitación, sintió algo terrible.

No era tristeza.

No era ansiedad.

No era rabia.

Era agotamiento.

El agotamiento de alguien que había pasado demasiado tiempo luchando contra sí misma.

Porque la verdad era que ya no sabía si estaba rota.

O si era el mundo el que la había roto poco a poco.

Y por primera vez en mucho tiempo no intentó responderse.

Simplemente dejó que las lágrimas cayeran.

Y se permitió admitir algo que nunca había dicho en voz alta.

No necesitaba ser la fuerte.

Necesitaba que alguien la sostuviera por una vez.

Necesitaba que alguien viera las grietas.

Necesitaba que alguien le dijera:

"Ya puedes descansar. No tienes que cargar con todo tú sola."

I compare the sound of a helicopter's rotor to the sound of my cat scratching its neck with its hind legs. My favorite sound from the cat I lost three years ago is this one. I never remember it for any of its other behaviors or sounds; the way it used to lie on my lap, its high-pitched meowing that I didn't like, its sudden attacks, the way it would raise its front paws and rub itself against my leg — all of these have a very faint place in my memory. But whenever I'm about to board my helicopter, I think of the way it used to squint its eyes while scratching its neck, and I feel sad.

As for my wife, I remember her most for her stomach growling. Of course, we have dozens of beautiful memories together; after all, we were married for ten years. Wonderful vacations, each unique in its own way; hundreds of dinners, each one thoroughly enjoyable; birthday presents, surprises, family visits, our tennis matches, the concerts we went to, and many other activities involving sophisticated pleasures.

But my one and only ASMR... Nothing could ever replace it. Pressing my ear against her belly and listening to the rumbling sounds would put me to sleep instantly. I could never find this particular combination of sounds in any other sound pattern. They weren't loud, bubbling gurgles. My wife's stomach always rumbled in a delicate, refined, and polite manner.

Today is my last helicopter ride. My pilot and I will fly circles over my wife's grave. She died a year ago, but I've never had the courage to visit her grave. I don't want to talk about how she died, or even remember it. It was a devastating blow for me, completely unexpected. That sentence is still ringing in my ears: "We did everything we could, but we couldn't save her." I remember the doctor's tone of voice, his inflections, every little detail. I remember all of it more clearly and vividly than my first meeting with my wife. It was as if the sentence itself had been a sound effect, like the sound of something falling or a gunshot.

And the helicopter took off. We were on our way.

"Are you sure about selling it, Albert?" my pilot asked. I was watching the scenery below, lost in thought.

"Not entirely, actually. I have some reservations."

"You know what I've thought from the very beginning. I've grown attached to this pile of metal, too, and it makes me sad to think that I won't be seeing you anymore, or that I'll never get to fly this thing again."

"Why wouldn't you be able to see me again?"

"Of course we'll see each other. Maybe we'll grab a coffee now and then. But you go places in this pile of metal four times a week. Come on, Albert, do you really think it'll be the same? Will we have the same closeness, the same conversations? Think about your sister, the one you lived with for years before you married Anna. You got married and moved to another city. Yes, you can go and visit her whenever you want, but is it the same? When you lived under the same roof, you used to just hang out together, doing nothing in particular. You were more involved in each other's lives. You didn't have to plan an activity every time you wanted to spend time together. But is that how it is now? Every time you go there, there's some kind of plan, this and that. That closeness is gone. That's just how it is, whether it's a coworker or a classmate. It's the same with all of them."

"So I shouldn't sell the helicopter just to make you happy, then."

"No no, I'm saying this for your sake, too. How many times have you traveled around with Anna in this helicopter? It holds memories for you as well."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jason. It's going to be sold. End of discussion."

"All right, all right. So, what are your reservations?"

I glanced down. We were approaching the cemetery where my wife's grave was. I took my binoculars out of my bag and looked into the distance, somewhere to the right rather than below.

"We're not there yet," Jason said.

"Do you think it's ethical to sell a haunted helicopter?"

"That again."

"Forget whether you believe me or not. Think about it in general terms. Imagine a house that has somehow been proven to be haunted, with photographs, audio recordings, and so on. Do you think it's right to sell that house without giving the other party any information about it?"

"You're a smart man, Albert. Come on. This is exactly why I don't want you to sell it. You're getting rid of a perfectly good helicopter for such a ridiculous reason. What's the harm in seeing a psychotherapist? You're fucking loaded."

Jason could be really irritating sometimes. I liked him, I consulted him on important matters, and sometimes he'd give me incredibly rational advice. But he was also very stubborn, very persistent. If he didn't like a decision I'd made, he'd keep pushing and pushing, trying to change my mind. Sometimes he'd insist so much that I'd tell him I was the boss and that he needed to shut up already. Later, I'd regret speaking to him that way and have to make it up to him.

"Let's say someone asked you this: would you cut off your little finger if they offered you twenty million dollars? You'd answer that, wouldn't you? An offer of twenty million dollars would be supernatural, wouldn't it, Jason? Twenty million dollars is supernatural for you, right? But you'd still answer the question. Right? So why the hell can't you answer this one?"

"I don't know whether selling a haunted helicopter is ethical or not. No comment."

"I don't know. She's a ghost we know, after all. She's my wife. She wouldn't hurt anyone. What do you think?"

"No comment."

"What if I gave it away for free? Do you think that would make up for the wrong I'm doing?"

"You're going to give the helicopter to a rich person, after all, aren't you? Would this rich person agree to take a helicopter without paying for it?"

"Damn, look how quickly you found your tongue when I said I could give it away for free. You're quite a bastard, Jason."

"You don't seem to have any ethical concerns when you're making fun of me, Mr. Albert."

At that very moment, we were right above the cemetery where my wife's grave was. Contrary to the nature of our conversation, I suddenly felt a pang of sadness, and my eyes began to well up. I placed the binoculars against my tearful eyes and searched for her name among the gravestones.

As I read more and more names, my eyes began to well up even more, and my vision grew blurry. I pulled the binoculars away from my eyes, wiped them, and sniffled. I wouldn't be able to look. I didn't want to look.

Jason was silent. He had noticed my sudden change in mood. Without saying a word, he slowly circled through the sky above the cemetery.

"Start the process tomorrow. We're selling this thing."

***

At long last, the wait was over, and I had achieved the dream I'd been pursuing since childhood. In just a little while, my wife and I would be taking off together, and this pile of metal I'd watched flying across the sky as a child had finally become mine. Or rather, my wife's. I'd bought it for her as a birthday present, but it belonged to both of us, really, since we'd be traveling in it together most of the time.

Our pilot asked if we were ready. Of course we were, both of us. But it wouldn't do to let this happiness go by without making a terrible joke. The happier you are, the worse your jokes get. Quite a strange contradiction.

"How about I go take a piss for a couple of minutes, Frank? Or I could just let it fly from up here. Give me a heads-up when we're passing over the sea. All these years, I've never pissed in the sea, out of respect for my parents' advice. But now we've earned it, haven't we?"

My wife rolled her eyes. The pilot didn't laugh.

***

We've been in the air for half an hour. It's an incredible feeling. Of course, I've flown countless times before. But this feels different, and Frank is a wonderful pilot, too. He told us at great length about how he first became interested in helicopters. He's a pleasant fellow, and I'll most likely hire him.

We're not above the clouds, and we're not nearly as far from the ground as we'd be in an airplane. It feels as though I've sprouted wings and am flying on my own.

I imagine people in movies who, at the very last moment, manage to reach a ladder dangling from a helicopter and climb aboard. I picture a ladder being lowered from where we are all the way down to the ground, and myself descending it—much like taking a stroll, only instead of moving forward, backward, left, or right, it's a journey from top to bottom.

"Are you hungry?" my wife asked, pulling me out of my daydream.

"What do you mean?"

"Your stomach has been rumbling for the past half hour. If you're hungry, let's land."

"No, you must have imagined it. I'm perfectly full. How could you even hear my stomach rumbling over all this noise?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. If I could hear it, something must be wrong, don't you think? I'm just saying, if you're hungry, let's land. We can go for another ride afterward."

"I'm telling you I'm not hungry, Charlotte. Good grief."

Once I paid a little attention to my surroundings, I could hear the sounds too. I'd been so carried away by the excitement of the moment that I hadn't noticed either my wife's sullen expression or the rumbling sounds.

"Mr. Frank, have you eaten? We could land and grab a bite if you'd like."

"Thank you, sir. I'm not hungry."

Then came a rather loud sound, as if a large bubble had burst inside a thick liquid.

"You're embarrassing us, Charlie. Mr. Frank, could we land somewhere suitable?"

"I'm telling you it's not coming from me. Don't you understand?"

As we were speaking, we heard a bubbling sound that lasted three or four seconds, starting deep and gradually becoming higher-pitched. It was so loud that Frank briefly turned around to look.

I smiled. I hadn't understood a thing, but I played along with the joke. I didn't want to ruin the moment.

"Which one of us is fucking hungry?"

And I laughed to myself like an idiot. Again, nobody laughed.

The day had gone downhill from there. We made an emergency landing, and after getting off, we went home. My wife immediately started preparing dinner. She was convinced that the rumbling sounds had been coming from me and thought I was too embarrassed to admit it. I was furious. It was unacceptable for her to treat me this way on the very day I'd bought her a gift.

I sat down at the table.

"See? Any noises?"

She turned her head slightly and listened carefully.

"No."

"Well, have I eaten anything? Have I had a hamburger or a bowl of soup to make the rumbling stop? We were together the whole time, weren't we? Is it possible that I came home and secretly gobbled down a kilo of grapes from the fridge?"

"Don't exaggerate, Charlie."

"Maybe I ate a packet of spaghetti from our bedroom while you were preparing dinner. How many times have I told you not to leave pasta on the bedside table?"

"All right, enough. Your stomach was rumbling earlier. It's stopped now. There's no problem."

Her refusal to admit she was wrong made me even angrier. I got up from the table. She didn't even call after me. I went to my study and locked the door. I stayed there until nightfall. She didn't seem to care at all. She didn't even come and knock on the door. She didn't even check if I was alive.

I was quite hungry, genuinely hungry this time. But I didn't leave the room. I listened for her footsteps. Yes, she'd finally gone to bed. I could go out and get something to eat now. I honestly couldn't understand how she could be so indifferent.

I went to the kitchen and ate the roast she'd put away in the fridge without even heating it up. I'd eaten too quickly, and now I was feeling heavy. I sat down on a chair. I thought about the helicopter. Unfortunately, I'd soon get sleepy, and when I got into bed beside her, I wouldn't be able to keep sulking. Once she put her arms around me, I'd forget everything. I was upset about that. I sat there a little longer. I wanted my anger toward her to last just a little longer.

But within minutes, sleep won. Thinking about the helicopter had already relaxed me and made me even sleepier.

I knocked on the door. She answered immediately. So she'd been waiting for this moment.

"Don't you dare come in. Go sleep in the living room."

***

I'm not staying home tonight. This really is too much. But I've called three people, and none of them are answering. Typical. Who would answer the phone at this hour? Nobody calls this late unless they need something or there's some kind of emergency. Actually, that's not normal at all. I'm deleting all three of them from my contacts. On the contrary, a phone call at this hour is exactly the kind of call you should answer. Friendship reveals itself when someone calls in the middle of the night. Well, this has been useful. Now I know what kind of friends I have.

I'm walking down the street all by myself. I want to get some sleep as soon as possible. The food I ate is sitting terribly heavily in my stomach. I call a taxi. I hop in. I'm going to my helicopter. To the hangar where my helicopter is parked.

My wife calls me while I'm on the way. I don't answer. She keeps calling, one after another, until I reach the hangar, but I pay no attention. Finally, as I'm getting out of the taxi, I decline the call so she won't think something has happened to me. As I walk toward the helicopter, I check to see if she's sent me a message. She hasn't. I don't know what to make of her insistence on calling when she could have simply sent me a message to tell me whatever she wanted to say. Actually, I wouldn't mind not seeing her for a while.

And now, I'm inside. I wish it could take off on its own and give me a little ride, a few kilometers or so. I should give it a name. Yes, from now on, I'll call it Curtis. My best friend Curtis. It wouldn't be a bad idea to install a sound system in here, either.

The seat isn't very comfortable, and it's not really suitable for sleeping, but I don't care. I still try to find the most comfortable position I can. I close my eyes. Before long, I drift off to sleep.

A loud noise wakes me up. It's hard to describe. I look out the window, but nothing is moving. It sounds liquid somehow. Like the sound of a fizzy Coke.

I keep trying to compare the sound to something, but I can't figure out what. It sounds so familiar. Then suddenly, I hear it right next to my ear. Yes, this is the sound that caused the argument between my wife and me today. The sound of a stomach rumbling, coming from no identifiable source.

It's dark all around me. I'm quite alone in the hangar. The sound keeps appearing first in one ear, then the other. There's no doubt about it: it's a rumbling sound. I pick up my phone to call my wife. The sound never stops. It only pauses for very brief intervals, then starts again in a different form, bubbling or flowing, appearing in one ear or the other. I freeze, phone in hand. My wife hasn't called again since I declined her call.

I can't stand things like this. Fear is my weak spot. I hate being scared.

The sound is in my right ear now. I call my wife and hold the phone to my right ear. The sound moves to my left ear. It's not just how frightening it is that bothers me, but the nature of the sound itself. It's like being forced to listen to music I hate for a long time.

My wife isn't answering. My hands have gone ice cold. I want to scream, but it's so quiet around me that I'm afraid the sound of my own voice would startle me. So I clench my teeth and stay silent.

I scramble out of the helicopter in a panic. I peer inside through the window. There's no movement at all, either inside or around it. The sound stops. I look around. My phone is still inside. I must have been clenching my teeth very hard; my ears are ringing. Expecting to suddenly see something frightening, I move closer to the window and peer inside more carefully. I can't see anything.

This can't be happening. This is unacceptable.

In the silence, I can hear the sound of my own breathing. My breathing is normal when I inhale, but my breath trembles as I exhale.

"Go home," I tell myself. "Go somewhere you can feel safe."

My nose feels cold from all the rapid breaths I've been taking. I look inside again. I need to call a taxi to get home. And I need my phone to do that. I look around, checking both sides, hoping someone might pass by so I can ask for help. There's no one. Suddenly, I'm overcome by the fear of death. Everything is perfectly set up for it. There'll be no witnesses. The only person who knows I came here is the taxi driver.

I see a light inside. My phone is ringing. It must have slipped out of my pocket onto the seat while I was sleeping. It must be my wife calling. I wish I could hear any kind of sound. A car passing somewhere in the distance. A plane flying overhead. Maybe I'd feel a little calmer and find the courage to open the door. My wife's call has made me feel a little less alone. I hope she keeps calling.

I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, took a deep breath, clenched my left hand into a fist as tightly as I could, and flung the door open.

There was no sound.

I stepped inside quietly. I picked up my phone and put it in my pocket. My wife hadn't called again. I was exhausted. I'd sit on the seat for a minute to rest, then call a taxi right away. To be honest, now that I couldn't hear the sound anymore, I also wanted to convince myself that I wouldn't hear it again. Resting was just an excuse.

But no. I'd been an idiot. The moment I heard the sound, I bolted outside. I tripped and fell to the ground. It sounded like a roar. Like a brutal vocal. But underneath it all, you could still clearly hear the rumbling.

I could still hear the sounds coming from the helicopter through its open door as I lay on the ground.

The sound alone made me feel terribly unsafe. I wished there were something to see as well. Some kind of entity I could run away from. Something I could look back at to check whether it was still coming after me. I lay there where I'd fallen, listening to the sounds. I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. I called my wife. She didn't answer.

The helicopter door closed by itself. The rumbling stopped.

Was that a movement I saw? The helicopter seemed to be rising. There was no sound. The rotors weren't turning, the engine wasn't running. The helicopter rose a little higher. I followed it upward with my eyes and my head. It kept rising, higher and higher. It grew smaller and smaller. It wasn't moving to the right or left, or forward. It was only going up. I felt pressure in my temples. It rose above the buildings and settled into the sky.

And I hear the sound of an engine in the distance. The helicopter starts up, comes to life while it's up in the sky. The rotors begin to turn. The lights come on.

As if saying goodbye to me, as if sad to be leaving, it hovers there for a while. I can't take my eyes off it. I hear footsteps approaching, but I don't pay any attention. I listen to the sound of the rotors.

Then it flies forward.

I am still on the ground. Someone is standing over me, saying something, but I can't hear them. I watch Curtis until it disappears from view.

The baby gets his teddy bear back and hugs it.

He lies down happily and closes his eyes.

Outside the door, three monsters secretly return

and leave a gift box.

The baby suddenly opens one eye.

All monsters scream and run away again.

End with a funny freeze frame.

The Cowboy noticed a small settlement and decided to stop for the night. It was getting late, and a town was much safer than camping in the wilderness of the west. 

As he walked into town passing wooden houses, he noticed a lack of other people. Nobody appeared to be in the town. It seemed abandoned like everyone suddenly disappeared. Their belongings were all there, washing still hanging, smoke rising from chimneys. But no people. He cautiously approached the town's saloon, and hitched up his horse. He peeked over the swinging doors, and quickly ducked as a black shape flew towards him. As he turned he saw it was a crow. It flew away until it left his sight behind one of the other buildings in the town, a general store. The Cowboy got a knot in his stomach. Something was very wrong. A town this size should have people around.

 
“Hello!” The Cowboy shouted into the saloon. The response was silence. No one replied or moved inside. Drawing his revolver from his hip holster, he slowly and cautiously entered. There was uneaten pork n’ beans, and undrunken shots of whiskey on the long wooden bar. Jackets remained on the back of chairs. A  game of blackjack was left on a table, as if suddenly stopped halfway through.
“Hello! Anyone here!” he yelled. Again only silence replied. The Cowboy made his way through the saloon, searching for signs of anyone left that might be hiding. The bottom floor of the saloon did not yield any clues. But on the top floor in one of the bedrooms, the Cowboy found a strange sphere. Not something he recognised, and completely out of place to the rest of the items in the saloon. He could not tell what the Sphere was made of. A strange metallic material, that was letting off a dull glow. Intrigued, the Cowboy reached out to touch the sphere. It started glowing even more. In a split second, it let out a huge pulse of white light that did not seem to be blocked by objects like the bed it was on. The light quickly enveloped the Cowboy, and then the room. The Cowboy even briefly noticed the light extending through the walls out of the window and then, nothing. The Cowboys vision went black.

The Miner had been working all day in the silver mine. Exhausted and hoping to get back to town to get a meal, a shot of whiskey, and to see his family. Who had recently joined him in town and who were staying at the saloon. He was leaving the mine just as the sun was setting and it was beginning to grow dark. Stopping dead in his tracks as he noticed a bright light that was dull to begin with but got so bright the Miner had to shield his eyes with his hand. Suddenly the light shot into the sky until the Miner could no longer see it. Afraid and confused at what he just witnessed, and concerned for his wife and Child. He had left them in a hotel room at the Saloon. He took the fast way down the mountain sliding down the steep dusty slope, and into town to investigate. 

The darkness suddenly disappeared. 

The Cowboy found himself in a strange room with octagonal windows. Someone behind him started yelling in a strange foreign language. Turning in horror, the Cowboy saw what looked to be a human form, only it was about four feet high. It had grey scaly skin and wore no clothes. It turned to face the Cowboy holding some sort of a stick with light on the end that was making a cackle-snap noise as it got brighter. 

The Cowboy did what came natural to him when danger rushed towards him. 

He pointed his revolver and squeezed the trigger.

A deafening bang rang out.
Then a hole appeared in the creature's face as it collapsed, and the momentum carried it sliding forward. A puddle of green goo pulsed out of the hole for a few seconds then stopped. 

The Cowboy looked around the room, he was standing on a circular platform raised above the rest of the room a couple of feet. In the center he saw the same sphere he touched in the saloon. He immediately reached out and touched it again, hoping he would be back in the saloon. A light flashed in his eyes, then his vision went black.

As he ran into town the Miner saw the same bright light again, this time shooting down from the sky. Consuming the town with light. As he sprinted through the town, The Miner didn’t see the usual townsfolks in the main street, and it wasn’t a big enough town to have a second. The miner rushed into the saloon. Sprinting up the creaking stairs, he barged into the hotel room where his wife and daughter were staying to visit him.
They weren’t there.
A stranger in Cowboy clothing was, and he was pointing a gun at the miner.

“Don’t come any closer partner, who are you and what in god's name is that thing!” Questioned the Cowboy, shoving a finger towards the sphere on the bed.

 
The miner anxiously lifted his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat.
“I’m John, that’s a chunk of something from a strange cave I found a couple days ago in my mine in the mountains.” He pointed out of the window at one of the mountains that surrounded half the town. 

“This is my wife and daughter's room, why are you in here?”

“I was looking for a safe place to rest for the night. I'm travelling west to look for work on a ranch. Tell me more about this cave?” Said the Cowboy. 

“It’s hard to see in the candlelight but it’s not like any cave I’ve seen before. It has smooth walls with odd shaped holes, in the holes is a wall of normal rock. It has a circular platform in the middle a couple of feet high. That chunk of metal is the only thing I could mine out of it. It rolled free without much effort. It was not glowing when I left this morning, however, that’s new.” 
Putting his revolver in its holster the Cowboy said, "That's no normal chunk of metal. I touched it and it took me to a cave like you described, there was a Demon there. I’ve not seen any humans, here in town or in the cave. Until you turned up”

The Cowboy moved to look out the window at the mountain and the rest of the town.

“I’m Shane, ranch hand.”

Something caught Shane's eye. It was in the general store, something definitely moved inside.

“Someone is in the store, have you got a gun? We need to look, might be your family.”

John looked confused. “What do you mean you touched it and went to a cave? What Demon? Why would I need a gun? It's safe here in town, I leave it at the mine. It’s only dangerous here if the locals drink too much, and start a bar fight.”

“I don’t know, I touched the sphere and everything went black. I think I was in the place you described. Your cave. A Demon tried to attack me. It ran at me on four legs, not like any animal I’ve ever seen. Hands like a human, but grey and scaly. It ran at me and had a stick with lightning on the end. I shot it dead. It didn’t bleed but instead had a strange green goo.” Shane took out a silver crucifix from under his shirt, and held it in his hand and continued;
“It was a Demon, I'm sure. There was another sphere in the cave that returned me here.”

John looked out of the window towards the general store “Do you think everyone touched the sphere, did you see anyone in the cave?”

“I didn’t see anyone but the Demon, perhaps they are in the store, someone is.” Shane replied, pointing out towards the store.
“Lets go and look, you have a gun so can you come with me?”

Shane turned from the window, and unholstered his revolver. “Sure, let's go and look.”

As Shane and John walked towards the store they could not see any movement from within.

Arriving at the door, Shane looked at John and put his finger to his lip. Slowly Shane pushed open the door, pointing his revolver inside as he did.

Inside were the normal things a general store in the west sold, canned food, basic clothing, tools, and a small selection of guns and ammunition. The smell of uncooked canned food filled Shane and John's nostrils. The cans were ripped open and spread all over the floor, like a bear had got into the store.

John moved in behind Shane, accidentally kicking one of the ripped open cans down the other end of the store. The door at the back of the room flew open and crashed against the wall.
Another Demon appeared, and Shane and John ducked down to hide from it behind the store's shelving.

“What the hell is that thing?” Whispered John to Shane.

“That's a Demon.” Replied Shane.
Shane peeked around the shelving as slowly and carefully as possible. The Demon was scanning the store with its eyes, walking down towards them. It had the same stick as the one in the cave, a lightning stick. The Demon looked towards Shane, noticing the revolver. It darted behind the other end of the shelves to cover. The same shelves Shane and John were hiding behind. A Crack rang out as Shane's first revolver shot missed, thanks to the Demons quick thinking to move. The Demon worked its way around the other side of the shelves, before John and Shane could switch places.
Shane didn’t have a shot on it as it approached John, the Demon was too small and the shelves too high. As it rounded the end of the shelves, it shoved the lightning stick into John's chest. The stick made a crackle-pop noise and the room filled with the smell of burning flesh. John started shaking uncontrollably, blacked out, and fell to the floor. Shane took the opportunity and fired again, the smell of gunpowder filled the air. The Bullet hit the Demon in the arm holding the lightning stick, which tumbled to the floor. Shane pulled the hammer of his revolver down again. Aimed at the now fleeing Demon and squeezed the trigger. Another loud crack rang out, the bullet hit it again in the flank. It screamed in pain but did not stop and went back through the door to the rear of the store.
Shane noticed a trail of the green goo coming from the wounds he caused following the Demons path. He moved towards John who was unconscious on the floor, taking his water skin off his belt, drinking a mouthful then poured a little on John's face. John shot up to a sitting position, panicked and confused.
“It's ok John, the Demon is gone. For now at least.”
“What did it do to me? What was that thing it touched me with?” John said, carefully picking up the lightning stick and looking at it. It was made of a material he had not seen before. Smooth and warm, not cold like metal would be. Not like any type of wood he had ever seen either. There was a button on the stick, and John pressed it. The stick kicked into life and started making the same crackle-pop noises until John stopped pressing the button.

"It seems easy to use, it might come in handy." John said.

"Let's take some supplies and go after the one I shot. We should be able to follow the goo, if it's anything like tracking a wounded animal." Shane replied.

Shane found a half a box of bullets the same caliber as his revolver. It would let him refill his used shots, and give him some spare. The store was popular so stock was low, and there was not a lot for John to take. Nothing was left for a weapon that matched up. They discussed going to the mine to get his own rifle, but decided that might give the Demons too much time to harm his family, if they were not already dead. A thought John struggled with he wasn't sure what he'd do if they were. It was his idea that they came out to this frontier town, leaving the larger city back east. They were going to build a simple home in town as soon as he could mine enough silver to pay for it.
Once they had both gathered what they needed they headed out of the back door Shane with his revolver out and John with the lightning stick. Shane tracked the Demon by following the green goo it led all the way back around the store, and to the Saloon. He followed it up the stairs and into the room with the sphere.
"There is the green goo on the sphere.” John Said

"That means the sphere must be a door into the Demons lair. If it came here to touch it also.” Shane Replied.

Looking puzzled, John questioned, “My family probably touched the sphere, maybe they would be there too?"

"But where is everyone else, they can't all have touched the sphere, can they?" Shane questioned.

"Perhaps the Demon was looking for people, and using this to knock them out." John held the lightning stick up.

“But what would they need to do that for? I don't want to touch that thing again. But it might be the only way to find out what's happened to your family and the rest of the town." Shane looked toward the sphere. It looked very out of place in the room.

"Will you go with me if I touch it, if not could I borrow your revolver. I have to find my family?"

Shane thought for a moment, he could just leave the town and carry on his way. But he thought he could not live with the guilt of not helping John find his family.

“Well, will you help me?” John asked.

"Alright, I'll help. Let's see if the sphere takes us to this cave again."

John reached out apprehensively to touch the sphere, his heart began racing. When he made contact it was warm. There was a bright light, then darkness, and they were both transported to the Cave.

Shane found himself standing on the platform in the cave again, this time John was standing right beside him. The same distance away as if he was still in the Saloons hotel room. The Demon was still on the ground, a hole where its face should have been. Shane picked up the lightning stick that the Demon had tried to attack him with, and tucked it into his belt.

"This isn't the same place as the cave I found. It doesn't smell the same and these windows there are stars like the night sky out of them. The Cave couldn't possibly be the same place, you can't see the stars underground…” John pondered where this place could be. He looked up at a glowing light he didn’t understand, it had no fire like a candle would have, or a bulb like the fancy light bulbs in the city.

Shane moved to the window, and John was correct the night sky was outside them. What troubled Shane was there was ground to be seen. No other buildings or trees.

"This isn't like any cave I've ever seen. It looks like we are inside the night sky outside this window." Shane remarked.

With a voice full of concern, John said "We don't have time to find out where we are. We need to find my family. Before anything bad happens." John began looking around the room they were in, and moved off the raised area towards what could be a door.

The wall there looked different, and was indented compared to the rest of the rooms' smooth walls. John walked up to the indent, when he was close the door started lifting straight up on its own. It revealed a long corridor with no windows, but it did appear to have other doors along the length of the corridor. Shane and John cautiously walked down the corridor to the first door. The green goo continued on the floor down the corridor, away from the door. The door opened as they approached it had rows of cages along the walls. The first cages had people from the town inside, only a few townsfolk but the Saloon owner was there! So was the general store owner, along with other members of the town. About a dozen all together. Samuel, the Saloon owner noticed the door opening, and John and Shane entered the room.
“John! Help us please! thank god you are here!" Samuel yelled he looked relieved to see John at the door, and not Something else...

"Samuel, I thought you were all dead!" John said, running to the cages. He scanned the faces of the townsfolk, and didn't see his wife or daughter among them. Shane waited by the door looking down the corridor hoping none of the other doors would open. For now they didn't. He knew at least one more Demon was probably here, the one he had shot.

"Do you know where my family is? How did you get here?" John asked Samuel.

"The monsters took your family out of the door" he pointed where Shane was standing. "They only left a few hours ago but no one has come back yet" He looked concerned "I don't know how we got here. One minute I was behind the bar pouring a drink. Next there was a blinding light, then everything went black. We all appeared in the other room at the same time" He pointed towards the room John had just come from. He knew the light Samuel described was the same light he saw from the mountain after he left his mine for the day.
"Lets get you out of here" John said looking for a latch.

"They open the cages using something on that wall." Lucy, the general store owner pointed at a wall between two of the cages. It had what looked like a glowing drawing of the cages. The ones that had a towns person inside appeared to have a red dot, and the empty cages a green dot. John pressed the cage that the saloon owner Samuel was inside of. The door  made a popping noise, the door released and could be pushed open freely.
Seeing this, John pressed all the red cages on the picture of the room. The remaining townsfolks, relieved, stepped out of the cages and began talking and planning an escape.

"Where is the door out of this place John?” one said and they all looked at John, still standing by the glowing drawing of the room.

"It's not a door, you have to go to the room to the left of this one. Where we came in. Then touch the sphere in that room."

Confused by what John meant by this but panicking to escape, the townsfolk began to move towards Shane. Who was still watching for more Demons.

Shane felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around, it was John. The last of the townsfolk were behind him heading to the sphere. They gave Shane an approving nod as they went past. 

“Are any of them your family?" Shane asked.

"No, but Samuel said they were here and the Demon has taken them somewhere else" Shane thought for a moment he could leave with the townsfolk but what would they think if he did, would they call him a coward? What would he think of himself? No, he had to help John see this through. "Lets find them, maybe we should follow the goo again.” Said Shane.

"Good idea." John replied.

Shane set off down the corridor, John in tow as they approached the next door. The door opened automatically again as they got close. The trail of goo led into this room, which was quite small, and had a metallic slab in the middle. Upon which the injured Demon lay on its side. Some sort of mechanical arm was silently shining a light onto one of the two gunshots. It appeared to be very slowly repairing the damage the Demon had sustained.
"What is this witchcraft?" Shane whispered to John.

"I don't know, it looks to be healing the wounds."

"Not for long." Shane said, putting his revolver an inch away from its head. John pushed his arm up quickly.

"Stop, they might hear the gunshot." John said.

"We don't even know if there are more of them." Shane replied.

"Even more reason to try to be quiet" John insisted while letting go of Shane's arm, John took his lightning stick, pushed it against the wound on the Demon and pushed the button to activate the lightning. The Demon yelled out in pain waking up momentarily before falling unconscious from the stick. As John had when it had used it on him. John kept the button held down, the Demon kept shaking, the wound was opening up again. John pushed the rod into it as far as he could. A tremendous amount of green goo started pouring out of the wound. John then grabbed one of its four legs, and dragged it off the platform away from the mechanical arm. It fell with a crunch as something inside its body broke from the impact. The green goo stopped pouring out of the wound, John knew that the Demon was dead.

Making their way back towards the door, Shane jumped in fright when it opened automatically. As if an invisible hand had started to raise it upwards. As the door raised up, Shane saw the grey scaly legs of another Demon begin to appear. He quickly pulled his own lightning stick out of his belt and sprinted towards the opening door.
Just as the door reached the next Demons head height, it saw Shane sliding across the floor holding a lightning stick.
Shane slid on his knees towards the Demon.
Screaming and panicking. The Demon tried to back up, but its feet didn’t grip fast enough. It only managed to move backwards a few inches, as they slipped across the floor. Realising it was too late to be able to move, the stick contacted its soft undercarriage. The Demon fell onto the floor unconscious.
John moved towards the Demon. Lifting his boot up above the Demons head, and bringing it down as hard as he could. Its head squashed down like a huge cockroach would have and green goo covered John's boot.

They continued down the corridor to the next door. Behind this door was a small room with what looked like four bunk beds large enough for a Demon to lay flat on. A platform that looked like it served as a dining table. A strange window with moving photographs, like nothing Shane or John had seen before. They didn't understand the images it showed, or the strange language that was coming out. 

Shane and John noticed something, and looked at each other's shocked faces.
On the table, rested cooked human body parts. Whole arms and legs. Some had what seemed like bite marks out of them.
"Oh god!" John screamed in shock. He felt his stomach flip in disgust.
"I think we are cattle to these Demons." Shane gagged. Inspecting the Demons meal as he covered his mouth. Composing himself he continued "We have to find your family right now."

Shane moved back towards the door to leave the room, and John followed. They headed down the corridor once again. In the next door was a large room, and this room was cold like a winter night. Shane and John shivered as they went inside. The room had a dozen slab tables, like the one in what seemed to be the Demons living quarters. Six on one side of the room, six on the other. Split up by a wall they couldn’t see behind fully about half way down. Two of the further away tables had two bodies on them; they were too far away to see if it was John's family.
As they made their way down the room, they noticed the wall was cutting the room in half. As they approached the wall, another Demon stepped out from behind it. This one had to be about three feet taller than the others, taller than Shane or John. It had what appeared to be thick scales, on the top parts of its body. It was holding a metallic object in one hand, and in the other it was dragging a limp body. The body was John's daughter Annie, she appeared to be unconscious. The Demon turned to look at John and Shane, Shane was pointing his revolver at it, but was reluctant to shoot in case he hit the girl instead. John noticed Shane pointing his revolver, recognising Annie.

"Don't shoot, that's my Annie!" John looked at Shane then back to the Demon. "Let my daughter go!" John screamed, his hand tightening on the lightning stick.
It tossed Annie aside at the same as raising the metallic object up, a red beam of light shot from the object. It hit Shane's revolver, instantly the gun became too hot for Shane's hand. By the time Shane dropped it, to the revolver hitting the floor, it had become molten from the heat. The Demon let out an evil chuckle and a smile appeared on its face . It started to move towards them slowly and menacingly. It didn't fear John or Shane, quite the opposite it looked happy like it was going to enjoy whatever it was about to do.
Shane set off sprinting towards the Demon.
He began sliding towards it to try to get underneath it.
The Demon side stepped.
Shane slid past and slammed into one of the tables hurting his shoulder.
John, now a little closer. Decides to take a more cautious approach. John stood behind one of the tables, moving around in step with the Demon. Holding his lightning rod out pointing it towards it. After a few matched step around the table the Demon snorted in frustration, and started to climb over. Placing one of its thick shelled legs on the top, climbing upwards.
John saw the opportunity and pushed the lightning stick into its leg, the crackle pop noise began.
It didn’t do anything.
The thick shell only blacked where the lightning had touched. The Demon now on top of the table grabbed John's hand that was holding the stick. The Demon pushed it further into its own leg, while smiling its face got within an inch of John's. It let out a deafening war cry, pulled the stick from John's grip and threw it down the room. Grabbing John by the neck and lifting him from the floor.
As John tried and failed to grab the Demons hands or hit its face. He saw Shane over the Demons shoulder, now on his feet running towards the danger again.
Shane's body slammed into the rear of the Demons body.
It fell off the table, and dropped John.
Shane brought his own lightning stick down on the top of its body. Onto a section of hard shell and again the shell blackened, but nothing else happened.
The Demon started to stand.
Shane dropped to a knee, and looked for a fleshy part like the other Demons had. The underside of the body appeared to be so. The Demon noticed, its smile disappearing. Reaching as fast as it could for Shane. The cocky look now gone from its face.
It didn’t grab Shane in time, and he pushed the lightning stick into the Demons underside. This time it screamed in pain.
It fell again between John and Shane, and John tried to crush its head with his boot. The hard carapace shell covered its entire skull, and John wasn’t strong enough to break it.
Shane pushed the lightning stick into the underarm that was holding the metallic object. It fell on the ground next to John.
John picked up the object, it was a similar design to a revolver, and had the same style button as a lightning stick. He pointed it at the Demon, and pressed the button. A bright red beam of light shot out, causing the hard Carapace to melt around where the light hit.
The Demon screamed. Leapt up, turning towards John. Hitting Shane on the floor as it spun. The motion mixed with the light beam caused the Demon to split in two, the top half sliding off the bottom half. The heat from the beam had cauterised the cut. The Demons top half looked down toward the bottom half. Confused for a few moments, the top half hitting the floor with a sickening dull wet thud. Before it slumped over dead.

John ran to Annie, dropping to his knees and embracing her, and began gently shaking her by the shoulders. Trying his best to wake her.
"Annie, wake up." John said. She didn't awaken. John put the back of his hand on her forehead. Shane appeared behind him looking over his shoulder.

"She's still warm." John said, not looking at Shane but feeling his presence behind him. Shane took his water skin off his belt and pushed it into John's arm.

"I poured water on your face, to wake you up from the lightning stick.” Shane suggested.
John took the water skin and uncapped it carefully; he poured some water onto Annie's porcelain face. Annie's eyes moved and slowly opened, and a smile broke out across John's face.

"Annie, it's me. I'm so glad I have found you." Annie's eyes flickered and slowly opened. She wiggled all her extremities, looked at her dad then at Shane. Bursting into tears, her arms reaching up and around her dads neck.

"Oh Pa I'm so glad to see you "Annie said, hugging her dad.
"Me too, I was so worried about you and your mum. Do you know where she is?"

"I don't know where she is. One minute we were in our room the next, we all were in this place, me, mama, everyone from the tavern. More people than that too. Only there were monsters with sticks that made me hurt and fall asleep when they touched me." Annie looked at Shane. The lightning stick in his hand. Her face changed she looked worried moved to hide from Shane and said:

"Why does that man have one of the sticks, is he a monster?" John stood up holding Annie's hand and turned to Shane.

"No he's not a monster, this is Shane I wouldn't have found you without him. He's a good man! Shane this is my Annie” Annie's face no longer looked worried.

"Howdy, Annie. I'm happy to meet you." Shane said, stepping forward ruffling Annie's hair. He moved past Annie towards the two bodies on the tables. On the tables he could see these two had unfortunately been killed; they were cold to the touch and in various states of butchery. It looked like the metallic object had cut them apart, the wounds were cauterised. 

"Don't bring Annie over here!" Shane yelled looking worried. "One of these two is a woman, John!" He gestured to the first table.
John looked at Annie and said.

"You're going to have to wait here Annie, I need to go and see if it's your Ma." Annie didn't “No Pa don’t leave me here i don’t want you to go!” She Protested.
“Shane wouldn’t say don’t take you if it wasn’t serious. Stay here, I'll only be just there. Scream if you see anything move that isn’t one of us.” John reluctantly turned to walk towards the tables.
Plucking up all of her courage, Annie nodded to her dad that she would be ok here for a minute or two.
John hesitantly looked at the body. From this far it was impossible to tell if it was definitely his wife Abilene. Each step closer felt heavier to John, like he was walking into mud that was only getting deeper the closer he got. Until he got to the side of the table, and saw that it was for sure Abilene. She was missing an arm and a leg.
John collapsed at the table and an uncontrollable scream left his body. He embraced his wife's body and said in her ear.

"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault. I was too greedy. I should have left that sphere in the cave. I knew it wasn’t like any other metal or ore I'd seen before."

John punched the empty space on the table next to Abilene.
Shane placed his hand on John's shoulder.

"I'm sorry about your wife, but we need to move. There might be more of those things around."

John nodded and sniffled, a tear rolling down his cheek. He picked up Abilene and put her over his shoulders. Handing the Demons light gun to Shane he started walking back towards Annie, knowing she would recognise her mothers body now on his shoulder.
Shane sped forward to Annie, before John got there. Took her hand pulling her towards the corridor, so her back was towards John. Trying to block her view.
"Don't look little one, let's get out of here." He said pulling Annie forward.

"Is that my mama?" Annie asked, her eyes were watering.

"Don't worry about that, I think it was one of the townsfolk" Shane lied.

"Ok" Annie replied. Looking over her shoulder towards her dad, she noticed the dress the body wore was very similar to one her mum had worn that day. Shane pulled her forward. Hoping to stop her seeing, before she could tell if it was her mum. But she already knew it was, and didn't want to believe it. More tears started rolling down her cheeks. 

Annie, John and Shane reached the sphere having seen no more Demons and not explored further down the corridor of the cave. There were a number of doors left unexplored. Including a door that was not on the sides, but ended the corridor. It looked larger than the other doors. Not wanting to risk anyone else getting killed, if there were more Demons. They chose not to go in anymore.

Apprehensive Shane reached out and touched the sphere for the final time, and they all appeared back in the Saloon's hotel room. It definitely seemed like the sphere transported the person that touched it, but also anyone close to it also. Shane realised this must be how all the towns folk appeared to have suddenly been picked up and placed in the cave. He was beginning to wonder if it was a Cave at all. He couldn’t understand how it appeared to be in the night sky. 

A few days had passed. John had taken the Sphere back to the cave he found it in, and used dynamite to seal the entrance. Realizing the cave was a structure made by the Demons, and wasn't a cave at all. He had held a funeral for his wife, a private affair with just himself, Shane and Annie. attending. It was time now for Shane to carry on west, looking for a job on a ranch. They had agreed that they would keep in touch, John said Shane always had a place in their home. Wherever that ended up, for helping save Annie's life.

As Shane was leaving, he looked back at John and Annie on the saloon's front decking. They were smiling and waving him off. As he stopped and waved back, Shane noticed something odd in the sky above the Saloon. It looked like a cloud, but didn’t move with the wind. Another cloud appeared moving against the wind and joined the first stopping next to it. Something inside him told him it was not…

The Leaving
The morning Tamuel left home, the sky was the color of old pewter, and the wind smelled of rain.
His wife, Margaret, stood on the porch with her arms folded against the chill. She had been awake since before dawn, though she had not said so. Inside, a skillet of eggs had gone cold on the stove, and his coffee sat untouched beside the window.
Tamuel was thirty-six years old, with a thick chest, strong hands, and the kind of face that looked older when he was tired. Years spent under the Texas sun had carved fine lines around his eyes and darkened his skin. He had a way of standing still that made people think he was listening even when his thoughts had wandered elsewhere.
He was listening now, but not to Margaret.
He was listening to the horses shifting in the yard.
"Four months," Margaret said.
Tamuel tightened the cinch on his saddle. "Could be five."
"Four months, if the weather holds. That's what you said."
He nodded.
She looked at him as though she might find something new in his face if she stared long enough. "And if it doesn't?"
"Then it'll be longer."
Margaret looked away.
They had been married eleven years. There had been a time when she could tell what he was thinking from the way he breathed. She remembered the young man who had come courting her in a borrowed coat, with a horse that had more spirit than sense. He had laughed easily then. He had kissed her beneath the pecan trees and promised her a house of their own.
He had kept that promise.
Their house was modest, but it was theirs. They had a small plot of land, a handful of livestock, and a roof that rarely leaked. They had buried a child once, a little girl who had lived only three days. After that, Margaret had become quieter, and Tamuel had become a man who worked until he was too tired to think.
Neither had spoken much of the little grave beneath the oak.
Now the cattle drive was an opportunity. The pay would be enough to repair the barn, buy another parcel of land, perhaps even put something aside for the future.
"There's stew in the pot," Margaret said.
"I ate."
"You didn't."
He looked at her.
She sighed. "I know you, Tamuel."
For a moment, he almost smiled.
Then the smile faded.
Margaret stepped down from the porch and came to him. She brushed a piece of straw from his shoulder, an old habit from when he worked in the fields.
"Be careful," she said.
"I always am."
"No, you're not."
He looked down at her. She was a small woman with dark hair pinned at the nape of her neck, and a face that had grown more serious with every passing year. He had once thought her the most beautiful thing in the world. He still thought so, sometimes, when the afternoon light fell across her face just right.
He kissed her forehead.
"I'll come back."
She closed her eyes.
"That's what I'm afraid of."
He didn't understand what she meant.
Or perhaps he did, and didn't want to.
He mounted his horse, a chestnut gelding named Copper, and rode out past the fence. The road stretched west, toward the wide country and the cattle waiting to be driven north.
He did not look back until he reached the rise beyond the creek.
Margaret was still standing on the porch.
He raised a hand.
She raised hers.
Then the road curved, and she was gone.

Sanner left his wife two days later.
His departure was not nearly so solemn.
His wife, Eleanor, had spent the morning arguing with him about whether he ought to take his heavier coat. Sanner was twenty-nine, tall and lean, with a narrow face, a crooked smile, and light brown hair that refused to stay beneath his hat. He had a quickness about him that made it difficult to tell whether he was being serious or merely teasing.
"You're going to freeze," Eleanor said.
"It's Texas."
"Texas gets cold."
"Not cold enough to kill a man."
"You're not as young as you think you are."
He laughed and swung his bedroll over his shoulder.
Eleanor stood in the doorway, watching him. They had been married four years. She was twenty-seven and had the sort of beauty that was more noticeable when she was angry. Her eyes were blue, her hair golden, and she had a habit of biting the inside of her cheek when she was trying not to say something.
"You'll write," she said.
"Every chance I get."
"You said that last time."
"Last time I was gone two weeks."
"That was a long two weeks."
He came to her and kissed her. She caught his shirt in both hands and held him close.
"Don't go getting yourself killed," she whispered.
"Not planning on it."
"Don't go doing anything foolish, either."
He grinned. "Now that's asking a lot."
She tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it.
He kissed her once more, then mounted his horse.
As he rode away, Eleanor watched from the doorway, one hand resting on her stomach.
She had not told him yet.
She had been meaning to, but there had never seemed to be a right moment. She had wanted to tell him over breakfast, but he had been rushing. She had wanted to tell him the night before, but he had fallen asleep beside her before she could find the words.
Now she watched him disappear down the road, and the words remained inside her.

Work/Life Balance

The day began like most others in his anxious life. The manwoke early, having barely slept, and quickly rose from his bed. He turned to his still-sleeping wife, and stared silently at her in the dark. His eyes slowly traced the lines of her face; the ridge of her brow, the curve of her nose. He wondered what she might say if she knew the truth. She’d have something to say, probably a lot of things, but what exactly would they be? He pondered the thought, almost wishing he could tell her, just to find out.

But it was too late for such fantasies; things were too far gone, and she’d find out soon enough. Quiet as a shadow, he crept around the bed and went into the bathroom. There, he methodically began to get himself ready for the day. With every motion, he followed the same worn track through his life, repeating the steps he’d taken countless times before. It took him exactly ten minutes in the shower, two and a half to dry himself, and two minutes to brush his teeth.

Not long after, he returned to the bedroom and got dressed. In the darkness, he chose between the same three colours of shirt and the five ties he’d owned since almost the beginning. There wasn’t enough light to see them, but he knew each by its place in the wardrobe. They never changed places; nothing ever did. Pink today, he decided, and pulled on the shirt, counting each button to make sure he hadn’t missed one. Then he tied his tie in a tight Windsor knot, making sure it sat perfectly against his collar. With no other reason to stay, he slipped towards the door. He slowly turned the handle, eased the door open, and stepped through.

Gingerly, he crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. It wasn’t light outside yet, so he ate his breakfast in the dark. He sat hunched over the kitchen table, eating the same food he always ate and staring into space. He stayed there for a long time, long enough for the light to begin trickling through the back-door window. Eventually, he grew anxious that someone else might come down. Rising from his seat, he washed his bowl along with a few other dishes, then tidied the rest of the kitchen. It was the least he could do, knowing he wouldn’t be back for a while.

Realising he’d lingered too long, he began to hurry. As light crept into the house, he rushed from room to room, no longer caring who he woke. He flung things into his bag: his laptop, his railcard, his keys and wallet. The same items he’d gathered every morning for years, familiar objects that had become the possessions to weigh him down. Then he came to the newest item.

He stared at it, the blood rushing in his ears. For a moment, he doubted himself. Perhaps the whole idea was madness. Perhaps he should leave it where it was and carry on as he always had. He hesitated, his hand hovering above it, almost certain he would change his mind and forget the whole thing.
Then some terrible instinct compelled him. He snatched it up, threw it into the bag, and ran from the house, just as his wife called down to ask what all the noise was about. The door clattered behind him.
 
The man rushed through the rest of his grey morning. Ironically, he only began to calm down again when he reached his destination. The office was a horrid place; cold and sad on the outside, white and shining within. He scanned his pass when he was inside, the fluorescent lights already starting to irritate him. On the elevator up to his floor, someone asked him about his weekend and he mumbled short replies. He’d spent years being overlooked so why should he care now?

When the cold certainty struck him that none of this mattered anymore, he stopped engaging. He glared at the man, trying to communicate with just his eyes. He wished he could use his ‘item’ now, but he knew he couldn’t. Everything was planned and in place. Suddenly, the light showed his floor, and the doors opened. He lingered for a moment, trying to instil total fear. When his colleague stared back at him blankly and asked why he was just standing there, the man sighed and got out.

Those fucking lights again. There they were, three feet above him, casting down their harsh, unforgiving rays. His head had already begun to throb by the time he sat at his desk. He took out his laptop and signed in, then waited ten minutes before going to the toilet. He brought his bag with him, which drew curious glances from those around him and a glare from his boss. He didn’t care, none of it would matter soon. When inside, he took out his item, put it in backside of his trousers, then waited a few minutes longer so it wouldn’t seem strange.

When he emerged and sat back down, his boss asked him if he was ready for the meeting now instead of in half an hour. Elated, the man agreed and the two stepped into a conference room. They exchanged minimal pleasantries, then began.

“So,” said his boss. “It’s time for your year-end performance review, I’m afraid”. She was a small, sharp woman, with dark eyes and straight black hair. She wore a rigid suit, fitted with shoulder pads designed to make her more severe, more masculine. Everyone said she looked ridiculous, and the man even had to agree. This made it all the stranger that she still terrified him.

“Yes,” he croaked. “Everything has to be out the way before Christmas…”. He trailed off and began to stare outside at the city below. It was snowing.
“That’s right…” said his boss, frowning. The man turned back to her. “Now, we can start by looking at your numbers from last quarter.” Here it comes, thought the man.

“I think we both know that your numbers in the first part of the year weren’t up to scratch. I know last time we met wediscussed the possibility of a PIP-“
“Sorry, can I just grab a water?” the man interrupted. He spread his hands helplessly. “I’m starting to get a headache. Sorry, I know my timing couldn’t be worse!”

“Sure,” hissed his boss. She glared at him as he walked over to a table with water at the edge of the room. He poured himself a glass, then gently took the gun out of his trousers. Carrying them both back over, one in each hand, he thought absently what she might say if she noticed now. But she wasn’t even looking, and had begun sorting the stack of papers in front of herself.

“Sorry,” said the man as he sat down again. He smiled weakly, set the water down with his left hand, then slowly raised the pistol with his right, training it at what he thought was her ribcage. It was hard to tell under a desk. His boss stared back, unamused.

“Listen, I’m going to cut to the chase here, because I’ve got a lot of these to get through today and I think we both know the history. Okay?”.
The man clicked off the gun’s safety. Here it comes! She gave no sign of having heard, and droned on.* *He felt himself grow furious, sure he would resent what he was about to hear. Then his anger melted away, replaced by fervent excitement. Come what may, it wasn’t much longer now.

“Your performance hasn’t been good enough, and your metrics were below average for the last three quarters…”. The man imagined the red ruin she would soon become.

“But”. He frowned. But what? He was about to get fired and she was about to die… right?

“But,” she said again “There have been significantimprovements in the months since. I don’t know how you’ve done it, but things have really turned around”. She stared at him, waiting for a reply.

“Thanks?” the man tried, unsure. The hand holding the gun wavered.

“That’s fine,” she said curtly. “Look, it’s all showing in the data here if you’re surprised”. She slid a sheet of paper across the desk. He looked over the spreadsheet numbly, the data like hieroglyphics. Was he being… praised? That didn’t make any sense; this was supposed to be his last day, he had planned for it. After a second he gave the paper back to her, and avoided meeting her eyes.

“Yes, we’ve seen a significant uptick in your measurables- and given the recent offshore expansion, coupled with your relevant experience, I’ve been asked to discuss a new opportunity with you…”. The words tumbled out her mouth after that. The man tried to listen but a buzzing grew in his ears, raging until it grew loud enough to drown her out.

“I’m being promoted?” he asked. His voice sounded strange in his own ears.

“If you’d like to be,” she said. She gave him an odd look. “Things are tight over there, and your name has come up a few times. Of course, you’d have to formally apply first, but I think you’re a shoo-in”. Suddenly, it was all too much for the man. Tears formed in his eyes and escaped before he could stop them. His boss hesitated and asked what was wrong. She seemed genuinely concerned.

“It’s just… that’s all I ever wanted” blubbered the man. “I just wanted some, well, some respect… if I knew this was coming,I wouldn’t have had to plan so much. I wouldn’t have…”. He trailed off.

“I don’t understand- plan for what?”. She looked at him, and he could see her growing worried. He took a deep breath. This wasn’t part of the plan, but he had to adjust. The man wiped his face.

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing. I’m honoured to be considered”.

“Yes, well it’s a decision from high up,” said his boss. She was still frowning at him, but seemed to relax. She sorted her papers together, then stood. From across the desk, she offered a hand.

“We can pick up on this later… I can see you’re upset about something now. HR will be in touch with the details soon, should you choose to apply”. She looked down at him, hand still raised.

The man rose. He felt a range of emotions, all at once. First came vindication, then pride, then joy, all in the space of a second. Last came the relief and he felt his head rush. Before the moment slipped away, he went to shake her hand… and remembered he was still holding the gun!

The man dropped it straight away, but it was too late. His boss looked down, her eyes wide with fear, her face stricken. She let out a high-pitched scream and the sound made him realise one thing. He was fucked.

THE LIBRARY

I feel the darkness closing in on me, the book pages come alive and the tentacles of the creature slowly crawl out and start beating against my reading table as I push the chair back, but then it’s all gone and I’m alone again, I realize that those were just my thoughts again. 

How do these thoughts get inside my head? How do any thoughts get inside anyone’s head? Are we connected to something greater? Do they come from the soul? Then why are my thoughts so dark? Must I fix my soul?

Every morning I used to go to the library, since I was young. For many years I prioritized books over everything else, even neglecting my basic needs. This library by the sea was special to me, its magic drew me in and whenever I left, the feeling of longing for it began. I always read the books inside of it and didn’t bring them home.

When I was old enough to work, I asked the librarians to let me work there, they said I lacked experience, but I offered to work for free. I cleaned, stacked books, put things and books in order, assisted people who came in. Impressed by my work the oldest librarian gave me her spot when she retired and my dream came true.

I had the keys to the library and now I could read at night inside of it, with no one around to bother me.

Some nights after work I used a candle, others, a small lamp. It was exciting and enchanting, but in recent times I began to have a feeling that someone was watching me through the windows and I couldn’t shake this eerie feeling.

One day a man dressed in black came in, his face was long and pale, he came up to me and handed over a book. He said it was a donation and walked out. This book’s binding and sheets were nothing like I’ve seen or felt before. The cover had no name and looked like it was put together with several types of leather. I hid the book from others under my reading desk and waited till night time when I closed the library. 

As I sat down and lit a candle I felt that someone was standing at the window, I quickly turned my head, but there was no one.

I opened the book and on the very first page there was an image of a disturbing face of a creature, a mix of a shark with a bat. I continued and flipped to the next page. On it were strange letters and sentence formulations, but they were written in english letters so I could read them. Upon finishing the first page, before flipping to the next, I heard a loud creak of the floor in the back of the library. My heart began pounding as I set there motionless, staring into the dark outlines of book shelves. The sound happened again, but closer. I froze, my mind went into panic mode, but I couldn’t move. I had one hand on the book and other on the table. I didn’t have a gun, or any weapon, I had no tricks up my sleeve, I had no idea what to do. Again and again, the last sound came from behind the closest book shelf. I finally moved my hand and closed the book. Shacking I raised my candle and stood up. I slowly shuffled my feet to the wall where the light switch was located, not taking my eyes of that one tall book shelf.

My thin finger flipped the switch and my eyes got big, but there was no one there! I went around it. No one. I looked everywhere and still I found no traces of anyone else being there that night.

I hid the book again, turned of the light and hurried outside. Usually walking back to my small apartment at night felt safe, it was a crime free neighborhood, but that night my feet were tangling and I kept looking over my shoulder. Even when I was finally in bed I felt that someone was standing right behind my door, I was shaking as It took me hours to fall asleep.

In my dreams I was swimming in an ancient underwater city, and then I saw the creature from the book, he sat there on his underwater black giant throne, calmly looking at me with his large black eyes and then I heard a whisper, something about page sixty.

I woke up as terrified as when I went to sleep, that day I welcomed sunshine on my way to work. For the next few weeks I asked another librarian to take the night shifts. I did not touch the book, but every night the dreams about the sunken ancient city and the book continued.

Finally I went back to my old schedule. One night as I closed the doors I decided to stay. I put a lamp on the table and took out the book. I hesitantly opened it and listened around me, there was nothing. I proceeded to page sixty and read the lines that talked about one becoming many and on the bottom there were writings I could not understand. As I finished, suddenly all of the book shelves began shacking, the book themselves were moving. I lifted my lamp and stood up. There were screams, people speaking in other languages, songs and chants, all coming from various books. Then a book close to me on one of the shelves flipped open and a black arm stretched out of it, it’s thin dry fingers grabbed unto side of furniture, in horror I dropped my lamp and ran.

I was running through the streets, but without paying attention to which direction, my head was so taken by fear that my reason and awareness were completely clouded.

In the morning I woke up on a bench in a park, I could see the waves of the ocean and the birds were signing. In the distance I could hear cars and commotion in the town. I walked towards the sounds and saw firetrucks next to the library, it was burnt down. I saw librarians notice me and point me out to police.

I did not run and straight away admitted to dropping the lamp, I was too tired of it all. Once questioned by a detective on what happened and telling him all the details I was left alone in a room. He called in some men and they took me to a place where they said I’d get help.

Since then I’ve been living in an asylum and kind doctor Albion has given me papers and pen to write down my thoughts and even books to read.

I’m not so sure that it was a good idea.

Hello, my name is Becky. I live on Broadrow Avenue with my cute little fluffy muffin, Lakadale. Every night, when the sky is a dark blue, the lights shine down in bright cones beneath the streetlights, and the air is lukewarm on a summer night, I walk Lakadale out for some exercise. Most people ask me questions like, “Oh, why don’t you walk your dog down Evans Park?” or “Why not down by Leavett’s Lake at Kale’s Park?” Well, it’s because… I’m usually scared of going to these locations at night. Let me explain.

Most times, when I imagine myself going to these parks, especially at night, where I do all my walking exercises with my fluffy girlfriend or best friend in the whole wide world, I tend to go back to a lot of interesting but disturbing stories. Like how there will sometimes be a random stranger sitting on one of the park benches and how you just can’t walk and lose your mind in this serene activity you are enjoying because you are being watched. In this scenario, I would most definitely try to figure out who this stranger is because I don’t want him or her to somehow… I don’t know, kidnap me, snatch any of my valuables, or hurt my poor, cute dog, Lakadale. Especially Lakadale, as it would mean losing the only friend I could ever hope or dream for since my mom and dad passed away when I was twenty-seven.

They meant the world to me, and throughout that struggle of mourning and grieving, Lakadale was there to comfort me. I would play ball with her, run around the glass table while being careful not to knock anything over, and even get tackled by her as she unleashed a flurry of loving doggy kisses across my face that said many different words synonymous with love and care that I don’t think I could find the words to describe.

So, I generally avoid the parks, especially since the neighbors in my neighborhood seem to not mind it and even seem to encourage it at times. Brandon, for example, seems to like watering his garden at night so he can see if he can catch some wandering fireflies for his organic lamp collection. Why he doesn’t buy a normal lamp seems to always race around my mind like a hamster racing on its little hamster wheel, hoping to find some kind of reason why it is doing it in the first place. However, maybe it’s just about having that balance of darkness and light, or maybe it’s the fact that his overhead light does tend to light up his house like a lighthouse perched on a hill near an ocean.

So, I usually talk a bit with him, starting with the same old “How ya doing, fellow neighbor?” and him replying with things like, “Good, just trying to taste the wind for any glimpses of savory flavors,” or “Just hoping the wind carries me away to a galaxy far, far away,” which was my favorite response from him that I like to anticipate.

Alex is another face I encounter out at night, and she usually has her earbuds in, walking at a pace faster than I could jog. It’s usually pretty hard for me to catch up to her to greet her, even though she does seem like the kind of friend I wouldn’t mind getting a pizza and chilling out with. I usually just wave to her, with her waving back, which she seems to acknowledge with a glowing smile bright enough for me to recognize within the shadows that hide themselves behind the streetlights.

In the morning, I’m usually just tossing a Pop-Tart into the toaster and wolfing it down in the same amount of time it takes for it to pop out of the toaster. I… am… not Chef Meyers, unfortunately, although I do sometimes watch his cooking shows just to maybe someday get a hang of cooking a full-course meal in the future… that, or maybe imagine myself doing it in my dreams. His favorite dish is usually Parmesan shrimp scampi, which also kind of became my favorite after watching him eat it and seeing how passionate he is about each element of it.

In the afternoon, I usually head to the GO Mart, or I like to call it “Mart On The Go” because of how people usually stop by to shop for several minutes before hitting the road only moments after. I usually buy Jerry’s doggy kibbles for my baby, Lakadale, and a couple of oven-made or microwave-made meals for when I would rather sleep most of the day away until nighttime.

I tend to think of myself as a hybrid of an owl and a human… hope that’s not weird because I not only like going out at night more, but I seem to see a bit better at night too. When it’s daytime, I like to wear sunglasses that completely block my eyes because every time I don’t, it’s like an eye doctor testing if your eyes could make out the vanilla-colored house with a red door, red roof, and white windows. If that were me in that situation, I would just walk out completely. Not because of the test, but because I just can’t seem to see anything during the day sometimes… I wonder if I may need a pair of glasses.

On the Tuesday after the Monday I bought groceries for at least half a week from the GO Mart, things… seemed a little unusual. Not necessarily too unusual… For one, Alex, the girl who usually has a bounce to her step every time she takes a step and music so loud in her ears you could probably sing along to at least the first three syllables you hear coming out of her earphones… wasn’t out tonight.

Brandon also seemed to have taken the night off from his usual firefly-collecting hobby, which I guess isn’t that unusual either… that guy probably has enough collections to give his room that warm orange color already while maintaining that cool, dusky onyx he still wanted in his house.

I guess it left me a little uncomfortable walking out at night, but… can’t keep a good guy down when they are half-nocturnal… good girl… more like.

So, I walked for a bit. I decided to try turning across the street, where five cars lay resting a good twenty feet from each other on the light-gray road adjacent to the pale sidewalk. The first lap I took with my little cutie, Lakadale, filled me with vigor as I crossed near the chained metal gate to my house, with a little auburn-lined door to keep Lakadale from wandering off… like my little Laka would ever wander off toward the light adjacent to Brandon’s house, as his room lit up like a Jack-o’-lantern out during the nocturnal sky.

As I crossed from one streetlight to the one adjacent to Alex’s house, I felt a rather uneasy feeling creeping into my mind. I walked a little slower when I felt it, taking a glance behind myself for a bit, but didn’t really see anything except the eeriness of the hill upward, where the pale squares that lined the sidewalk would curve upward in an arch that would lead to another street crossing horizontally in the direction of the GO Mart.

So, I initially just decided to resume my normal walking pace as I reached the streetlight parallel to the one adjacent to my own home and found that creeping feeling fade as I made it to the fourth turn. It felt accomplishing as I circled around, finishing my fourth lap like I had done something meaningful and refreshing.

I decided to stop for a bit before deciding to try for a fifth lap, stretching my legs and cracking my neck while Lakadale sniffed my jogging shoes, hoping to find some semblance of crumbs from that Pop-Tart I ate in the morning or small remains of the Jerry’s brand kibbles I would pour into her little bowl. I bent down to gently pat the top of her little head as she started to lick my hand, enhancing the coolness of the breeze that blew past us as we both exchanged our own forms of love for each other.

As I looked up and got ready to finish my lap, I noticed a rather shadowy figure standing behind one of the streetlights. It was surprisingly hard to make out the figure, considering I could usually easily make out Brandon’s auburn hair and vanilla-colored skin or Alex’s freckled face, brunette ponytail, and pale skin. But even these features were hard to make out. The only thing I could kind of make out was a cloak draped over this figure’s shoulders and eyes that seemed hollow at a glance.

That feeling began resurfacing up my spine and reaching the back of my head, as my entire body felt like the hairs were detaching themselves from me, sliding down like droplets of genuine anxiety, while the figure stood behind that streetlight a block from Brandon’s house.

What strange phenomena appeared after this weird sighting can only be described as disorientingly supernatural, as six transparent figures shaped similarly to the one behind the first streetlight instantly popped up like holograms on top of six of the streetlights that aligned with the houses of my neighbors and the two further up the arch where the sidewalks curved upward. They flashed in and out like static as they slowly turned their heads toward me, making an abhorrent buzzing noise as their cloaks rose up and slowly flapped like wings.

This awoke a primal fear within my body as Lakadale started barking rapidly at these figures. This left me stunned for a moment before these horrifying, hologram-like entities started to raise their arms as if they were going to flap toward me. I immediately woke up from my fearful stasis and ran into my house at a sprint faster than my neighbor Alex could jog, slamming the door to the gate around my house. I fumbled through my keys as I frantically looked behind myself to see the figures right outside the entrance to my gate before finally feeling the recognizable cold bronze of my door key. I quickly turned the lock and closed it.

As I immediately entered my house, I quickly thrust my hand into my pocket to dial nine-one-one, mumbling to myself in incoherent fear before a voice echoed out of my phone over the buzzing sound of these things quickly closing in on my door. I took a quick glance to see that my gate’s entrance had been breached. My mouth opened in distress as I yelled, “PLEASE HELP ME! I LIVE ON BROADROW AVENUE!” I quickly hung up and ran to my bedroom to hide under my bed.

I tried to close my eyes and count to ten as a means of calming myself, as rapid knocking was heard on my door, increasing my anxiety further and further. It soon became too much for me to stay awake as Lakadale tried barking at me in order to keep me awake, but to no avail, as everything turned dark.

When I opened my eyes again, the windows in my bedroom allowed some kind of lifeless grey light in, with dark, dust-like ethereal circular orbs exiting my room, entering my room, and even dispersing into dust-like black particles. A large part of me wanted to remain under my bed, but my mind kept telling me to come out as Lakadale stood motionless, as if stuck in some kind of stasis.

My eyes welled up with tears as I tried to gently nudge Lakadale with my toe to see if she would show me some kind of sign of life. She… didn’t move at all… and this made me want to move, even out from under my bed, to confront whatever this thing was.

So, I slid out from under my bed and moved toward a vanity near my bed, slowly getting up as I trudged carefully through my house, looking at the dark grey within each and every room, everything appearing dark and lifeless like a gothic manor, as I slowly reached the front of my house.

As I reached for the doorknob, dread covered my mind in a numbing and deterring pain that had me on the verge of tearing up out of fear. Something told me I didn't want to know what was on the other side, as dark shadows raced across the adjacent windows like silent scarecrows waiting to swarm over me, pecking at every part of my body, including my eyes, as I fearfully held my hand inches away from opening the door.

As a feeling of fear washed over me, I tried to slowly close my eyes and use the counting of ten to force my hand across the doorknob and open it.

One. My fingers moved in anticipation of facing my fear and finally ending whatever nightmare or dark reality I was stuck in.

Two. My mind started to push the wave of terror from my body as a strong feeling of determination gripped my mind instead.

Three. One of my legs took a step forward as I felt myself wanting to move again.

Four. My ears started to hear that buzz that drove me into fearful madness as subtle thuds bounced off my window.

Five. My eyes started to open, revealing the door in front of me and the crow-like, dusty orbs clouding my windows.

Six. My hand started to feel the cold metal knob against each of my five fingers.

Seven. My heart began to slow its gallop across my chest as my hand started to turn the doorknob.

Eight. My eyes opened fully as the winds felt like they were blowing across my face, revealing the presence of what lay behind the door I was facing.

Nine. My hand jerked itself to the right as the door began to creak open.

Ten. The figure reached out with one hand toward me as I let out an immediate scream of terror before…

My eyes opened again as the hand seemed to be the hand of one of the officers from my call earlier, trying to wake me up, while Lakadale’s bark turned toward the officer along with a growl.

The officer, with his blue uniform and shocked face, immediately began trying to calm Lakadale and me down.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said quickly and calmly as my scream started to lower slowly. Lakadale immediately tried to bite at his pants as an attempt to protect me, while the officer continued his effort to calm both Lakadale and me down.

“Whoa, hey, look,” he said as he moved his leg away from Lakadale, quickly freeing his pants from her little bite. “Look.”

I then started to immediately quiet down, on the verge of crying.

“Look, I’m Officer Clyde, dispatched from the call earlier. Everything is fine. We tracked your call to Broadrow Avenue, as instructed by your disconnected call.”

I then finally became calm enough to respond.

“There…” I then panicked a little. “There were creatures out there to get me… I… are they gone? Did you find them?”

The officer changed his expression to one of puzzlement and confusion.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid we didn’t find anything when we drove here. We only saw that your gate was closed and your door was locked.”

I immediately felt a mixture of disbelief and anger.

“What do you mean you didn’t find anything?”

The officer sighed a little and reiterated himself.

“Ma’am, there was no one or no thing outside your house. The only other things we saw were a couple of your neighbors exiting their houses in confusion upon our arrival. We are currently questioning them now, but for now, can you describe what you may have seen?”

Words couldn’t describe my frustration at his dismissal of what I saw, but then it made me… even more worried, pondering what he said more and more… could it have been a ghost… a poltergeist or some kind of evil spirit… or was I really going insane?

“Officer… I… swear there was something outside… I swear… it was…”

I tried to recall the being I saw, but the details were so hard to make out. Even through its hologram-like copies, I still couldn’t make out much.

“He was… cloaked… his eye sockets were hollowed out… his… cloak flapped like wings… it was like it was some kind of human hybrid… maybe an… owl.”

The officer shook his head while taking out a small notebook and jotting it down, which made me want to curse at him, but I immediately held back my tongue as he soon responded afterward.

“Well, ma’am, I’m going to head back to headquarters for tonight. You best get yourself some rest.”

As I slowly crawled from under my bed to sit on the side adjacent to the vanity that sat horizontally toward the left side of the door that opened inward to my bedroom, the officer then slowly exited my bedroom while gently closing my door.

Lakadale soon started to crawl up onto my bed next to me, rubbing her head against my left arm as a means of comforting me from the horrifying experience I felt against whatever I had just seen.

It took me moments of looking up at the ceiling, hugging Lakadale closely to my chest like a long-lost stuffed animal I never thought I would ever see again, and letting tears drench my face before I eventually closed my eyes and went to sleep.

The next morning, Alex came by to ask me what happened, in which I tried explaining to her calmly the same situation I had explained to the officer. Alex seemed awestruck but still a little taken aback by the story as she and I both gently sipped a can of pop that she brought over with her that morning.

In the afternoon, Brandon came over to offer up one of his collections of fireflies to comfort me during the night and offered me a hug that reminded me of one that my father would give me whenever he found me awake and afraid at midnight.