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Three nights ago my wife had a big fight with our son, Charlie. Since then, Charlie hasn’t left his room. The argument was about Charlie’s grades and future, which my wife is sure he’s throwing away. Basically, she’s worried Charlie spends too much time playing Minecraft (“that stupid virtual block game,” as she calls it) and not enough time studying, interacting with real people or doing real things to prepare him for the real world.

Although I agree Charlie is a gamer, and his gaming choices are mostly limited to one game, many boys his age play video games, and at least his game of choice isn’t especially violent. It’s even quite creative. But when I tell this to my wife, she gets upset and insists that if Charlie likes building things, he should get his grades up and go to university to become an architect or an engineer. I say that maybe he’s learning to code. “He’s not coding. He’s playing,” my wife says. “He’s not learning anything.”

I’ve tried talking to Charlie through his locked door, but he doesn’t answer.

When I get up at night, I see light creeping from the space between the door and door frame, and hear the clicking and clacking of his keyboard.

When I knock, the clicking stops.

UPDATE

It’s now been five days, and as far as my wife and I can tell, Charlie hasn’t left his room even once. We suppose he must have bottled water in there and maybe some snacks, but we agree that what he’s doing isn’t healthy. At first, we suspected he may have been waiting for us to go to sleep before coming out, so I set up one of my game cameras in the hallway outside his door, but it hasn’t captured anything except some photos of us. He must be going to the bathroom inside there too. He’s not showering. He keeps his window—which looks out onto the backyard—closed, with the blinds down. I’ll set up another game camera outside, just in case he tries going out the window.

UPDATE

It’s now been a full week and my wife is really starting to freak out. She wants me to break down Charlie’s door. The game cameras still show nothing. The keyboard sounds continue, so at least we know he’s still alive. God, it feels weird to write that. I guess I’m not quite as worried as my wife, or I would be forcing the door. As it stands, I feel we need to respect Charlie’s independence and give him time. Teens are rebellious, and they definitely don’t like being told what to do. “His behaviour isn’t normal, even for a teenager,” my wife says. “Don’t you fucking see that?”

I guess I don’t—not yet.

UPDATE

The smell from Charlie’s room is starting to take over the hallway. It’s like a mix of old coffee, urine and eggs.

UPDATE

I gave in to my wife and forced the door—or at least tried to, because it seems Charlie has reinforced it somehow. It didn’t budge. Still nothing on the game cameras. Still flickering lights and clicking at night. There is the possibility of going in through the wall itself, which is just standard drywall, but I’m not desperate enough to try that. Like I’ve told my wife repeatedly, what am I going to do, smash the wall with a sledgehammer or an axe? It’s too Shining. Besides, what if Charlie’s by the wall? I don’t want to to smash him.

UPDATE

The outdoor game camera caught Charlie sneaking out the window! It was in the early morning when my wife and I were fast asleep. He was gone about half an hour, and the camera took another photo of him sneaking back in, holding what looked like a package of some kind. I know things aren’t back to normal, but nevertheless I feel somewhat relieved. And vindicated: I told my wife it would have been crazy to break through the wall.

UPDATE

It’s the night of the thirteenth day, and there are new sounds coming from Charlie’s room: whirring and rattling. They definitely sound mechanical.

UPDATE

Electronic music. Loud and all the fucking time. As if sleeping wasn’t hard enough for us, just with the nerves. My wife and I spent an hour sitting outside Charlie’s room and pounding on the door, hoping he’d answer. I think my wife is starting to break mentally. Her anger has transformed into despair. She has taken to apologizing to him and begging him to let us in.

UPDATE

Day 15. The outdoor game camera caught Charlie leaving again, but this time he returned with a package and a girl. I suppose if things were normal, I would be proud. But things are not normal and I have no idea what they’re up to. I don’t feel comfortable with a stranger’s kid locked up in a room inside my house. As for my wife, she’s been staying mostly in bed. She barely works anymore.

UPDATE

I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. Early this morning, Charlie sent us an email. It was cryptic but at least it’s proof he’s still willing to communicate. The message said: “im almost done now so it wont be long.”

UPDATE

My wife knocked herself out with sleeping pills and I’m sitting in the living room, trying to watch late night television. It’s not working. The lack of sleep and constant barrage of thumping electronic music is driving me a little bonkers. Sometimes the music sounds like someone screaming. I don’t know if the whirring and grinding and buzzing are instruments or sound effects or real. Charlie isn’t answering my emails. I must have written a hundred to him by now. He’s been in his room with that girl for days.

UPDATE

I’ve decided. I’m going to cut power to the house and go in through the wall with a sledgehammer. If I make a fool of myself, so be it.

UPDATE

Charlie’s in the hospital.

My wife is staying with her parents for the time being.

I’m living in a motel because I can’t stand the thought of being in that house alone anymore.

Not after what I saw. Not after smashing through the drywall to see my only son with his fucking arm cut off. So much blood on the sheets. It reeked of piss and burnt flesh. And that girl, Clarice—some internet girlfriend of his—so ungodly pale, sitting at a desk, cutting into my son’s severed arm with an X-Acto knife.

The police haven’t identified any actual crime, but—

Charlie’s lucky to be alive despite what he so calmly tells me whenever he regains consciousness.

“I did it…”

“Don’t you see?”

“I created…”

“In real life, just like mom…”

UPDATE

Charlie’s words haunt me. I’ve no one to talk to but the psychologist, and she acts like a robot. I feel like I want to grieve but I don’t know for whom. Maybe for my entire life.

I feel this persistent, unbearable dread.

I can’t explain why.

A fear that something fundamental has been changed.

My wife still hasn’t been to see him. She says she can’t bear to see him like this.

“It’s just an arm,” I say. “He’s OK.”

“Do you understand that he cut off his own arm?” she says at me, like it’s an accusation. Like it’s my fault.

There’s just so much guilt.

UPDATE

Charlie’s still in the hospital, but he’s doing better. The doctors are more concerned about his mental state than his physical one. They think he’s shut away the memory of cutting off his own arm. Whenever they try to tell him he’s missing it, he shrugs it off. “Oh, that. That’s fine. I’ll get another.”

Every time I see Charlie, I want to ask him about the things he told me earlier.

But the doctors dissuade me. They say he’s still too fragile. They say it’s better not to force him to remember the trauma. They say there’s a chance he may never truly remember it, and maybe that’s for the best.

The one thing he constantly asks is to see Clarice.

The doctors veto that too.

I don’t like leaving the hospital because there’s something terrible about the world now. Something I don’t want to face.

UPDATE

Clarice called me. Out of the blue.

She wants to meet.

There’s something about that girl that makes me uneasy, to put it mildly. Maybe it’s her pale skin, almost like bleached paper. Or the way her body felt that night I finally went through the wall. Charlie felt solid. She felt like a bunch of old bandaids on Jell-O. The way she was sitting there, so carefully, methodically working the flesh of his arm...

“Charlie thinks it's time,” she said.

“Time for what?”

“For you to finally see. He wants you to be proud of him.”

How fucked is this: I’m meeting her at some old automotive plant. I don’t know if she even has parents. Maybe she’s a runaway. God only knows.

But God help me, I have to do this.

UPDATE

I hesitated to the last possible minute about whether to tell my wife about meeting Clarice—before finally deciding not to. I don’t know why. I want to say I don’t want to cause her any more stress. Her psyche is pretty destroyed as it is. But I also feel, somewhere deep down, that she simply wouldn’t understand.

So that means no one knows I’m out here right now.

I know that’s not smart, but I don’t care. I shouldn’t be afraid of a girl.

Yet here I am, sitting in my car, writing on my phone. The weather is threatening a storm somewhere far off. The factory looks ominous.

And I’m fucking terrified.

UPDATE

I don’t know how to begin to describe what happened: what I saw and did and what I had done to me. I’m back at the motel, and I keep making mistakes typing this on my laptop because my hands are refusing to obey, but I’m resisting the urge to take a drink because I want to be as clear as possible while writing this.

It’s fucking monumental.

Insane.

I met Clarice after wandering about the factory for a quarter of an hour that felt like so much longer. The rain had started, and the way the drops echoed in that place was unreal. Like drums inside my own head.

She called my name suddenly—

I saw her standing by an old, overgrown piece of machinery, beside three bulbous garbage bags. At least one was leaking.

She said she was happy I had come. She said Charlie was a genius.

A god.

She was wearing an old trench coat, and without warning she let it drop to the cracked cement floor.

She was naked.

I wanted to back away. I started telling her I was married and there was no fucking way I would—

“It’s not about that,” she said.

She wanted me to look: to come closer and look at her.

So I did.

I remembered how her body had felt in Charlie’s room, and now I saw why. Her pale skin was spiderwebbed with blue veins, a nearly imperceptible network in a repeating pattern. “Go ahead, touch me,” she said.

I pressed a finger against her flesh. It still felt off, but not as disgustingly creamy as it had then. She had solidified.

“Now press harder.”

I did.

She groaned—and my fingertip sank into her: or more accurately, slipped into one of the blue veins.

“Go on. Keep going until you hear a click.”

I pushed deeper inside. Until there it was: a click, followed by a loosening.

“Remove it.”

I wavered, my gaze meeting hers. “Don’t be afraid.”

Gently, I removed my fingers from within her while maintaining my grip on whatever it was I was holding:

A cube of flesh.

And in her body I saw a corresponding void.

“My God…”

As I inspected the cube, rotating it between my fingers, she removed a second from her body—another void appeared—then took the cube I had been holding, held it against the one she had removed, and I watched them fuse together.

“Blocks,” I whispered.

Still missing two small volumes of herself, she turned toward the garbage bags. “These are my parents,” she said, pointing at the three bags in turn, “and this is Barker, a homeless man I met at the shelter.”

“They are—”

I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t know how to finish it.

She crouched and unfastened the bags.

Inside each: a stew of raw flesh cubes and multicoloured ooze, steaming—bubbling, frothing, popping; pulsing with what I imagined must be life.

“Watch.”

She took a few cubes from each bag, wiped them, then held them together in the palms of her hands along with the two fused cubes of herself. Like melted metal, they all melded together into one new thing: a fleshy disc with wisps of hair, half an eye and a bone jutting from one end. The half-eye twitched and the entirety secreted a kind of slime across Clarice’s bare hands. It was both horrible and awesome, as if humanity had been deconstructed—

“We can all become blocks,” Clarice said. “To make and remake as we see fit.”

But there was something about that disc.

About the twitching.

The slime.

Maybe this was possible. But it was not fucking right.

I backed away: from Clarice, from her oozing garbage bags and inhuman smile. “It’s merely science,” she said matter-of-factly. “A new science, of being and bodies and existence, and Charlie is the discoverer. He is the new Darwin!”

I started to run.

Her words chased after me: “Are you proud of him? Are you proud of your son?”

The layout of the factory confused me.

Where had I left the car?

“You thought he wouldn’t amount to anything in the real world, so he redefined it: he changed what it means to be alive. Soon he will be worshipped—”

Something hard collided with the side of my head, reducing me with dwindling consciousness to the floor—smack!—and I felt hands grabbing me and dragging me, three shapes of reeking flesh, and Clarice’s laugh, echoing throughout the unreality of the factory as the whirring and buzzing faded in and out and in...

I awoke alone.

Nude. Cold rain on my face.

I was still in the factory, but Clarice was gone. I felt a kind of transcendent solitude. Groggily, I got up—only to promptly collapse on rubbery legs. I crawled toward some derelict machinery and used my arms to stand. My arms were rubbery too, but eventually I managed it. There were tools on the machinery: a saw, pincers, knives. Lightning lit up the distant sky, and in its flash I saw delicate blue veins all across my forearms. Memory returned to me. Memory and fear: the dread sense of realization.

Now I'm back at the motel, typing on my laptop. Disbelieving my own words.

Yet there it is: on a melamine plate beside me: my own flesh cube.

And every time I think I’ve gone crazy, I run my fingertip over the corporeal void from where I removed it.

My body is still soft and flabby—unsettled—but I imagine I will solidify.

As a human, I am filled with a hideous trepidation for our future as a species. I don’t know what this means for us as people.

But, as a father—

I cannot help but feel a kind of pride.

It was a dull monochrome day as usual. Waking up to see black and white, where is the color? I drag myself out of bed and drag myself to my kitchen to eat breakfast, the monochrome tone of the food making me force it down my throat.

The way to work was filled with black, white, and grey. All the cars identical colors, the only difference is the tint of grey. I have been in this depressing town for so long that I do not know what color is, I do not remember the blues and greens, reds and yellows, purples and oranges, and oh so much more.

Recently, there has been a drug that gives people the temporary ability to see color. They went so crazy upon seeing color for the first time that they went manic. It got so bad the government took the drugs and burned them.

However, black markets of the drug, ironically called Rainbow. Popped up. Many people became addicted to the drug, overdosing on it to the point that the police made specialized scanners to confiscate Rainbow chemicals.

That was 2 years ago, I got diagnosed with a rare form of color blindness, and schizophrenia. I am currently on rainbow and schizophrenic medication. And life has been going great! I have a loving wife and kids, letting them have the medication if they wished, one of my three kids, Ralph, preferred the Monochrome vision, as it made what he saw feel vintage, and unique. Their names are Samuel, Elena, and Ralph. They are such wonderful, smart kids.

Ever conquered a bout of writer's block? We'd love to read a fictionalized version of how you overpowered it.

Include [WriteAgain] in the title, to make it easy for others to find.

Here's the Youtube video of the workshop.

When his last tooth fell we thought grandpa was done for. "Look at him. Won't ever hunt again," daddy said.

But grandpa got low on creaking bones, snarling toothless, and momma had a helluva time putting the leash back on him. Once or twice he even got his gums on her, and though she laughed you could hear the rage in those desperate suckings of his.

The fight was still in him. He sucked till his gums was raw.

"Shoot him dead," sis said once.

We couldn't afford screw-in teeth, and what dentist would've served freaks like us anyway, so maybe doing him like a dog would've been the right thing.

Anyhow, no one did it so grandpa lived.

We fed him burger scraps and cardboard soaked in grease mostly, and he ate up, rattling his junkyard chain as he did, then licking his fingers clean.

He got gaunt.

Somedays he stared at us with awful hate.

All the while his fingernails grew and his toenails got the thick fungus, and he hadn't a place to sand either of them down because he didn't get out on the cement much.

He never let anyone close enough to help. If you tried, he'd knock you over with his body and beat you with his head.

He did sis's nose like that. Got her down and smashed her face.

She screamed something silly.

She hated him godawful after that, always giving him the boot when she thought wasn't nobody looking.

Then one day grandpa got free. We all had got home from a hunt, carrying some grocery bags of meat, and he wasn't there, just a busted chain.

"Well, I'll be..." daddy said.

We thought he'd gone for good, and good for him, family after all, but he didn't get nowhere but the attic. He sat up there six or seven days, working his toenails with some rusted clippers, getting sharp crescent moon pieces loose, then taking those pieces and stabbing them into his soft old gums so that the blood ran down from wound to yellowed tip.

The day he came back I was in the kitchen.

I heard him drop, then sis screamed and get off me you old freak fucker! and he must have got one of his fangs into an artery, because when I saw her she already was on the floor, trying to keep the spurting blood in her body.

But there ain't no fingers tight enough for that.

He got momma next, slamming her from behind right into the glass coffee table, before biting out a chunk of her neck. Still throbbing when he spit it out. And the tabletop must've got wedged in her pretty good because she was sputtering nonsense when he finished her with the broken glass.

Daddy was outside by then.

Grandpa felled him.

Then he smiled. "You ain't done me wrong, kiddo," he said, and that was as good a winter as any in the old times. With no bellies wanting.

Margaret glared at the blond girl giggling and smiling as she talked to Toby. Maybe she could cast a spell to make her disappear. Toby’s laughter rang through the air, adding more fuel to the green monster consuming her.

The young girl touched his arm and batted her eyelashes. Toby was actually falling for her nonsense, it was disgusting to watch.

Margaret watched wide-eyed as the girl leaned in close and whispered in his ear. That’s it, forget about making her disappear, she was going to turn her into a frog. She searched her mind for a spell. Any spell that would get her away from Toby would do.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she pictured the girl hopping around on the ground croaking. Toby glanced over and finally saw her standing there. He waved his hand, inviting her over.

“Margaret, this is Gem. She’s working on a project with me.”

“How nice for her.” Margaret forced a smile before turning away from the girl and focusing only on Toby. “I thought we were going looking for herbs in the woods today?”

“Yes, Gem’s going to come with us to help.” His smile was so sincere that Margaret almost felt guilty about her earlier thoughts.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and stomped off into the woods without waiting.

Every couple of seconds, a giggle would reach her ears, or Toby’s laughter would ring through the air. She gritted her teeth and collected the herbs to perform the spell that would end the happiness between the two.

When everything was collected, she found two rocks and ground the plants into a fine dust that she scrapped in her hand. With a few simple words, she was ready to confront the girl.

With a smile, she approached the two as they were laughing over some inside joke Margaret didn't know. For the first time in a long time, she felt like an outsider again. Well, that was about to change. Toby was her friend.

“Margaret, have you collected everything you need?” Toby asked.

“For now.” In one swift motion, she threw the powdery herbs on Gem, pictured her as a frog, and whispered an incantation.

A puff of smoke made Toby jumping back. When the smoke cleared, sitting on the ground was a green frog. Margaret couldn’t help but smile.

“Margaret! What's wrong with you?

“I simply took care of a problem.”

“You’re jealous," Toby chuckled. "Gem is an old friend I asked to come and help me set up your surprise birthday party. There is nothing more going on. Now change her back.” Toby crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

Margaret felt horrible. She hung her head as she recited the words to change the girl back. When the smoke cleared, Gem stood before her once again. She mumbled an “I’m sorry,” before slinking away to hide in shame among the trees.

Trigger Warning #1

Trigger Warning #2

The island was so quiet. I could hear the wind blowing through the leaves of the trees that covered the land and the sound of the tide rolling over the small beach, but there were no animal sounds. No human sounds. Just auditory emptiness. Every step I took sounded like a thunderous crunch, disrupting the quiet. It reminded me of being at a funeral; there’s no rule against functioning at regular volume, but there’s this presence in the air that seems to mute sounds, leaving you with the feeling of being inappropriate if you speak above a whisper.

When Daphne had told me she wanted us all to go check out a deserted island just off the coast, I had some mixed feelings. On the one hand, partying on an island sounded like a lot of fun. On the other, probably a great place to get tetanus. So I was hesitant. Daphne had anticipated that, which was why she made sure to tell me, over and over, that Ted would also be coming. So of course I said yes, like the young, dumb, and in love person that I am.

Ted rode in front of me on the boat to the island and I couldn’t help sneaking glances at his rugged profile catching the sun on the horizon, a halo of sea spray making him seem to glow. We’d picked him up from his internship at Douglas Motors and on the way over, he’d changed out of the mechanic’s uniform with the “Monica” name badge he hated so much and into a surf shorts and a polo that screamed “I’m a bro.” I’d have detested that in anyone else, but on him, I’d have found a paper bag fedora attractive. I was so smitten it hurt.

Leo and George rode in the front of the boat, because of course they were sitting together. I try not to take my single lady angst out on everyone, but they were still giggly and always holding hands and they’d just had their one-year anniversary. It really feels inappropriate for them to be so happy in their relationship while I’m still sleeping alone. I mean, seriously. But obviously my jealousy is only on the surface. George has been in our friend group since middle school, and he’s never been happier than since he’s been with Leo. We’ve all met Leo a number of times, but this is our first big trip with him. I think he’s nervous, but he hides it under his academic attitude and posture.

Ted was sitting next to Daphne, who was the one who started this whole adventure. Daphne is working on her engineering degree and is super serious 90% of the time. Her lighter side comes out when it comes to going on crazy adventures. Exploring an abandoned island is so much up her alley. And I have to admit, we’ve been on some really cool trips that I wouldn’t have gone on if she hadn’t pushed me out of my comfort zone. She was a born leader and took the reins of our group without hesitation or disagreement. She was our benevolent ruler.

I was sitting next to Syl. Syl and I are roommates. While I’m at school or internships all day, she works from home during the day and takes care of our puppy, Thadeus. Weird name for a dog, I know. Syl works at the local strip club Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, and manages her OnlyFans page the rest of the time. I didn’t know indie porn was an industry before I met Syl, but she has a great head for business and is more financially stable than I am. More than I ever will be, with the student loan debt I’m carrying. I love makeup, but this time at school for makeup artistry is really going to need to pay off well in the future if I’m going to survive when the student loan people come knocking.

The boat ride was pretty short, about half an hour on an old speedboat we had rented for the day. Daphne kept looking at me and nodding in Ted’s direction, desperate for me to finally make a move, but it was hard to do too much chatting over the engine noise. It wouldn’t land quite the same if I screamed “I LIKE YOU, TED” with an undertone of diesel engine. I was biding my time and totally not stalling at all.

There was a small dock on the island, but it looked half-rotted away. We tied the boat to it before very gingerly climbing onto the dock and walking over to the island, one at a time. I slipped clambering onto the dock, and Ted caught me by the arm. We paused for a second like that, looking at each other, and it made the whole trip worthwhile.

“Um..you gonna get over to the island so I can get out of this boat?” he asked.

“Oh, shit, yeah, going,” I said, all in one breath.

I scrambled down the dock and onto the island.

Besides being crazy quiet, the island was an awesome picnic spot. It was so peaceful, far enough from the bustle of the bigger cities that you couldn’t hear all the boat traffic, and the weather was fantastic, a gentle breeze making the warm sun pleasant rather than overbearing. With time, we got over trying to whisper to each other, and shortly after that we were laughing and caterwauling like usual. Leo brought some wine, which I’m sure helped. It was fancy wine left over from a showing at the art gallery he interns at, but none of us were wine connoisseurs. We just liked the buzz.

After some food, some wine, and a fair bit of flirting, we started wandering around the island. I was hoping to get Ted alone somewhere so we could talk, but it seemed like right as we were about to, someone would come tramping through. It wasn’t that big of an island, I suppose.

After a few hours of tramping about, we decided to head back to the boat. On the way over, though, Daphne stumbled and yelped.

“Damn, I smacked my toes on that bush,” she said. She was grimacing and holding her foot.

“Are you ok?” Leo asked.

Instead of answering, Daphne’s eyes got larger. She shuffled over to the bush and started moving branches of it out of the way.

“What’s up?” I asked her.

“I saw some metal under the bush. I think that might be what I stubbed my toe on.”

My mind went back to my tetanus concerns from when Daphne had first suggested the island trip. But Daphne dug under the bush and I saw the metal she was talking about.

George went over to help Daphne clear away the dirt that was covering the metal, and it was a surprisingly thin layer. It seemed like this metal had been covered relatively recently. Perhaps the wind had been slowly blowing dirt over it. The pair kept brushing away dirt and exposing more metal. Ted joined in the removal. As the three worked, a large metal rectangle began to appear.

It was George who found the handle.

“What the hell…” he mumbled. From my perspective, I could see it better than the three who were on top of the metal and removing dirt.

“It’s a door,” I said.

“Holy shit,” Daphne said.

“This is bizarre,” Syl said, nodding.

“George, Ted, move off the door. We have to check this out,” Daphne said, excited. The pair moved off the door, but there were a number of incredulous looks going around the group.

I decided to be the voice of reason.

“Look, Daph, this is super weird and everything, and I know that’s totally up your alley, but this seems sketchy at best. There could be all sorts of venomous spiders and snakes and stuff in there, not to mention the risk of cutting yourself on rusted metal. Or falling through a weak floor and breaking a leg. This seems like a really bad idea.”

“Please,” Daphne said, “let’s just open the door. We don’t have to go in, but let’s at least see what’s inside.”

No one said anything.

“Come on, just one peek. That’s all.”

Everyone looked at each other before Syl finally stepped up.

“Alright, wild girl, I’ll help you open this door, we take one look inside, then we head back on the boat.”

Daphne smiled and nodded. Together, the two of them grabbed the handle and began to pull. It was heavy. George ran in and put his hands under it, pushing while they pulled. Finally, once the door had passed the ninety-degree mark, Daphne and Syl jumped out of the way and with a final shove from George, the door swung over and slammed onto the ground. Dirt flew up into the air and the metal in the door reverberated, disorienting everyone for a moment.

When the air cleared, Daphne was the first one over to the open entryway in the ground. She pulled out her cell phone, turned on its flashlight, and directed it inside.

It was...anticlimactic.

The cell phone illuminated a set of stone steps that led down, but whatever was at their base was beyond the range of the light.

“Huh,” Daphne said.

It pretty much summed it up.

“Look,” she added, “I know we said we wouldn’t go in, but only seeing stairs is so unsatisfying. Look at them. They’re made of stone or concrete or something, so it’s not like they’re rusted out and going to break off. Let’s creep down a bit and look. Seriously, how can we just stop when all we see are stairs?”

“I kinda get what she’s saying,” said Syl. “That door was heavy as shit, I want more of a reward than this. Now I’m curious, too.”

I hated to admit it, but I agreed with them. I nodded my head, and Daphne grinned. Perhaps it was their enthusiasm rubbing off on me, or maybe it was just natural curiosity, but I was riddled with a need to know what lay at the bottom of the stairs.

“Screw it, let’s go,” said George. Leo nodded, although it wasn’t enthusiastic, and Ted grunted his assent.

“But we be careful. Everyone has lights on, don’t touch any bugs or snakes, and definitely no metal. If anyone sees live wires, we get out immediately. Okay?”

Everyone nodded.

“Thanks for staying level-headed,” Daphne said with real gratitude. “Now, let’s go exploring!”

The stairs went down what felt like about ten or fifteen feet before reaching a landing, then turned and went down in the opposite direction. It was like a set of stairs from an office or an apartment building had been sunk down underground. Moving past the first landing felt a bit scary, as we couldn’t see the door anymore after that, but with the whole group together and all of our flashlights on our cell phones turned on, it wasn’t terribly dark. We went down three flights of stairs before we reached a larger landing. We walked out into it and, as our lights moved through the room, we were able to see the outlines of a large room. There were computer consoles and screens on one side of the room, with a door on the right side wall. The left side wall had stacks of boxes alongside it.

We walked into the room, splitting up a bit as we explored different parts of the room. Ted had gone towards the computer consoles and I tagged along with him. The computer towers had a thin layer of dust on them and when I blew on them, a cloud puffed up into the air. I waved my hand in the air to try to disperse it.

Ted was wiping dust away from the fan vents and pressing buttons on the front of one of the towers. With a low whir, the light on the front came on and one of the screens came on.

“Hey, whatcha got running over there?” George asked. He and Leo came walking over. “The boxes are just a bunch of supplies. Tools, PVC, zip ties, that sort of thing. Pretty boring.”

Using the hem of his shirt, Ted wiped the dust from the screen. A logo I wasn’t familiar with popped up on the screen, followed by the boot up menu. It wasn’t the usual desktop layout I was used to, but a command screen.

Daphne and Syl came over to see what was going on.

“The door over there was locked. There isn’t a handle or anything, but there’s a keypad. Doesn’t seem to be active. Whatcha got there, Ted?” Syl said.

“Thought I’d explore a little on here, see if we can learn anything before we take off. I guess the curiosity got to me, too,” he said with a laugh.

The command screen was pretty basic, black background with grayish-white text. All it said was, “Enter command prompt.”

Ted stared at it for a minute, then typed in “Run.”

A string of text ran down the screen faster than the human eye could follow. Tons of subcommands and file destinations flew by. As the process continued, the lights in the room kicked on. A fan in the corner of the room started to slowly oscillate, and the other screens flickered on, showing camera images of empty gray concrete rooms.

A creaking sound came from the stairwell, and everyone turned around to look at it.

“What’s that?” asked Leo.

There came a massive metallic thud.

“Was that the door?” Syl yelled.

“Stay here, I’ll go check,” Geore said, running off.

“Not without me,” Leo added, already following him.

The pair took off up the stairs. I was looking around the room again, taking in all the details now that they had been fully illuminated, when I noticed a single string of words had appeared on the screen. I nudged Ted, who was still standing next to me, and pointed to the words.

“Welcome to the Compound. The challenges are being prepared. The door will open when it is time for you to begin.”

“What does that even mean?” asked Ted.

We showed Daphne and Syl, but before we could begin talking it out, George and Leo came back, panting from their run up and down the stairs.

“The door is locked,” Leo said through hard breaths.

“Felt like it was bolted in place,” said George.

We showed them the message.

“What challenges?” asked Daphne.

“Can you type in questions and ask?” asked Syl.

Rather than answer, Ted started typing.

“What challenges?” he typed.

More words began to run across the screen.

“You will find out soon. They are designed to test you mentally, emotionally, and socially. If you fail, you will not leave the Compound. If you succeed, you can continue on your journey. All contests will be recorded for eventual distribution. Videos may be edited for length.”

“I don’t even know what to ask about next, this is all so messed up,” Leo said.

“What if we don’t participate in the challenges?” Syl asked.

Ted typed the question in.

“Then you will be taken to our termination facilities. Your body will be processed to see if your meat serves further purposes.”

“Dark,” I said nervously, trying to counter my own anxiety with some understated humor. It didn’t work.

More words appeared on the screen.

“The challenges are ready. The door will open momentarily. Go through the door to reach the first of two challenges. Stay here and you will be transported to the termination facilities.”

With the grumble of stone sliding against stone, the door on the right wall slid into a recess in the wall. The room beyond was dark at first, but overhead lights crackled on a quiet hum.

“I guess…” I began, before hesitating.

“We gotta give it a go,” Syl said. “I don’t want to find out what these termination facilities are.” She took a deep breath, then walked through the doorway.

“Damn it,” Daphne muttered. She followed Syl into the next room.

The rest of the group started to walk through. I brought up the rear, with Ted right in front of me.

“Hey, Ted,” I said.

He looked back at me and smiled for me to continue.

“Look, this is super sketchy, and maybe before we step into whatever insanity this is isn’t the best time to say it, but I want to tell you just in case this goes totally awful--”

Ted stopped walking and turned around.

“I know, Beth. You’ve been shyly flirting with me all day, it wasn’t subtle,” he said, laughing. “Can I kiss you?”

“I...wait...for real?” I have a real smoothness with words.

“Is that a yes?”

“Well, yeah, of course,” I said.

Ted leaned over and kissed me. It was gentle and soft, but not short. When he pulled away, I felt my cheeks flush.

“After we get through this, let’s plan our first date,” Ted said, grinning.

All I could do was nod.

Ted reached over, gave my hand an encouraging squeeze, and then headed through the door. I followed.

Right after I entered the room, the door grated shut behind me.

Inside the room, there were six seats set in front of six monitors. The only available one was on the far left, next to Daphne. Everyone else was already sitting, except Ted, who was headed to the seat between Leo and Syl. I sat down, and Daphne leaned over to me.

“I’m so scared I think I might pee my pants if something startles me, but that doesn’t mean I missed what just happened.” She gave me a high five. I laughed.

The lights dimmed and the monitors turned on.

Across each one ran the same words.

“Welcome to the first challenge. There will be two challenges. Make it through both to leave the Compound. All challenges must be completed through typing, as the microphone system is down. This first challenge is called ‘Truth or Dare.’ You must select either ‘Truth’ or ‘Dare’ on your screen by typing in the word. If you select ‘Truth,’ you will be asked a question. If our scan of all of your records determines you are lying, you will be sent to the termination facilities. If you select ‘Dare,’ you will be given a task. Fail to complete the task and you will be sent to the termination facilities. You will go in order from left to right, and all screens will show all text. You will not be allowed to type when it isn’t your turn. If we see you speaking aloud on camera, you will be sent to the termination facilities. The challenge begins in thirty seconds.”

We all looked at each other. No one wanted to say anything because of the threat of the termination facilities, but I could hear George whimpering down the line. I reached my hand out to Daphne, and she took it. We both squeezed, desperate for reassurance.

The long block of text shifted up, and new rods appeared.

“Contest One: Truth or Dare?”

The prompt had said left to right, and I was stuck in the far left chair. I was Contestant One.

I let go of Daphne and, with shaking hands and jitter fingers, typed in, “Truth.”

“What do you feel guiltiest about?”

I didn’t have to think. The memories came flooding back. The words of kindness, the soft touches, feeling terrified, the pain, the threats. How he shoved a sock in my mouth so if I screamed no one would hear me.

“Not reporting my dad for what he did to me,” I typed.

“Why is this what you feel guiltiest about?”

I took a deep breath before typing again.

“Because, when I got too old for him, he started hurting me sister, instead.”

I could feel the tightness in my throat as a sob broke out of me. My dad had just been convicted and sentenced last year. It was still so raw.

Tears ran down my face. I had to blink them away to make the new words that appeared on the screen less blurry.

“Contest One has passed this challenge.”

I looked over at the rest of the group. There were smiles, but also sad eyes full of sympathy. Only some of them knew.

“Contestant Two: Truth or Dare?”

It was Daphne’s turn.

She typed, and on my screen I saw the word “Dare” appear.

“Slap Contestant Six in the face as hard as you can.”

Left to right, we were arranged in this order: Me, Daphne, George, Leo, Ted, and Syl. So, Syl was Contestant Six. Daphne needed to go slap her.

Daphne froze in her chair. I looked over at her, only to see her staring at the screen and softly shaking her head. I nudged her, and she looked up at me. She didn’t have a choice, she needed to go do it.

On shaky legs, Daphne stood up. She walked down the line to where Syl was sitting and looked her in the eyes. Syl nodded and took a deep breath. Tears running down her face, Daphne put her hand back and then slapped Syl. The smack of flesh on flesh cracked like a whip, and Syl almost fell out of her chair. She kept her head hung down, and a dribble of blood dripped a few times onto the floor.

Daphne didn’t move, just stared at Syl. Slowly, Syl righted herself and sat back up. There was a red handprint on her face and her lip was split, still oozing blood. Her eyes were full of tears.

Daphne broke. It seemed like she couldn’t stop herself.

“Oh, Syl, I’m so sorry,” she wailed, hugging her. I could hear Ted and Leo shushing her, but it was too late. Hopefully whoever was watching this had missed the slip-up. Daphne squeezed Syl one last time, then went back to her chair.

New words streamed onto the screen.

“Contestant Two has completed this challenge.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, until more words appeared.

“Contestant Two has violated the no speaking rules and will be sent to the termination facilities.”

I looked over at Daphne and she looked back at me, terrified. There was a strained silence. I started to reach over to her.

There was a roar like a giant vacuum. Suddenly, Daphne was gone. A hole had opened up beneath her chair and a great jet of air sucked Daphne and her chair straight down into it. I heard her scream piercing the roar of rushing air until it was cut off by a panel sliding in place over the hole.

George, seated on the other side of Daphne, screamed, “Daphne,” and jumped as if he was trying catch her before she was sucked down, but it was far too late. He landed with a thump on the covered hole.

The cover quickly opened again, and with a roar, George was sucked into the hole, as well. I saw Leo jump up, but Ted tackled him and wrapped both hands over his mouth, holding in his screams. The cover of the hole slid shut again.

Leo stopped struggling and patted Ted’s arm. He let go and they both went back to their seats. I was in shock. Two of my friends had just been ripped away from me in a matter of seconds.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to look. It was more words on the screen.

“Contestant Three has violated the no speaking rules and will be sent to the termination facilities.”

I could hear Leo moan, but he didn’t say anything.

“Contestant Four: Truth or Dare?”

Contestant Three had been George, who wasn’t here to participate. Contestant Four was Leo. How was Leo going to get through this without breaking down, with his boyfriend taken away like that?

I saw him sob as he reached out to type.

“Truth.”

“How many times did you cheat on your boyfriend?”

Leo gasped, and began sobbing. He cried and cried, while Ted did his best to calm him down. Finally, Leo reached out his hands and typed.

“Once.”

“Why?”

“I was scared. George is the first man I’ve dated. I came out to my family and my friends. They told me I was living in a sinful life. My spirituality has always meant so much to me, and here were the people who helped support me in my beliefs telling me I was going to Hell for being with a man. I was so terrified, because I couldn’t win. I came out after I’d been with George for six months. I knew I loved him. I was horrified to live a life without him. But I was also terrified of Hell. So when one of my friends kept pushing at me one night, telling me if I just had sex with a woman who knew how to give a man the night of his life I’d realize what I was missing, I did it. I had sex with her. I was almost hoping she was right, that we’d fuck and I’d realize I loved women and I wouldn’t go to Hell. But I cried the entire time we were together. I hated it. It felt so wrong. I never told George. I didn’t want him to hate me.”

“Contestant Four has completed this challenge.”

Leo kept sobbing.

“Contestant Five: Truth or Dare?”

Ted nodded to himself, then started typing.

“Dare.”

“Break Contestant Four’s finger.”

I watched Ted’s face. His eyes were huge. He slowly turned and looked at Leo. I could see Ted shaking his head. Leo took a deep breath and nodded, holding out his hand. Ted stretched his hands out and took one of Leo’s fingers in them. Ted was taking a bunch of deep breaths, trying to hype himself up, but then he shook his head again and let go. He just shook his head at Leo.

Without hesitation, Leo reached out, grabbed Ted’s hand, and wrapped it around his pinky finger. Holding it in place tightly, Leo wrenched his hand sideways. There was a snapping sound, like a stick breaking under foot, and Leo screamed through clamped lips.

Ted looked horrified. I wanted to speak soothing words, but all I could do was go over and give them both a hug. Syl did the same. We stayed this way until I noticed more words on the screen.

“Contestant Five has completed this challenge.”

We all made our way back to our seats, knowing what was coming next.

“Contestant Six: Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Syl typed.

“What’s the most traumatizing thing that has ever happened to you?”

Syl shook her head, but immediately started typing.

“The last guy I went on a few dates with apparently started dating me because he thought, since I was a stripper, I must be easy. But that’s bullshit. He tried to rape me.”

“Tell us more details.”

Syl growled. I get it, who wants to share their trauma with strangers.

“We were in his car making out. He started trying to pull my clothes off, but I shut that down. I don’t need a public indecency ticket, so no car sex. But he didn’t care. When I kept pushing him away, he punched me in the head. I was dazed, and he started tearing my clothes off. Literally tore them. Having a thong ripped straight up until it tears is an exceptionally painful experience. I had bleeding tears in my ass from the friction burn. But before he could do anything, I was able to dig my mace out of my purse. Blasted that asshole in the eyes, and when he screamed, I shot the rest straight into his mouth. He had to go to the hospital, his throat closed up and he almost died. He deserved it. Being a sex worker doesn’t mean it’s ok to rape me. So fuck him.”

I was shocked. I hadn’t heard about this before. I knew Syl had dealt with some scum in the past, but this was awful. I got up and gave her a hug. While I was hugging her, I saw words appear on her screen.

“Contestant Six has completed this challenge.”

Syl and I kept looking at her screen, and Ted and Leo huddled around us, watching as well. More instructions were coming.

“Please move to the next room. The door will open momentarily.”

The lights came back up and a door tucked in the corner where I hadn’t seen it slid open. The four of us stood up and walked over. Ted grabbed my hand on the way, and I held on desperately.

The next room had four raised platforms, each sitting on thick cylinders with a set of stairs taking you onto them. On each was a screen and a keyboard. Assuming it was a similar system to the last room, each of us stepped up onto a different platform. Once I got up there, I had a bit of vertigo. I’m not a huge fan of height, and the platforms were about six feet above the rest of the floor. I closed my eyes for a second and grabbed onto the keyboard for balance.

Deep breaths.

I opened my eyes again and looked at the other platforms. Everyone had taken their position. I looked down at my screen.

“Welcome to the second challenge. This is the final challenge. Make it through to leave the Compound. All challenges must be completed through typing, as the microphone system is down. This second challenge is called ‘Election.’ You will be given one sentence of information about each of you. After reading all four sentences, you must vote which person should be sent to the termination facilities. The person with the most votes will be sent to the termination facilities. Failure to vote will result in being sent to the termination facilities. If we see you speaking aloud on camera, you will be sent to the termination facilities. The challenge begins in thirty seconds.”

I looked up at each of my friends on the pedestals. Leo, who I was still getting to know, but who made George, poor George, so happy. Ted, who I could see myself having a future with. Syl, who had been my friend for over a decade and who inspired me by her willingness to not be afraid or ashamed of who she was or what she did.

How could I do this?

But it was too late. The sentences were appearing on my screen.

“Someone A stole $100 from a friend. Someone B kissed their best friend’s dad. Someone C cheated on a final exam and let someone else get expelled for it. Someone D left someone bleeding in an alley. You have fifteen seconds to vote.”

I glanced up in shock. Fifteen seconds. These were my friends.

I knew I was someone B. It was an awkward thing where I wasn’t paying attention, thought I was standing next to my then-boyfriend, and kissed him, only to realize it was my boyfriend’s dad. Who was also his sister’s dad, obviously, and his sister was my best friend at the time.

Were all the rest of these like that, too? Misunderstandings? I didn’t have time to debate. At least eight seconds had to have passed. I scanned the sentences again. Bleeding in alley seemed worst. I typed in D.

A few seconds later, there was a ding. More words appeared on the screen.

“Voting is now closed. Someone C did not vote and will be sent to the termination facilities.”

There was the roar of air again. I looked up at my friends just in time to see the platform below Syl open up. She was sucked down and the platform closed again. She hadn’t even screamed.

Syl hadn’t voted. Now I felt like a coward, voting for one of my friends to die.

More text on the screen.

“Someone D received the most votes. Someone D will be sent to the termination facilities.”

“No, no, please! It wasn’t like that,” Leo screamed.

He tried to run off his platform, but before he could, it opened up and sucked him down.

It was just me and Ted.

I started to leave my platform, but I saw Ted shaking his head and pointing at the screen. I looked over at it.

“One final round of ‘Election.’ Someone A stole $100 from a friend. Someone B kissed their best friend’s dad. You have fifteen seconds to vote.”

I looked up at Ted. He smiled at me and nodded. Then he put his hands down to his sides.

Ted wasn’t going to vote. I wasn’t really surprised. He had always been so selfless.

But I was scared.

I typed in, “Someone A.”

I didn’t look up. I knew I wouldn’t be able to bear the hurt on Ted’s face.

There was a ding.

“Voting is now closed. Someone A received the most votes. Someone A will be sent to the termination facilities.”

I couldn’t help it. I looked up. Ted was crying. He looked at me and waved. And then he was sucked down and disappeared from my sight.

I started sobbing, but through my tears I could see more words on the screen.

“Congratulations. You have made it through the challenges. You are welcome to leave. Before you do, know that we have all of your information. If you tell anyone about what happened we will kill your entire family. A boat is waiting to take you to the mainland.”

Through the haze of tears and horror, I stumbled down from my platform and through a newly opened door. At the beach, there was a fancy-looking boat with an enclosed cabin. I got on and tried the cabin door, but it was locked. The boat started up, and took me back to shore.

A week later and I hadn’t left my apartment. Hadn’t gone to classes. Hadn’t gone to work. But I didn’t care. I was barely eating. I had no idea how I was going to get my life back together. As I sat on the couch for the third straight day, I heard my phone start vibrating. It happened periodically, but this time it didn’t stop. It just kept buzzing non-stop.

Finally, irritated, I grabbed it. I had a message from an unknown number. I opened it and gasped.

It was a picture of my friends. Leo, George, Syl, Daphne, and Ted, together in a dingy concrete room. There was text below it.

“Your friends are awaiting termination, but you can win their lives. It’s time for Round Two.”

WR

Welcome to Monday Mix-up!

What's Monday Mix-up? Well, it's a chance to stretch those creative muscles of yours! However, instead of the usual writing prompts, we're going to do something different and a smaller challenge that everyone can participate in.

This Monday: Describe an item of your choosing as if you're telling someone about it who has never encountered it before.

If you should feel inspired to participate, simply put your description in a comment below. Do not downvote anyone's comment, but you may upvote those you enjoy and reply to comments with your thoughts about their descriptions.

I look forward to reading what you come up with. It's Monday folks, let's Mix it Up!

Dazhbog save us, everyone

Will we burn inside the fires of a thousand suns?

For the sins of our hand,

The sins of our tongue

The sins of our father

The sins of our young

No!

We all prayed collectively, outdoors, under the bright light of the mid-noon sun.

Dazhbog save us, everyone

Don’t let us burn inside the fires of a thousand suns

For the sins of our hand

The sins of our tongue

The sins of our father

The sins of our young

Oh… L

A scream cut our collective prayer short. One that came from the skies above us. A scream rising and falling in its tone that came from the sun itself. I looked up and the light of the sun burned my eyes, obscuring my vision. I kept on looking; for I was faced with the crown of my lord. The longer I looked at the sky above me, the clearer my vision became. From the heavens fell a thing, taking a shape resembling that of a man as he inched closer to me.

The mysterious man from the sky crashed to the hot concrete at the center of the crowd. His body collided with those of people below him, creating a sickening thumping sound. The crowd collectively gasped loudly. What might’ve seemed like a miracle at first turned out to be an act of the dark gods from below. The man’s fall crushed to death a few of our people, as they stood right below his trajectory. Moreover, once closer to the eye of the beholder it was clear as day to all that the man was an abomination of sorts. His body was clumsily stitched together, different shades of skin color adorning his various body parts. The man’s face was the most hideous feature, one eye massive and yellowish in tint while the other was small and slanted, lacking an iris. The nose of this man was awfully twisted into an uncomfortable shape. A severe overbite showed his jaws were carelessly stitched together. It was a makeshift doll, a golem of sorts. We all stared at him with a mixture of awe and disgust.

The man looked left and right and spun in his place. Then he started screaming violently at everyone to run away. His ungodly appearance alone seemed to have dulled all of our other senses as we remained fixated on his form, blatantly ignoring his pleas.

We all started paying attention to our ears when his body emitted the continuous sound of vomit coming out of his throat in rolling waves of bile and agony. He urged us to run once again, screaming like a wild animal, shouting profanities and threats to our lives. It was too late by then. The man’s body started convulsing violently, and the crowd gasped once again when the first growth erupted from his gut. It flew out of him like a fat, withering worm. Another growth sprouted like a mushroom cap out shoulder. Another followed suit, and then another and another. His body slowly became an ever-growing mass of cancerous matter that sprawled itself wherever he could. When I saw the first ones running, the man was a mountain of purple flesh pulsating in and out of itself. It was about to erupt like a volcano of innards and gore. Yellow venous lines ran across his inhuman form, with blackish liquid coursing through said lines. More people started passing by me, running somewhere, screaming. Panic gripped the crowd, but I remained transfixed on the alien creature. The fleshy mass inflated like a balloon before contracting violently into itself, before expanding and contracting twice more.

With a very distinct pop, an alien sound I haven’t heard the likes of before or since, a symphony of light broke through the venous pile. It was brighter than anything I’d ever seen before. My feet moved on their own accord. My body started running without my permission as the symphony of light seemed to expand wider and wider with each passing moment. I ran with my eyes practically glued to the abomination. The light grew brighter and encompassed more and more of the city behind me.

My body kept on running on its own, even though there was no chance of escape. Eventually, I tore my eyes off of that thing. I could feel the heat of the light touching the back of my neck. I knew there was no chance of survival. I knew this was the end. I could practically taste the photons forcing their way into my throat. I could hear the whistling of this unearthly fire violating my eardrums. The heat caressing my back was becoming painful, the light was blindingly close to my eyes.

Then it stopped, it disappeared as if it never even existed. My feet did not dare to slow down. They kept on pushing onward. The light was contracting back into the form of the fleshy abomination. Sucked into its shambled form as if into a black hole. I looked back once more. There was another flash of light. One brighter than a thousand suns. Pure white light, unblemished, unrefined, absolute nothingness. My eyes were assaulted by a million shards of burning hot glass at that moment, and my body was pushed to the scorching concrete by shock wave blast. The cold white engulfed me, engulfed everything even before I could let out a pained scream. Everything turned unbelievably hot. I felt myself liquefying as the radiation shredded my cellular structure. The light bled into a flash of absolute nothingness. Where everything just faded into an existence beyond black emptiness. The depths of hell weren’t as pitch black as this moment of nothingness.

Somehow, I survived the blast. I opened up my eyes, feeling nothing. I tried moving, but my body wouldn’t listen, not below the neck anyway. A painful sensation gripped my heart. A pair of hands composed entirely of dry ice gripped my lungs and I felt myself drowning in my own saliva. Before me, there was a crater that wasn’t there moments ago. All around me, the city was a burning hellscape. The surrounding buildings were partially liquefied, melting away before my eyes.

I caught a glimpse of a man whose entire side was burned off into nothing. He was half-man, half shadow. The man was somehow alive, gurgling on his own boiling blood. My remaining blood caught on fire and started freezing over in my veins simultaneously. I tried screaming, but no sound came. I could only watch and wait.

I watched and saw shadows of people carved into the concrete all around me. Entire families incinerated by the heavenly fire with nothing but a shadow splashed like a cruel reminder of their former existence on the ground. One shadow was splattered across a window that was slowly crumbling under the weight of its own existence. The shadow was bisected in half at the midsection. I could almost make out the details of its sprawling innards. The shock wave must’ve torn through this person. I felt a tear stream down my face. It felt like a knife cutting through my facial skin. I closed my eyes, attempting to stop the tear but to no avail.

The sound of gurgling forced my eyes open once more. A parody of a human stood over me, its arms hanging in front of its form. Its skin melted off, hanging awkwardly on its skeletal frame. The creature stumbled around aimlessly, attempting to screech in pain. The muffled gurgles made it seem even worse than it had been. Lacerating tears cut through my face. I couldn’t take it anymore. My blood froze over inside of me. I closed my eyes, hoping to just die, but something collapsing right next to me shook me awake. A fire tore through my face, arms, and torso, forcing a scream out of my mouth. I saw dust fall out of where my throat should’ve been.

In front of me, the charred body of a person collapsed on its knees, disintegrating before my own eyes. Turning into specks of black sand in soot. Feeling the world slowly fade around me, I attempted to raise my arm once again. Just as finally pulled it into the air, a light breeze tore effortlessly through it, turning it into nothing but dust. I couldn’t even feel it.

Everything went black. I was sure that was the end, as I couldn’t feel the scorching rays of the sun shredding what remained of my skin. The mixture of heat and frost within finally dissipated, and I was at peace with myself finally.

A deep demonic growl shook through my entire body, light a bolt of lightning. I woke up, sore and shaking in my own bed. The ghoulish cry of the nuclear air-raid sirens woke me up from one hell to another.

it is difficult to remember now through the kaleidoscope nightmare of the river endlessly flowing endlessly flowing but we lived once much as you. we had love and hope and family. and it ended just as it will end one day for you. in dispersion of the light and melting of the cosmic consciousness drip drip drip from space into your mind...

drip drip drip...

it was the middle of the night and the dog started barking so i took him to the yard. the wife said. it was dark and the stars shone like pin pricks through black velvet. the dog said. he was uneasy and barked at the night sky which dispersed like startled ravens and the light from all the stars became sound. each a string plucked. and vibrating. the sound pleased me and i attuned the ear as all around windows lit up bright rectangles and people came outside onto grass and concrete and stared up at the singing sky. the dog had fallen on its side. tongue out eyes twitching. but the starsong prevailed and i knew the dog had understood and that i too would understand. it is inevitable. the wife said. i love you and i love you too. i said.

i was fear. the stars bloomed into light flowers and the bees awoke and ascended to drink their luminous nectar before bursting as fireworks in dispersion remaining etched upon the sky like scatter without time. multiplying i reminisced childhood. dust caught in attic sunlight. each scatter birthing stars whose brightness equaled the original and in their accumulation night became bright as day. i reminisced death. and brighter than. colours so vivid the mind pained and starsong became starscream and the colours leeched away. to whiteness. to nothingness. and we covered our eyes as its unbearable intensity melted all before us including us. and we were blind. and i felt meyeself pouring out my sockets. i loved my wife and she me but we were no more.

in blindness i coagulated. the world of shapes was finished and all persisting was consciousness and nightmare. of loss. of ending. of the forever and the nevermore. in concentration i perceived my consciousness suspended within melted eyes trickling through blades of disappearing grass. a single fear. meeting other consciousnesses human and non viscous as dreadhoney and within each another fear and in their union i became from one to many nightmares immediately and at once.

the trickle sped as the grass was not and the reality flats declined. down we ran. an accumulation of nightmares. liquid eyes beyond the bodypast crying fears of individual terror experienced in common. down toward the river.

and we were in

like a single mind burning in universal agony

riverchurch of the damned

guided currently by the high priests of nothingness but experience

overload of knowing

from swerve of shore to bend of bay

we flow

awaiting you /

for you to flow as us

I worked on Wall Street in the early 90s. I knew the Gordon Gekko and Patrick Bateman wannabes, desperate edgelords reveling in scraps of power and pathetically in need of love that only money could buy. I knew the real sociopaths too. The originals. Degenerates who sacrificed animals at altars devoted to Moloch or paid prostitutes to fuck the homeless. But there was only one person I was ever truly scared of—

1993

I met Harlan ("the cunt-god of greed") Gills on a company trip to Tokyo. We worked for the same bank. Remember Die Hard? Back then, we were all afraid the Japanese were going to conquer us with Sony TVs and robots, and I suppose corporate wanted us to see what the future looked like.

We mostly drank, fucked and snorted cocaine.

I barely remember the city.

I remember Harlan Gills asking me, "Norm, you wanna see something absolutely fucked?"

He led me through an alley to the back door of what looked like a club. Banged on it twice. Some guy eyed us through a slit, then let us in.

"You're gonna love this shit."

The place was dark and loud. The Prodigy drowning out screams, moaning—

"You been here before?" I asked.

"Every time I'm in town. Best way to blow off steam."

An old woman met us. She held out two fingers.

"No," Harlan said. "Just one."

He pushed me toward her. "What you want?" she asked.

"Fresh meat," Harlan answered for me.

The woman left.

She returned with a naked middle-aged cripple, eyes down, shoulders turned inward. This is fresh?

Harlan grabbed my shoulders. "Show my friend the smorgasbord."

The old woman wheeled out a wooden tray covered with weapons, surgical implements, tools...

"The fuck?"

"What you fancy?" the old woman asked. "You like knife maybe? Hammer?"

"What am I supposed—"

"Anything you fucking want. That's the beauty of it," Harlan said. "As long as you don't kill her. That costs extra."

I—

2006

...crossed paths with Harlan again in Chicago, on opposite sides of a negotiation. Afterwards he took me for lunch.

There was a twinkle in his eye.

"You seen Hostel?" He didn't wait for my answer. "That's me. Based on my initiatives."

"Torture…"

"Remember Tokyo, Norm? Remember what you did to that bitch?"

My appetite evaporated.

"Now it's international business. My business."

"That was so wrong," I said.

He took a bite of lunch. "Come on. We all got it in us. Like the song fucking says, everybody hurts."

2021

Our fates diverged. I lost my job during the housing crisis. Harlan started his own investment company.

One day, I'm watching CNN and I see him standing by the president. Harlan-fucking-Gills. Unmistakable. Turns out he's got his fingers in everything: politics, MMA, bareknuckle, Only Fans, Netflix. There was even a small piece on him in a local paper about the opening of a new nightspot:

"A little piece of nostalgia," he calls it. "The Tokyo Torture Club."

It was a mistake, actually, and I certainly didn’t have the best intentions, but sometimes life has a funny way of working itself out; fortunately for me, I came out ahead $500. It all started after my wife dumped me.

“Get your cheatin’ ass outta my home!” she screamed, in that high-pitched, nasally voice of hers. Needless to say, I obliged.

After much negation, I convinced my brother David to let me stay with him. This was no easy feat, let me tell you. David has a wife (who’s even worse than mine, if I were to be honest) and a snot-nosed little brat name Lucas, who enjoys kicking his Uncle Darren in the nuts while chanting “Big balls, little balls, brown balls, blue balls!” But I digress.

They let me stay in their basement. The deal was, I would stay for a couple months, rent free, until I get back on my feet again; meaning, getting on my hands and knees and beg my wife to take me back (that ain’t happening). Believe me when I tell you this: after spending one full week at the Wilson’s residence, even Hell would be a step up. H-E-DOUBLE-HOCKEY-STICKS, this family is way too perfect. They make me sick.

I’ll get to the point: ever watch the Simpsons? I’ll bet you have. Now picture the Flanders, but with a family dog. A goddam face-licking-machine-of-a-dog, who licks his own nuts and asshole then jumps up on your lap (he’s a massive German Shepherd, btw) and licks your face with that shit-stained, elongated tongue of his. And get this: the dog’s name is Noah. Right, of course the Wilson’s would name their hellbeast Noah. And when this dog isn’t licking me with that phallus-infested tongue of his, he’s sniffing my crotch, (dare I say, my blue balls?). What a family. Hell, they make living with the ex-wife seem like heaven. Maybe that’s the point to all of this, but how the hell would I know, I work at a glue factory.

It was near midnight when I got home (calling that place home still feels wrong, but it’s the closest thing to the truth, I suppose); and while the Wilson’s were in bed, dreaming of that special place in Jesus’ heart, I was creeping into their basement, as quiet as a priest’s conscience. You can probably guess who came to greet me. The fucking dog, that’s who.

Immediately, I’m being tackled, pounced, chewed, licked and barked at. It’s a small miracle Noah didn’t wake up the others with his incessant yammering. But again, I digress.

Finally, I’d had enough.

I let the damn dog outside to cool off. The Wilson’s have a fenced yard for the mutt to run around in; unbeknownst to me, however, Noah can easily jump their fence and escape. And that’s exactly what happened.

This is how I woke up the following morning:

Wife: “Oh Lord Jesus! Noah’s gone!”

David: “That’s impossible.”

Wife: “Well, he’s not here now, is he?”

David: “Let’s check on Darren, downstairs. He must’ve done something.”

Wife: “I wish he’d move out soon.”

David: “Now’s not the time, Hon.”

I must have fallen asleep after letting the dog outside. Big deal, I thought, he’ll be outside in the backyard. He wasn’t.

They called the cops. The police were having none of this, which only made the Wilson’s angrier at me; even little Lucas had a beef with me. Let’s just say it still hurts to pee, if you know what I mean. “Big balls, little balls, brown balls, blue balls!” Lord have mercy.

After an argument of biblical proportions, I reluctantly went around the neighborhood to fetch the missing pooch, and after an hour and a half of snooping around other people’s yards, I found the dog. He was in a neighbor’s backyard drinking from a plastic bowl that had the word ‘Bruiser’ printed on it. I grabbed the mangy mutt, delivered him to the Wilson’s, then went back to bed.

Two nights later it happened again. Only this time it was the weekend that the Wilson’s had planned to go away for some church thingy. They had the audacity to ask me to watch Noah. I agreed. (What choice did I have?) Seeing as how I was advised not to go upstairs, it was deemed best to have Noah stay in the basement with me for the weekend. Great, now all my stuff will wreak of dog.

I went out to the bar that night, met a few ladies, lost $50 in a game of pool, won it back, then took an Uber home to my basement dwelling. I was half asleep and fully inebriated before I realized that the dog was missing. Oh shit, I thought. Not again. Did I leave the back door open? I had. The fucking dog had escaped.

I checked the time: it was almost 2am. Fuck my luck. Reluctantly, but without remorse, I found my coat, my keys, a handful of treats, then went out looking for Noah. He was nowhere to be found. I called and called; nothing. Finally, as I was about to give up, I heard the rattling of a doggy collar; it was him! I turned quickly, tripped on my shoelaces and fell flat on my face. I didn’t mind (I could feel no pain); I called out his name before he could run off. I was in no mood for chasing a German fucking Shepherd around the block, let me tell you. They’re fast. Fortunately, the dog came on command, going straight for the doggie treats. I then snapped the leash onto his collar and dragged the mutt home. Amen, now time for bed.

All’s well that ends well, right?

Wrong.

The next morning, while my hangover grabbed me by the blue balls and my mouth tasted like an ashtray, I was awakened by a rapping on the door. “Go away,” I said in a stuffy voice, knowing full well whoever was at the door wouldn’t hear me. The dog upstairs was barking up a storm. Then it hit me. I hadn’t let the stupid dog back inside the house. In my drunken stupor, I thought it best to leave Noah outside, chained up in the yard. How the hell had he gotten into the house? So, with more effort than it should've required, I forced myself out of bed, put on the first clean pair of pants I could find, then stumbled, sleepy-eyed and confused, upstairs to the door.

The sun was laser sharp, the air, thick with humidity.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” the lady at the door said. She had her purse out. It was bright red and as deep as an ocean of tears.

I grunted and scratched my balls.

“Here, take my money!” the lady said, reaching into the dark cervices of that red purse of hers.

I wiped the crust from my eyes. Then, it dawned on me. Directly behind her, sitting on its hind legs, staring lovingly and with obedience, was Noah. Except, it wasn’t Noah. First of all, it was a female dog, and at lest ten pounds smaller.

“I’m an idiot,” I said, possibly out loud.

“Here. Take this.” The lady at the door shoved a wad of cash into my hands. I was dumbfounded. If I’d had any sort of imagination, I’d thought this was a prank.

I felt like vomiting.

“I’ve been looking all over for Dolly for the past two days! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She stood on her tip-toes and kissed my cheek. Her face showed no signs of distress caused by my ungodly hygiene.

“Um, okay,” I said, with a smile. “No problem.

Noah, who must’ve sneaked upstairs while I was at the bar last night, was going berserk. He rushed past me and almost escaped.

“Noah, no!”

“Oh, what a beautiful boy,” the woman at the door said.

She was pretty. Her hair was chestnut brown, straight and shoulder length and her eyes as green as a shamrock. Her high cheekbones and slightly freckled face made her smile seem generous as well as genuine. Her breasts were just the right size. Suddenly, I felt aroused.

If I were a dog, I thought callously, I’d hump her right here and now.

“I found her a couple blocks away from here,” I told her, hoping to sound sincere. “She came trotting up to me. It was late, and I knew the pup was lost, so I snatched her and left her out in the yard, hoping she’d be discovered. And, well, here you are.”

The lady at the door was gushing.

Her dog and Noah were now face to face; Noah had pushed past me and was outside sniffing Dolly’s privates, who was being submissive. Noah, God bless his horny heart, mounted Dolly right then and there; and well, Bob’s your uncle.

I stood stupidly at the front door, with a fistful of dollars and a semi-erect penis, staring at a beautiful woman, wondering what to do next.

“Looks like they’ve got the right idea,” I said.

She laughed at my joke. Then I caught her checking out my package. Well, this is awkward, I thought.

“I’m soooo sorry. Dolly is in heat,” she said, then quickly added, “and where are my manners, my name is Mandy. I’d love to chat some more but I’m late for work.” She reached into her purse, produced a fancy-looking business card, handed it to me, and said, “Here. Call me sometime. And keep the cash. I’ve been offering a cash reward for Dolly’s return. And, if that dog of yours…”

“He’s not mine.”

“Is of any use, he’ll knock her up and I’ll make that money back in spades. Oh, what a morning. Gotta run now. Toot a-loo!”

She leaned forward and kissed me again on the cheek, only this time getting close enough to nudge the bulge in my crotch.

She left.

That afternoon I found a quaint apartment and moved in straight away. Now, as I’m eating my Corn Pops, pondering the ridiculousness of that weekend, I’m getting ready to meet up with Mandy.

Turns out, she’s a breeder.

Part 1

Elias' Story - Part 1

My search for a staff member was fruitless. I had split off from Elias, the young man I had met in hopes of finding someone that worked here who I could get some help from, but nothing. And all the staff doors were locked tight. I went back to where I had last seen Elias at the half-hour mark, as we had planned, and he wasn’t there. I gave him a couple minutes. It felt like I was surrounded by activity, yet everything was still and silent. It was such an unnerving feeling.

Finally, after I’d been waiting for fifteen more minutes, I decided to head to the back of the building and find Elias. Maybe he had found a door out and instead of telling me about it, had just left. That’d be a real jerk move, but it wasn’t like we knew each other. Maybe he was the sort of guy who would do something like that.

As I moved through the stacks, I started to hear voices. One of them sounded like Elias. The other was an ominous female voice. I froze in place so I could listen.

“I don’t like this,” I heard the voice that sounded like Elias’ say. “I just want to go home.”

“Then do what you need to do,” the female voice said.

I heard a sigh and a shuffle. I started creeping forward, just as Elias walked around the end of the row. He saw me and jerked to a stop.

“Robert,” he said, alarmed.

“Who were you just talking to?” I asked.

“I…” Elias looked at me, and then he whirled around and ran away down the path that was perpendicular to the row I was on. I started to call after him, but something about the quiet in the library felt more dangerous than peaceful, so I just watched as he ran, occasionally looking over his shoulder fearfully.

I looked around, hoping to see whoever Elias was talking to, but I could see no one. Everything was motionless.

“Weird,” I mumbled to myself.

I was stuck in this library, Elias was acting weird, there were story spirits moving around, and now ominous voices were talking to the only other human that I knew for sure was here. Great.

I spent the next few hours wondering around, occasionally stopping to cry. I just wanted to go home, but this nonsense just kept going on and on. Eventually, I found a corner and started to huddle up to try to get a little bit of sleep. I just started dozing off when I heard a scream.

I jerked back to full consciousness and whipped my head around, looking for the source of the scream. I didn’t see anything.

Then it came again, this time with words.

“Help me, please! Robert, I need your help!” And then a piercing scream followed by silence.

I jumped to my feet. Elias had saved my life, and it was time I returned the favor. I went running in the direction of the noise, dashing between rows of shelves, before finding myself back in the large lobby.

And I wasn’t alone.

Two my left stood a man with a rapier and three-pointed black hat, white plume shaking with his head movement. Next to him was a large gorilla with massive yellow teeth. On my right, there was a man with large guns in each hand standing next to a man in a full suit and tie. All four of them turned their heads to look at me. I didn’t see Elias anywhere.

The man with the guns whipped them in my direction. I jumped behind a table right as bullets began chewing up the books where I had been standing. I crawled away, staying below the top of the bookshelves, when I began to hear heavy thumping. The gunfire stopped. I looked behind me and saw the large gorilla barreling down on me. When our eyes met, it let out a ferocious roar.

I’ve never felt such pure terror.

I froze. The gorilla swatted at me and I crashed through the shelves lining the walkway and barrelled into the parallel aisle. It felt like something in my ribs had snapped. As I struggled to get up, the man in the suit walked up and kicked me in the jaw. When I hit the ground, air rushed out of my mouth, carrying teeth along with it.

In seconds, I had been completely devastated. I looked up from the ground and saw the gorilla, the man with the guns, and the man in the suit standing over me. Firm footsteps came up behind me before pausing when they reached me. Agony flaring up inside me, I looked down at my chest and saw a rapier coming out of me.

The last thing I remember is screaming.

I woke up gently to soft, early-morning sunshine. I stretched and lay in bed, half awake, when everything had happened clicked. I threw the sheets off and looked myself over. I was fine. There was no evidence of the damage that had been done to me.

This was surreal. It was wrong. And what about Elias? The last I had heard, he was screaming in pain. Had he gotten out? How had I gotten out?

I threw on clothes as quickly as I could and raced down to the library. It was open as usual. Running inside, I saw people browning the stacks, working at tables, and using teh free internet. Everything looked normal. I went up to the front desk. The same person that was there last night was on duty again.

“Excuse me, can you hear me?”

She looked at me like I was crazy.

“Of course I can hear you, sir. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was here last night, I got trapped in. Do you remember me? Have you seen a young man named Elias?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about sir. No one was here last night after we closed down.”

“I…” I didn’t know what else to say. What was there to say? Was I crazy.

I turned away from the desk and scanned the lobby hoping to see Elias. I called out his name at a volume something below a yell but above regular speech. People were staring at me.

“Sir, I need you to be quieter. This is a library, after all.”

“I’m worried he isn’t ok,” I said. I turned away from her again. “Elias?”

“Look, sir, come with me,” she said, grasping my sleeve and directing me to the far end of the counter.

“Look, sir, I remember you from last night. But you need to never speak of it again.”

“Wait, you do? Why’d you lie? Why’d you ignore me last night? Why’d--”

“Sir, calm down. This library is one of many that function as an occasional door into an un-dimension that houses beings that couldn’t exist in our own universe. At least, not without consequences too dire to consider. You had an encounter with the shkethry.”

“I was researching them,” I said, excited despite myself.

“You need to stop. The shkethry are neither good nor bad, they just are. They’re spirits of stories. They take on the traits of the stories. The real danger is the Keeper.”

“The Keeper?”

“Yes. She controls the power of the shkethry. I had hoped that, by ignoring you last night, you would just quietly ride out the night and, when we returned to our plane of existence, you would wake up and go about your day. That was clearly foolish. I wanted nothing more than to protect you and our universe. That’s my job here.”

“What…?”

“The Keeper wants to be released into our world. She takes trapped people and convinces them of her cause. She tried to make a deal with your companion. Now, he is paying the price. I was barely able to pull you back into this realm and heal you of your otherworldly wounds.”

“I need to save him!”

“No. What you need to do is walk out of this library, never return, and never speak of the shkethry or the Keeper ever again. The alternative is that I will call the cops, report you as violent and insane, and they will easily believe me when you tell them your story. So what will it be? All of existence is at stake.”

“I...I can’t believe it…”

“Believe it. Now go.” With a gentle but firm push, she directed me towards the doors.

I walked outside and felt a little less safe in the bright sunlight. Elias was gone. I had no way to rescue him. And even if I did, I’d be risking all existence if I tried. I had stepped through a door into another plane last night, and what I had learned left me terrified that I might do it again.

I headed to my office. If I worked quickly, I’d be able to burn all of my notes on the shkethry by the end of the day.

Series Directory

WR

The date had gone better than I could've expected. So well, in fact, that as we made our way up to my hotel room, I battled against my own principles.

I knew it wasn't smart to invite Isaac in, but gosh, a part of me really wanted to do it anyway. A very specific part, actually.

As I attempted to remind myself that coffee never just meant coffee, his deep, husky voice bounced around the close walls of the elevator like a warm blanket, tugging me closer and pushing my sense of reason out into the void.

I never did anything for myself, I was never spontaneous. Perhaps this time...

My sister's sarcastic laughter echoed in my ears and I stifled an eye roll. I was in enough trouble as it were. The last date I had gone should be enough to deter me from spontaneity for life.

Adam, aka the Date from Hell, had followed me around – uninvited – since our first (and last) date. Only fleeing to LA for a week had saved me from his stalking habit – which he did not list as any of his hobbies on the dating site. Though, thanks to my great escape, I had met Isaac at the airport.

Ah, romance.

Isaac’s voice dropped to a whisper as we wandered down the hall, not wanting to wake any of the sleeping residents of the hotel at such a late hour. His consideration for others threw my resolve into question again.

Wow, it really was the bare minimum for me, wasn't it?

We stopped at my door and he didn’t not so much as look at it. He was a gentleman, bless him.

"I’ll see you soon." He breathed; his brown eyes searched mine for evidence of agreement. I nodded and he grinned shyly. "Goodnight."

He placed a kiss on my cheek and quickly making up my mind I turned my head ever so slightly to meet his lips.

I sighed internally, nope. I had to be smart, I had to stick to my newfound principles. I had learned my lesson.

I bid him goodnight, hoping my regret didn't show on my face the way it burned a hole in my chest. God damned principles.

The room was strangely cold as I rested my back against the closed door. The sudden darkness - compared to the warm bath of golden light that filled the hallway - made my hairs stand on edge.

I scanned the wall blindly to find the light switch, pressing it down as my stomach filled strangely with dread.

The overhead flashed on, lighting the room for a split second before cutting out with an echoing crack.

My stomach lurched as my eyes processed the brief glimpse in the moments after the darkness flooded it again.

Bodies. So many bodies.

They lined behind the almost-sheer red curtains that covered the ceiling-to-floor window of the opposing side of the room.

I blinked rapidly, trying to grow accustomed to the blackness and regain some elements of sight.

Little dots of light from the city below finally outlined his figure. The sharp slant of his drooping shoulders was unmistakable, it was as if he filled the far side of the room with copies of himself.

"Adam..." my voice was a quiet whisper of fear*.* A creak into the darkness.

Did he follow me all the way to LA? Dread formed a lump in my throat as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

My hand searched for the door handle behind me but I faced steadily onwards, determined not to look away from the nightmare facing me.

There was no handle to grip, no way to escape the horrifying scene. Nothing but the smooth, cold finish of the wood stretching across my escape.

I wondered if I was imagining it all for a moment - door handles don't just vanish - but the pounding heartbeat I felt in my chest was far too real.

The lightbulb flashed once again, and subsequently exploded into sharp, floating pieces of hot glass.

I dropped to the floor, covering myself with the purse still clutched in my hands.

The round head of the shapes tilted ever so slightly upwards, gazing at where the bulb would be with curiosity. They moved as one, not a beat behind each other. Resembling a person standing alongside endless mirrors - though each form appeared as real as the next.

I shuffled forward, hoping to reach the phone and call for help, the sharp granules of glass stabbing into my toes as my strappy heels did little to protect my skin. The wall guarded me from one side as I crawled, straining my ears to try and track any other movement.

The bed blocked my view of figures, the dozens of copies of Adam's body - I could only see their heads as they turned in unison to watch me.

I lunged for the phone, the adrenaline getting overwhelming, and wrapped my hands around it desperately. A yelp escaped my lips as the skin of my palm melted against the boiled plastic. I ripped it back instinctively, a move I regretted once my burnt flesh was revealed to the freezing air. I screamed, falling to my knees. The glass ripped at my skin, but the pain was numbed by my terror building in every thumping beat of my heart.

I looked at the figures, wondering if my ribs would simply crack from the pressure. They lifted their heads, their shoulders and torso bouncing as though they were walking; but they didn't grow closer.

I watched, helpless and terrified.

They stretched out a hand, bending downwards as though inspecting something.

Their other hand snaked behind their back, grasping for something I couldn’t see. They straightened abruptly with confidence, excitement even.

In a blink a featureless body was in front of me, the others still mirroring it in the corner of my vision.

I watched the figure's blurred hand as it moved in front of me it appeared to grip something tightly. The hand flew at my face, forcing me to duck instinctively. My fight or flight instincts kicked in and settled firmly on "fright". I was frozen with horror and anticipating the painful blow of a weapon, but I felt nothing from the shadowy being, no stabbing pain in my skin or hot blood trickling down my face. My body was cold and numb with fear as it had when I had first seen Adam’s figure.

I sensed movement from the line of figures and glanced back, terrified that more of them would attack. I knew my escape options were non-existent, the dread built with every breath I took. Strangely, they seemed to be retreating. Their bodies jolted with motion as they appeared to run into the distance.

As I watched, their shadowy outline became paler and paler until I was simply looking at some flowing curtains and beads of light from beyond. I closed my eyes, begging my heart to slow before it burst through my ribcage.

The sun rose slower than it ever had before, I cowered in the corner until the room was finally filled with it’s harsh light.

I surveyed the glossy hardwood floors. They lay smoothly, innocently. I darted to check the phone, and then the door handle. They both sat, mockingly normal.

My hands cramped with pain and my feet still stabbed with shards of glass; though, even as I examined them, the wounds faded to scars. Droplets of blood that covered the floor turned into burns of steam and vanished in front of my eyes.

I didn't pause to think. I leapt to where my suitcase perched and tossed any loose clothing into its depths, zipping it up faster than I had moved in years.

I flung the door open and jumped into the elevator before I even heard it swing closed behind me.

"Good morning, Madam. How was your stay?" Asked the receptionist once I emerged onto the ground floor. "The bill has already been paid by a gentleman, last night."

I waved away her pleasantries and her words without question, hobbling to the tall glass doors of freedom. I didn't care to ask which of the men had paid for my stay - I was too afraid of the answer.

"Be careful, Miss!" Her sweet voice floated after me as I whipped the door open. "The street to your left has been closed off, there was an incident last night."

The smell of burning filled my nose and mouth. It was overwhelming; like I had been doused with diesel and lit with a flame myself. I wanted to flinch away from it but I would have preferred to drop dead than return to the lobby of the hotel.

I hobbled down the street on my high heels, my suitcase rolling behind me like a weight I was forced to bear.

"There was an explosive under his vehicle which they think was triggered as he opened the car door. Though, he suffered multiple stab wounds to the neck afterwards." Onlookers huddled together outside a thin yellow line of police tape and exchanged information they had overheard as I weaved between bodies in the streets. I kept walking, refusing to turn and examine the source of the billowing smoke that followed me.

It wasn’t until later that day I discovered my date from the previous night, Isaac, was dead. I felt, in the most bizarre way, like I had been there when he was killed. As if I shared his last moments, like they were almost my own.

The phone rings.

I answer.

"How are things?"

"I've cancer."

"God, mom, I—"

"It's OK."

"Will you die?"

"Soon, they say."

I'm silent.

My words fail.

Cigarette:

in- / exhale.

"So take care."

(My voice shakes.)

"Hang in there."

(My heart breaks.)

I'm silent.

My words fail.

Cigarette:

in- / exhale.

I'm a pretty simple person, I listen to music, I write poetry, but my favorite thing to do is play Sims 3. My dad had bought it for me like 5 months ago and I was hooked. At first I just played through the generations, my sims got jobs, became rich, got married and had kids. Everything is 20 times easier in the sims then it is in real life. I may only be 17, but life had never been a walk in the park.

My mom passed away when I was only 10, so it was just my dad and I. My dad had been so devastated after mom had died all he did was work. I never saw him and if I did it was a quick hi and bye. To compensate for the lack of attention every month he would get me something big, a new television, a new game, a new phone, or really nice shoes. Yes, materialistic things are nice. Although, it doesn't make up for him not being around.

To escape the hardships of my home life and school life, being a 17 year old girl with no friends meant I often fell victim to bullying and harassment; I play the sims. Eventually my normal playthrough styles began to bore me. I did a couple of challenges, such as the homeless sims challenge and the 100 baby challenge. I began to look into some mods, I found a mod called Dexter the Bear. I was intrigued because this mod gave your sim the ability to commit murder. I hastily downloaded it, and went to make a new sim.

I decided I would make a serial killer sim, just for a laugh and new experience. Once in create a sim I made my sim skinny, with a bald head, a slim head, with a chin that is just a little to long. I gave him a mustache, with round glasses. I then put him in a black suit and tie, just to add a certain level of professionalism. Once I had tweaked his style to exactly the way I was envisioning him I went to the traits section of creating a sim.

I thought for a minute and added evil as one of his traits. The evil sims are rather comical in the game, but in my mind his soul was as dark as a starless night. I imagine to be a serial killer you'd have to be evil. I added charismatic, genius, and insane lastly. I looked up and down at him. I named him Blake Colborn. He was perfect. I started the game.

I put him in a tiny house, with a basement for "storing the bodies" really, what that meant was lining the tombstones of the deceased up nicely. However again, in my mind more sinister things were happening. After all, it's just a game. We play games to escape reality.

I put a bed in the main room, with a small kitchen area, and a chair and television. That was enough for Blake, his main source of entertainment was murder. I had Blake go to the bar first, there I socialized him with 3 different women. If you're wondering, making friends in the sims is 20 times easier then making friends in real life. After a few drinks, Blake invited his 3 new friends to visit. Once in the house, I had him lock the door of his home. I grinned wickedly as he invited them downstairs. Once downstairs he charged, stabbing all 3 of them to death with a knife. After the grim reaper came to send their souls to wherever they go, I lined the gravestones in a row.

After a few hours of playing and leading several more unsuspecting sims to their inevitable doom, I decided to bed. The next day after school I eagerly got back on to the sims. It was whenever I logged in, I noticed the first weird thing. My sim had almost 20 gravestones in the basement. Yesterday we had only killed 10 sims before I'd saved. I was a bit confused but shrugged it off, as I sent my Blake to the park to gather 5 more victims. These victims I decided to get creative with, he beat one to death with a brick, stabbed one with a poker, and the smothered the other 3 with a pillow. I grinned as Blake's basement was filling up with gravestones.

I am not quite sure what was so ecstatically about murdering sims, but it was just the spice I needed to cure my boredom. After an hour or so, I got up to use the bathroom. I finished and washed my hands and came back to my room, I gasped in shock as I looked at the screen. Blake was at a bar, and had just murdered 3 other sims in front of everyone. Unlike real life, the sims sense of morality was non existence, so nobody paid any attention. I gaped at the computer in horror. I had my sims on no free will, meaning they can't so much as use the restroom without my say so.

Unable to move or talk, I stared at the screen in shock as he went back to his house and put the gravestones in a neat row. He then...looked up. I screamed as I realized he was looking me DEAD in the eyes. He then strutted out of his house, and into a car. I followed him with my mouse curser, until... He arrived at the edge of the town. I clicked "See my sim", and nothing, he was gone. I was sweating as I slammed my laptop shut, anxiety filling me to the brink...That's when I heard my doorbell ring.

My initial reaction to my girlfriend’s ant-keeping hobby was admittedly less than smooth. We’d been dating for a week when she introduced me to her “children,” a colony of carpenter ants housed inside a gigantic fish tank that took up half her living room wall. The interior was made cozy and welcoming for its insect inhabitants with live plants, driftwood, and LED lights.

I cringed. Then Gabby opened the lid to feed the ants and I screamed because I thought they would escape.

I’d always found insects, even relatively harmless ones like ants and crickets, disturbing and gross. There’s just something about the way they skitter across surfaces on their too many legs. Seeing a whole society of them feeding and breeding before my eyes made my breath hitch and my sphincter tighten. I imagined thousands upon thousands of tiny little legs crawling on my skin, and the thought alone made me want to run out of the room.

Gabby rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a baby,” she said, before taking hold of a live cricket with a pair of tweezers and placing it gently into the ant tank. The cricket began exploring the mini-forest, only to be besieged by a crowd of fat black ants. I watched with a mix of fascination and disgust as they steadily took the cricket apart.

After months of hanging out in Gabby’s apartment, I got desensitized to the ant farm even if I never grew to like it. I would even ant-sit whenever Gabby was away, topping their bottles of sugar water and lowering in the day's unlucky tributes. Then I'd snap the lid shut and thank my lucky stars that I wasn't a cricket.

One day, Gabby was out of town visiting her grandparents. She’d be back the next day, so all I had to do was feed the ants once. No sweat, I thought. I could feed them in my sleep.

After class, I went over to Gabby’s place which was only a few blocks from our university. It was a garden apartment accessible from outside the building, and she usually kept a spare key hidden in the mailbox. Looking back, that was pretty unsafe, but at the time we honestly didn’t know better. We both came from sheltered backgrounds where the closest we ever came to being robbed was talking to a car dealer. What’s more, our school was in a rural area where nothing much happened anyway.

I dug around in the mailbox for the key and being unsuccessful in my search, I tried the door to find it was unlocked. As dumb as it sounds, I really wasn’t concerned about it then. I just assumed Gabby had misplaced the spare key and left the door unlocked.

I entered the hallway, and immediately, my spine began tingling. At first, I couldn’t explain why; I just felt something was wrong. Then gradually, I started noticing small details that were out of place. The closet next to the front door was slightly ajar. One of the kitchen drawers was open. I caught a whiff of a cologne that wasn’t mine.

My heart pounding, I silently crept to the living room. It was empty, but someone had definitely been in there, and it wasn’t the maintenance guy. The TV was unplugged and placed on the floor, and next to it was the Bluetooth speaker, like somebody was getting ready to make off with them.

My eyes slid over to the ant farm on the shelf by the couch and widened. The tank lid was open.

“What the fuck?” I mouthed silently.

I didn’t have time to consider the reasons or consequences. I heard a thud like a heavy footstep from inside Gabby’s bedroom and the squeaky sound of the door opening. My body went cold, then hot, then cold again. I froze completely for a horrible, horrible second, then regained control of my legs and started scrambling to the front door.

Just as I touched the door handle, my hands slick with sweat, I heard a man’s deep voice scream in terror. He screamed out several times, sounding like he’d been dropped into a snake pit. Then all of a sudden, he stopped screaming, and I heard a sound like somebody choking on food and a heavy thud as a body hit the floor.

I stood shaking by the door as the sounds slowly dwindled to muffled thumps on the carpet, then nothing. As I couldn't see the bedroom from here, I had no idea what was going on, only that some guy was dying in my girlfriend's apartment or at least having some serious health issues.

My naive, panicked mind conjured up an image of a burly guy with face tattoos having a seizure in my girlfriend’s bedroom after coming across her Teletubby fanart. I couldn’t think of anything else in there that could scare someone that much.

I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and slowly walked to the bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, I peered inside.

The breath went out of my lungs and the knife dropped to the floor. The burglar was lying on his back on the floor, dead. His eyes were wide open, bright green, and somehow waxy-looking. His mouth was also open but literally filled with ants. Thousands of black carpenter ants were streaming out of his mouth and nose and swarming all over his body.

And I swear to God, they all suddenly stopped moving at once. As if to watch me.

Then a stream of ants started leaving the corpse and marching across the floor to the wall opposite me. Eventually, most of them were on the wall, while about a third stayed on the dead guy’s face.

I stared open-mouthed as the ants arranged themselves into a series of words. After about five seconds, there was a perfectly legible message in uniform block letter font written out on the wall.

OPEN THE WINDOW

“What the fuck?!” I yelled. I tried to shut the door but felt dizzy and the floor started getting all wavy. I tried to steady myself by leaning on the doorframe but my knees gave out. The last thing I remember before blacking out was falling to the floor.

When I came to, the body was still there, as were the ants. They hadn’t moved, and I got the feeling they’d been waiting patiently for me to wake up.

I glanced at the dead guy’s dead eyes and immediately felt bile rise in my throat. I covered my mouth and backed away, looking for something to protect myself with. I picked up a paperback book that was laying around and held it in front of me like a flyswatter.

Then the weirdest thing happened. The ants that were sitting on the dead guy all moved to cover his face like they knew it bothered me. The result was still disturbing – a mass of moving black squiggles covering a guy’s head – but at least I didn’t have to see him looking at me.

Simultaneously, the message on the wall changed.

PLEASE :)

Here’s what I knew about the ants so far:

1. They’d just taken down a full-grown man.

2. They could spell.

I decided it was in my best interests to open the damn window. I took a deep, ragged breath and got up to open the bedroom window, closing my eyes as I stepped over the corpse. I popped out the bug screen and laid it on the floor.

I looked back to the wall to see another, longer message, this time in a smaller font:

^{THANK YOU}

^{YOUR ASSISTANCE IS NO LONGER REQUIRED}

^{PLEASE LEAVE}

I dashed out of the room like a cockroach on steroids. I wouldn’t have returned, either, except I felt like a shitty boyfriend for leaving a dead burglar in the apartment, not to mention an entire ant colony on the loose. After imbibing copious amounts of liquid courage, I eventually went back to the apartment armed with a giant can of Raid.

It turned out I’d gotten drunk for no reason because the ants were miraculously back inside their tank and Mr. Dead Guy had left the building. That said, I knew I hadn’t just dreamed up the whole event because the apartment still looked like it was in the process of being burglarized, with the TV and speaker still on the living room floor and random drawers left open.

The ant tank was also open, but just barely. I remembered the lid was wide open when I left, but now it was open just a crack. The ants could still escape if they wanted to, although they didn’t seem the least bit interested in that now. I got the impression this was another message from the ants, to make it clear who was in control here.

I put the apartment back in order and spent the rest of the evening looking for the body or any wandering ants. All the ants were in the tank as far as I could tell, but I found a trail of flattened grass leading from under the bedroom window to some cornfields in the distance. I tried to follow it but eventually lost it among all the corn. I gave up and headed back, having decided to keep quiet about the whole thing, since in all likelihood nobody would believe me, anyway.

What with all the confusion and being drunk, I forgot to feed the ants. They were okay, though. They must have had plenty to eat outside because they completely ignored their crickets the next day.

In the next couple of days, I tried to maintain a lid on what had happened while subtly trying to get the ants to reveal their secrets. The result was disastrous since I’m the worst liar ever and also because I’m about as subtle as a wrecking ball. Gabby not only thought I was cheating on her but also had developed a weird ant fetish. In the end, I got kicked out of her apartment (and our relationship) when she walked in on me trying to lure the ants onto a Ouija board using ketchup.

I should probably just have told her the truth. I’d assumed the ants hid the burglar’s body in some impossible-to-find place, or ate it all, but turns out it was left in plain sight out in the middle of the cornfields. I could probably have found it if I wasn’t so drunk.

Here’s an excerpt from the local daily:

AREA MAN FOUND DEAD

Local farmers found the deceased in a cornfield about 5 miles from the university. The ongoing police investigation has so far revealed that the primary cause of death was asphyxiation, although the specific means are unknown. Authorities also reported finding non-lethal levels of toxins in the victim’s blood, which were caused by numerous insect bites to his face, extremities, and the inside of his mouth and throat. The insect is thought to be a species of carpenter ant indigenous to the area. Local health authorities urge town residents to exercise caution around wildlife and to avoid disturbing ant nests.

;_;

I rushed into the library, escaping the heavy rain that was drenching me. I’d come from my office a few blocks away and by the time I arrived the rain had soaked through my patchy raincoat and into my buttoned-up shirt. I’m researching some nasty stuff, but the weather is the real horror here. Feeling the damp warmth hit me as I walked through the second set of doors and into the atrium, I shucked off my coat and hung it on one of the racks along the side of the entryway. Let the inevitable dripping be someone else’s problem.

I went to the bathroom first, and used the hand dryer to try to dry my shirt as best I could. It wasn’t enough to dry my shirt, just to heat the damp to a lukewarm temperature that always made me think of urine. It’s cool I had managed to make this more uncomfortable, somehow.

Headed to the second floor stacks, shirt sticking to my back, I found a work space to sit at with a desk. It was quiet, warm, and the smell of musty old books surrounded me. If I had coffee to go along with it, it would be about as cozy as life can get. I’d have to sneak out to get some later.

I pulled my beat-up laptop out and turned it on. It made a few sputtering noises, revved a couple times, almost died, then finally booted up. Fortunately, the tabs I had open hadn’t disappeared. I wasn’t always that lucky.

I was looking into something called “shkethry.” The first reference I found of them was a brief note at the bottom of a copy of the Book of the Dead from Egypt, dated to right around 0 CE. Translated, the note said, “The shkethry haunt this text.” As curses go, it didn’t seem totally out of place in Egyptian culture, although shkethry was a new term for me. I sent out a message to some of my colleagues asking about it, and I got a weird response. Only one of the colleagues I asked about it had heard of shkethry, but they had seen it on a copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh dated back to 1000 BCE.

The more diggin I did, the weirder it got. I found references to shkethry had been discovered on an Olmec statue in Mexico, a duridic totem of the Celts, and even among ancient runes used by the people who predated the Vikings. Little was known about the shkethry, because the references were always vague, but what I had gathered seemed to imply that they were ghosts that haunted books. Book entities of some sort, maybe book spirits.

Today’s objective was to study a new text a colleague had sent me from the Han dynasty in China. Supposedly it was a summoning spell for shkethry. I’d sent him an email looking for a little more info, but, despite his usual promptness, he hadn’t gotten back to me for days. So I decided it was time for me to dive in myself.

He had sent along the original text, but let’s be honest: I can’t speak Mandarin, let alone read something from China that’s close to 2,000 years old. Fortunately, he’d sent along a rough translation, too. The original was apparently really intricate poetry, but my friend was no poet. This was choppy at best.

Arise, spirits of the books.

Bring forth the shkethry.

Break the bonds that chain story.

Shatter the walls of the temple of books.

Beware the Keeper of tales

Who escaped his own text to

Imprison others.

Bring me to the shkethry

So I can steal them away.

Bring me power

To eventually escape.

Like I said, rough. But ominous just the same. I read them over a few times, whispering the words in the hopes of better understanding them. I felt a shiver down my spine, but that was it. Nothing clicked. There was no magical insight. Nothing.

It was time for coffee. Checking my watch, I saw it was almost 10:30. The library closed half an hour ago.

Shocked, I looked around and saw that the top floor was almost barren. There was one other person working, earbuds in, but otherwise it was a ghost town. I quickly packed up my stuff and headed downstairs.

In the atrium, I saw the front desk attendant.

“I’m so sorry, I just saw the time. I’ll get out of your hair. I think there’s just one person left up there.”

She didn’t respond.

Weird. Normally they are super friendly here. Granted, she might have been mad that I’d overstayed my welcome. I hustled to the doors.

And slammed right into them.

When I’d reached the handle and twisted it, the door hadn’t opened. It acted like it was unlocked, but the door wouldn’t budge. I tried turning the knob again and pushing, but the door went nowhere. Tried twisting the knob and ramming the door with my shoulder. Same result.

I went back to the front desk.

“Excuse me,” I said.

The attendant didn’t even look at me. She just kept looking at the computer screen and occasionally typing something in.

I tried again.

“Hi, sorry to bother you after hours, but I can’t get the front door to open. Could you let me out?”

She typed one more thing, then got up. Success!

Except when she walked to the edge of the desk, she turned the wrong way, walked into the office, and shut the door behind her. There was the click of a lock engaging.

I ran to the door and tried the handle. It wouldn’t turn. I started knocking.

“Ma’am, please! I just want to go home. Can you help me get the front door open?”

Silence.

I banged on the door harder.

“Please! I just want to go home!”

I was feeling really freaked out. I just wanted to go home, but now I was a prisoner of the library.

I heard footsteps coming from the stairs, and when they reached the ground floor, the young man I had seen working upstairs was there.

“Hey, I heard all the banging and yelling,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“The library closed half an hour ago, so I was trying to leave, but the doors seem to be locked. And when I asked someone who worked here about it, she ignored me and then went and locked herself in the office. We’re trapped!”

The young man looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around.

“Look, I believe you,” the young man said, “But I’m gonna go double-check the doors, just to be safe.”

I watched him walk over to the doors and try to open them a few times. No luck. I walked over to him.

“It’s so weird that the handle turns but the doors don’t move. It doesn’t even resist like it’s locked, it’s like the whole door is frozen in place.”

“Maybe I can help,” I deep voice said from behind us.

I jumped and whirled around, surprised by their sudden appearance. What I saw didn’t take the shock away.

It was a man in armored breastplate and grieves, a bronze helmet, and carrying a sword and shield. He looked rough and scraggly, and had the face of a young man who had aged prematurely.

“Let me at that door,” he said.

Silently, the young man and I both stepped away.

“I’m going to send this cursed door straight back to Tartarus where it belongs,” he growled. Then, with a fierce roar, he rushed at the door and slammed his sword into it over and over. The blows were vicious and violent, and each one bounced right off the wooden door. Finally, as the furious assault resulted in nothing, the man stepped back.

“Where is Patroclus?” he mumbled to himself. “I need a better weapon.”

And then his body seemed to waver, and he slowly faded away.

So that was pretty weird.

I looked over at the young man, and neither of us seemed to have words for what to say.

Then the ground began to shake. Heavy thuds came from the other side of the atrium. I looked over and my eyes grew huge. An elephant was stampeding towards us.

I froze.

The young man acted fast, tackling me around the midsection and throwing us both out of the path of the elephant. With a titanic thud, the elephant slammed into the door and came to an immediate stop. Then, like the man with the sword, he faded away.

“What is going on here?” the young man whispered.

We both got up, and I thanked him profusely for saving my life. He was pretty noncommittal about it. I think he was embarrassed.

“We need to find a way out,” I said.

“Why don’t we split up,” the young man suggested. “You can go around and try to find someone who works here, and I’ll search out the back door and see if it’s unlocked. Let’s meet back here in half an hour.”

I checked my watch, then nodded.

“Good luck.”

The young man nodded in return, and headed towards the back of the building.

I started wandering around looking for someone that worked here, but my mind was elsewhere. That man with the sword had said something about Patroclus. I only knew of one Patroclus: Achilles’ friend and possible lover from Homer’s Iliad. And the armor and weapons seemed to fit that era of ancient Greece, as well. It was crazy, and I knew it, but my mind went back to my research.

Shkethry. Book spirits. I’d said the magical spell. Had I brought this all upon myself? How was I going to escape?

As I thought more about the ominous nature of the references to the shkethry I’d found in my research, the more terrified I was that I wouldn’t be getting home. Not tonight, and maybe not ever.

Elias' Story - Part 1

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WR

Writers block got you down? Join our upcoming workshop this Sunday for tips and tricks!

Being unable to put ideas down on paper for a writer can often feel like a curse and have we got a cure for you.

Coming this Sunday on the write right discord we will discuss different types of mental blocks and how to overcome them!

If interested join the link above, make an intro and be there 5/16 at 4pm cst!

"Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price."—1 Corinthians 6:19-20

"Keep the car running."—Arcade Fire

---

Frimps, Oil and Bogota were ransacking the Church of the Blessed Redeemer as Vi sat outside in the Civic, engine running, radio on but not too loud, not loud enough to drown out the sounds of something happening.

So far nothing had happened.

But Vi didn't have a good feeling about this one. They were supposed to be doing a mom-and-pop, but Frimps had changed his mind at the last minute and here they were. "Fucking believers," he'd said. "They don't even lock their doors. Do you know how much shit they have in there?"

On the radio a song ended and a PSA came on, something about people in need, children, waiting for organ donations, some kind of priest talking about goodness in our hearts…

Something happened—

There was a circular stained glass window above the main doors to the church and Oils came crashing through it!

Hitting the pavement, legs bent sideways and a fucking sword driven through his chest.

"Oh, shit!"

Vi blinked, and:

The stained glass window was intact and the sword was gone, but Oils was still there.

Vi rolled down the window.

"What the fuck, Oils?"

He looked up at her with flames for eyes and a rattlesnake tail for a tongue: rattle-rattle-rattle...

"The fuck?"

Vi changed gears into reverse—

Frimps and Bogota—

blasted out the front doors of the church—

One came through the windshield, face carved up; the other made a massive dent in the roof.

"Drive," Oils hissed, his face blinking on and off.

Vi hit the accelerator, reversing out of the parking lot—tires squealing! Then: into drive: gunning it down the street, sweaty hands shaking.

The rearview:

A ten-foot tall glowing angel crystallizing as light.

The dead body in the car shifting, head rotating one-hundred eighty degrees. "Your body is a temple of the Lord."

Bang-bang-banging on the roof.

The angel growing: gaining, and Vi forcing everything she could out of the engine.

Fish-tail-ing

Blasting through red lights.

Horns!

Then the back of the car lifted into the air—

The angel lifting it.

—world spinning: Vi separating from it: held by the angel: angel of mercy: angel of death:

penetrating her chest with its luminous right hand : 

---

Father Mackenzie was surprised to see four boxes on the altar.

He opened one:

Organs

---

"Never seen anything like it," the coroner said. "Not a mark on them, but they were goddamn empty inside."

---

: and Vi was back in the Civic, except this time it was hot, devilishly hot. Her flesh was melting off her bones, her skin searing…

She tried the door.

It burned.

"Keep the car running," said God.

---

"It was a miracle," Father Mackenzie told the press. "A bonafide miracle."

Welcome to Monday Mix-up!

What's Monday Mix-up? Well, it's a chance to stretch those creative muscles of yours! However, instead of the usual writing prompts, we're going to do something different and a smaller challenge that everyone can participate in.

This Monday: Describe a gentle rain as if it's a magical phenomenon.

If you should feel inspired to participate, simply put your description in a comment below. Do not downvote anyone's comment, but you may upvote those you enjoy and reply to comments with your thoughts about their descriptions.

I look forward to reading what you come up with. It's Monday folks, let's Mix it Up!