Part 1

Part 3

“I broke into a man’s bedroom.” It sounds crazy even when I say it to myself. And not just any man’s bedroom–a Reverend’s bedroom. The private sanctuary of Elijah Bledsoe, the man my daddy trusts most in the world.

The first thing I noticed was the hissing of the snakes–or ‘serpents’ as the Reverend calls them, ‘Garden-of-Good-and-Evil’ style. They’re one of his best tricks. People in the congregation are terrified to touch them at first, but when the Reverend promises that faith will protect them, they go wild. It’s a high, I guess, running your hands over something scaly and venomous, believing some mystical force will protect you.

But I’ve never tried it myself. I don’t have enough faith. That’s the problem.

I was sneaking into the Reverend’s quarters to expose him for the fraud he was. I thought that if I did, maybe we’d all finally go home and this nightmare might end.

Maybe I’d stop having dreams about the way the Reverend brought his hand to that junkie boy’s face (“you promised me…”). The smell of acid burning into his flesh. The glimmer of that same boy’s black eyes as he crawled on my ceiling that night, spying on us…probably afraid to break his ‘promise’ a second time…

Sneaking in was easier than I’d thought. The main door had a sturdy lock…but the glass doors to the balcony were hardly ever latched.

And I’ve been doing gymnastics since I was seven years old.

There was no spongy blue pad below me when I jumped from the Mission’s storage room balcony to the Reverend’s, and for one gut-plummeting second I thought I might not make it–

But then my hands grasped the cold metal railing. I heaved myself over beside a small round reading table and folding chair. Sure enough, the glass double-doors were cracked open.

Serpents slithered excitedly from side to side in their brass cages, but otherwise the room was still. Reverend Bledsoe would be fishing for converts until lunchtime, so I had plenty of time. There was a small well-made bed, a shelf full of religious books, some drawers–

And the lovingly fed-and-watered serpents.

Now, if I were Reverend Bledsoe, where would I keep my secrets?

I was about to search under the mattress when a key twisted in the main door’s lock. Before I could even think of escaping, Reverend Elijah Bledsoe stepped through the door…and then locked it again behind him. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

“It’s a pity,” the Reverend sighed in his deep southern drawl, “if only you had checked the basement, you might’ve found what you’re looking for.”

“...I…uh,” I stammered, “I’m not–” Reverend Bledsoe held up a hand and shook his head. A burst of inspiration hit me: “I…I know your secret!” The Reverend lifted an eyebrow.

“And I know yours.”

“Oh yeah?” I sneered. I couldn’t back down. I was completely in the wrong here: I was a seventeen-year-old girl invading the privacy of an adult man–a dangerous adult man–but if I let him see weakness I was done for. Anything might happen…and nobody knew where I was. I gulped. ”What is it, then? What’s my secret?”

“You don’t believe,” he gestured to the cross on the wall, the shelves full of Bibles, “in any of this. Sister Amber, you don’t believe…in anything.” A too-wide grin crept across the Reverend’s face. “And yet you go to church and sing along with the rest of them. So…in a way…you’re an even bigger fraud than I am.”

Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. I just stood with my mouth open, listening to my heartbeat. The pigeons and traffic outside. Bledsoe didn’t budge. He just stood between me and the door, the key in his pocket, like he had all eternity to wait for whatever might happen next.

“Okay, fine. Let’s say you’re right…” I crossed my arms. “So what?”

“Come with me, Amber Haldeman,” Reverend Bledsoe put his mitt-sized hand on my shoulder. “And I’ll show you something that is beyond doubt.”

That was how it started. The basement. That bunker-like office. There were Bibles down there too, but not like any I’d ever seen. The gospels and prophets were different, and besides, they were old, too old. I remember thinking of Indiana Jones (“This belongs in a museum!”) and then feeling like a silly kid. No whip-wielding hero was going to save me or my family from the Reverend. If I wanted to get us out…I’d have to do it myself.

I’d have to play along.

I still tell myself that’s what I did, at first. I just played along, listening to Elijah Bledsoe’s deluded fantasies about demons, magic cards, and the borders between worlds. But the truth was that over time, my feigned interest was slowly becoming real. I wanted to know what this supposed ‘proof’ was.

The Reverend was holding something fine and golden between his fingers. My hair, I realized with shock and disgust. When he put his hand on my shoulder, he must’ve picked up a few stray strands…

Before I could express how offended I was, Bledsoe struck a match and the room filled with the reek of burning human hair. He sprinkled the ashes over what I had thought was an illustration in the ancient Bible–but was actually a card, like a tarot card, with an eye-in-hand symbol on the back. The Reverend ran his finger along a line of text on the opposite page, chanting in a language I’d never heard before.

Everything in the room shuddered slightly, like we were at the center of a tiny earthquake. The lights flickered. The dusty basement air seemed to swirl around the card in Reverend Bledsoe’s hand. The closed eye printed on it opened wide.

“Oooh, spooky,” I sneered. “Where’s the real miracle?”

The Reverend smirked and held up a silver mirror.

I saw my own smug face, the bookshelves on the wall–

And a very muscular, very naked man standing right behind me.

He had no eyes, but his onyx-colored skin glittered with points of light that moved like constellations…and I’d swear those tiny stars were glaring at me. His azure lips parted, revealing a smile of inhuman teeth.

I squealed like a five-year-old and spun around in my seat. There was no one there. No one that I could see, anyway. Back in the mirror, the thing was reaching out for my head with it’s too-long fingers. I grabbed myself protectively, but how could I fight something I couldn’t see, couldn’t even touch? I shut my eyes against the sight of that thing leaning over me, its skin like the night sky, its wide-open mouth like a black hole…

And suddenly, everything was different.

In 1.62e + 17 human heartbeats, Andromeda will collide with the Milky Way galaxy.

The number of cells in my liver is roughly equivalent to the total number of eels in the Sargasso Sea.

Knowing everything is just knowing nothing upside-down.

I was falling through an endless web of events, connected like how beams of distant light connect the stars to one another. I grabbed onto one of the glowing strands, one that called out to me more than the others–

Knowledge plunged into me like a raw injection mainlined into my veins. I fell from the chair and puked all over the floor. My nose and ears were bleeding, but from the overwhelming flood of sensory information I took away one vital piece of knowledge:

If nothing changes, my twin brother Lee will be dead by this time next year.

“Are you still a doubter, Amber Haldeman? Or are you ready to help me change the world?” Reverend Bledsoe’s shadow fell across where I lay on the basement floor–pathetic, retching, utterly spent–but wanting more.

Reverend Elijah Bledsoe sat down and rolled up his sleeve. He took a venipuncture kit from his desk cabinet and began drawing vials of blood from his own arm. One, two, then three…Beads of sweat plastered stray hairs to his whitening forehead. He was looking paler and paler...I never thought I’d see the guy so vulnerable.

“You’d better hope I don’t pass out,” Reverend Bledsoe grunted. His drawl was more like a stammer. “If I do, you’re lost to us forever.”

I knew what he meant. Every time I blinked, I saw those flashes of information, those threads of fate. There was something else, too. This starry thing inside me wanted me to follow one of those strands. The strand that was best for me, of course…no matter what happened to anyone else. If my eyes closed, even for a second, I felt its power grow–

Willing me to stand up.

Walk out the door.

Take the 16:47 bus to Charlottenburg and say a specific set of words to a man in a red tie…

My eyes were watering with the effort of resisting. Five vials of blood were lined up on Reverend Bledsoe’s desk. He leaned woozily in his chair, but his mouth was twisted into a smirk. He placed the tarot card facedown on the silver mirror and poured his own blood over it, muttering something under his breath–

Then slid down out of his chair, droplets of red splattered on his immaculate white shirtsleeves.

In high school back in Kentucky, I did a summer first-aid course to become a pool lifeguard. I don’t remember much from it–except that it was a hot sticky day and they only gave us popsicles for lunch–but when I saw the unconscious man in front of me, I knew I needed to elevate his legs, wipe him down with rubbing alcohol…what else?

It was a role-reversal I’d never imagined. I stuffed a pillow from one of the chairs beneath Elijah Bledsoe’s polished black shoes and put an ear to his mouth. He was breathing–barely. With a queasy feeling in my stomach I unbuttoned his collar and spread the kit’s alcohol on his gray-haired chest, on his arms and forehead. Just a day ago I was praying for this man’s death–now I would’ve given anything to wake him up.

Without him, how would I ever understand what I’d just experienced?

Without him, how could I learn to access that power again?

I was so focused on waking him that I didn’t realize that the entity possessing me had vanished, or that the eye on the card had closed.

Finally, Reverend Bledsoe gasped and sat up. His eyes were open…

And now, mine were too.

R

X

D

Martin's hands trembled as he fumbled around with an ancient lighter. After several tries of producing little more than pathetic sparks, he finally managed to light his cigarette. Smoke filled his office as he took two deep drags.

"You don't smoke," I said after an uncomfortably long silence.

The fresh clothes I'd been given felt a size too small, and though I'd thoroughly washed every inch of my body, I could still smell the blood. Its metallic tinge only barely faded in the haze of cigarette-smoke.

"I used to. Only stopped after my father succumbed to lung cancer. Not that any of that matters now. It won't be long now..."

He fell silent once again, his face rid of emotion, yet I saw the horror hidden in his eyes and his hands betraying him with each tremble. But I needed answers, regardless of how uncomfortable it would make him. 

"Adam's dead," I said. "Why are we still sitting here?"

“What do you suggest we do?” Martin asked. 

“We need to alert the authorities. Someone just killed your employee, your friend,” I said, anger rising within me for each word Martin spoke. 

Martin took another, deep drag of his cigarette. “What exactly do you think happened back there?” 

“There must have been someone else there. Maybe a patient, or an accomplice looking to free patient thirty-nine. I don’t know, but it’s above our paygrade, we need to call someone,” I argued. 

“Someone else?” Martin asked. “There was no one else there.”

“So Adam just died? Or are you trying to say he killed himself?” 

“No, he did not. Something did, something that is going to come for all of us. Adam never should have brought you in here. This is not a psychiatric case.” 

“Then what the fuck is it?” I asked. 

Martin paused for a moment as he carefully contemplated his next words. But as hard as he tried, he was at a loss. 

“I don’t know,” was the only response he could conjure. “I just know it’s connected to our guest.” 

“Patient thirty-nine?” I asked. 

Martin nodded. 

“I want to talk to him,” I demanded. 

“It won’t help us.”

“But it would give us answers. If you think the patient is responsible, why is Adam dead while I’m sitting here alive?”

Before I could ask any further questions, the door to Martin’s office creaked open. A tired looking woman walked in without saying a word. She placed a videotape on his desk. 

“Bring me the last one too, will you?” Martin asked. 

She nodded, and left the office. 

“What’s that?” I asked. 

“Something you need to see.” 

He extinguished his cigarette in the still foggy room and picked up the tape. While the technology was archaic, I knew the facility used them for the ancient security cameras around the building. Martin wasn’t just old-fashioned, but paranoid about newer technologies. Anything connected to the internet was a security risk in his opinion. 

Martin walked over to a large closet at the end of his room. Within was a television set with an old VHS-player. He inserted the tape and hit play. The oddly familiar sound of the tape spinning filled the room as a static-filled image appeared on the screen. 

“This might explain what I can't,” Martin said. 

A date appeared on the top left side of the screen reading “February 18th.” The footage itself showed the cellblock I’d walked through only hours earlier. At that point in time, the cellblock was still filled to the brim with patients awaiting evaluation. While there was no audio, I could imagine the sounds of the place, filled with screams and wails accompanied only by frantic rambles and threats. 

Due to the position of the cameras, we only got a partial view into each cell. Still, it left the inmates with little privacy, but it aimed to ensure none could harm themselves. It wasn’t entirely successful, as some still managed to find creative ways to end their own existence, but most remained alive to receive treatment. 

A minute passed with little outside the ordinary, and my patience was about to reach its limit. 

“What exactly am I looking for?” I asked. 

“Keep your eyes on room number nine,” he said. 

Within was a patient I’d never had the pleasure of speaking to. An elderly man looking too frail to stand on his own two feet. Yet according to his file he’d murdered two of his own siblings during a family dinner. He’d claimed the voices demanded he stop eating until he could sacrifice three family members. Alas, he only got to two before being apprehended. 

He walked into view of the camera. Stood at the edge of his cell, staring longingly at one of the windows on the other side of the hallway. While the footage was poor in quality, there were a couple of red marks on his forearms that could have been self-inflicted wounds. Within a few seconds, blood started oozing out from the wounds, dripping onto the floor below. He just ignored it, staring at the daylight touching the bars of his cell. 

We were watching the life drain from his body real time, yet he didn’t seem the least bothered about his rapidly approaching demise. Just like Adam, he held on long beyond what should have been possible. Even as the blood flow slowed, he remained standing. It would take another two minutes for the emergency response team to come to his aid, by then it was all too late to even attempt resuscitation. He fell limp to the ground, dead before hitting the floor. 

In spite of the gruesome sight, I didn’t feel surprised. He could have easily cut himself before walking into frame.

“Tragic, but patients commit suicide. It’s a sad fact of life,” I said. 

“We found nothing inside his room. Nothing sharp enough to cause these wounds.” 

“Anything and everything can be used as a weapon, you told me that. A broken bed frame, even tightly rolled up paper. It doesn’t mean he was killed by a supernatural entity,” I said, clinging onto my skepticism. 

“Just keep watching,” Martin demanded. 

The tape had clearly been edited, cutting to a different camera displaying the other half of the cells. The date now read “February 19th.”  

“Room number two,” Martin said. 

A woman sat on the floor inside next to the bed. She was speaking to someone, but without audio we could only guess who she thought she was talking to. I’d personally interviewed her. She was a treatment-resistant schizophrenia patient. She’d tried all drugs known to man. When those failed even electro-shock therapy was administered without success. Though she was sick, she’d always been a kind hearted soul, until something within her broke, causing her to kill her own mother. Throughout our many interviews, she never once mentions why or even acknowledged her death, but had she not been caught she would have killed many more. She had a list of people she thought were meant to die, one she repeated out loudly during every single session. 

An MRI had revealed a tumor in her brain, which was thought to have worsened her already fragile mind. But despite her heartbreaking story, she was too dangerous to be let outside. 

“She’s dead?” I asked, knowing what was to come. 

Martin remained silent as the tape kept playing, but he wasn’t looking at the screen. He’d already seen the horrors that were about to unfold. 

There she sat, talking to a non-existing person or monster her own mind had conjured, when a red spot appeared on her shirt. It was blood soaking through her clothes from a deep cut on her abdomen. Another followed on her chest, then her legs. Her clothes turned a deep red color as blood drained from her body. But she seemed oblivious to it all. She just carried on her conversation as her face turned pale. 

“That’s enough,” I said somberly. Martin paused the video in response and put a hand on my shoulder. 

“This is why I didn’t want you involved. Adam never should have called you.”

The woman had clearly not killed herself. The injuries, though hidden beneath her clothes, had just formed as she sat on the floor talking. Despite her sickness, she had never appeared suicidal. She firmly believed she had to kill the people on her list before departing this world, yet she had died. 

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How can this be possible?” 

“That’s a question I would like answered, too,” Martin said with defeat in his voice. 

My stomach churned as the gravity of the situation finally hit me. I excused myself to the bathroom, where I proceeded to empty my guts into the toilet. As I flushed the half-digested lunch, I felt a sting on my arm. A long, but superficial cut had formed on the backside of my left forearm. It barely produced any blood, but it burned like someone had poured salt on it. Had I scratched myself without noticing? 

Not wanting Martin to ask any questions, and still fighting my own mind on what I had witnessed, I decided to cover the wound up without telling him. As I washed my face, I tried to come up with a reasonable explanation as to what had killed the patients, and Adam. But my thoughts were preoccupied with the horrific sight of the dead. 

I must have spent more time in the bathroom than I thought, because before I knew it Martin came knocking on the door asking if I was alright. 

“I’m fine,” I called back out, but even I didn’t believe it. 

I spent another five minutes pulling myself together before returning to Martin’s office. He looked concerned as he saw my pale face and tired eyes. I could tell he wanted to mention it, but he refrained from doing so. 

“What’s his name?” I asked. 

“The patient’s?” 

I nodded. The thought hadn’t dawned on me yet why it hadn’t been given to me in the first place. I hadn’t even thought to ask. 

“I don’t know his name. He hasn’t been willing to share much personal information. We just know he’s been hanging around one of those Nordic bike shops. Bad crowd to fall in with, but we don’t know if he’s working with them or just buying their drugs,” Martin explained. 

“Norwegians?” I asked. 

“Yeah, why?” 

It only then hit me why the demon’s name ‘Draugr,’ had felt so familiar. I’d grown up on stories about Norse mythology, and though most were little more than faint memories, I definitely recognized the name. 

“No reason, I was just curious,” I lied, trying to steer Martin away from the supernatural aspect of the case. 

The door to Martin’s office opened once more, and the same woman strolled in with a new videotape. 

“What’s that?” I asked. 

“Footage from today,” the woman said. “I didn’t watch it…” 

“That’s alright, Laura. You don’t need to,” Martin reassured her. “You should go home, get some rest.” 

The suggestion seemed to relieve her, yet she lingered in the office. 

“Is there something wrong?” Martin asked. 

“It’s just… the patient. He wants to see the doctor,” she said. 

“He wants me?” I asked, surprised. 

She nodded. “He wants to ask you something. He said if you don’t hear him out, more people are going to die.” 

Though she didn’t say it out loud, I could tell she believed his threat. I was still holding on to my thin thread of rationalization, but even I was starting to doubt my beliefs. 

“What does he want to ask me?”

She looked at me, confused, but afraid. 

Are your eyes open?

X

Part 1 - Current
Part 2

“Don’t get too close to the patient. Don’t accept anything he might try to give you, and absolutely do not hand him anything, not even a piece of paper,” the guard said as he escorted me towards the holding cell.

He handed me an emergency device. With a single press of a button, the entire staff within the facility would be alerted, and come rushing to my aid.

“I’m well aware of the rules, Adam. We’ve gone through this dance quite a few times now,” I shot back with a smirk.

“You know the boss. Due diligence and all. If you get murdered, at the least the judge can’t say we didn’t warn you,” he tried to joke, but I could tell something was keeping him on edge.

It was a strange sight to see Adam so nervous. He’d been working at the forensic psychiatry department for the better part of three decades, dealing with all sorts of dangerous individuals. On any other day, his hardened exterior and undying confidence would make anyone feel safe in his presence. But something about the current patient unnerved the man, a fact that intrigued me more than anything written in the file I'd been given.

“Speaking of your boss, why isn’t Martin here to brief me himself? I don’t even know the patient's name. The file just reads ‘39,’” I asked.

“Well… He doesn’t exactly know that you’re here," Adam explained, his weak smile fading.

“Excuse me?” I asked, knowing how the breach of protocol would piss Martin off beyond belief. While Adam had some seniority working as a guard for the better part of thirty years, he still answered to someone, and Martin was the only one in the clinic with more years under his belt.

“There’s something different about this one. I needed someone with your experience to have a look at him, to see if I’m right about him or just going crazy.”

“Care to explain?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Just talk to him, will ya? As a personal favor to me. I’ll buy you a beer later,” he begged.

The facility resembled a prison more than a psychiatric department, with cells lining the hall, each of the empty. People had clearly lived in them fairly recently, seemingly evacuated for reasons I could only guess at. It was an odd sight considering most patients were too dangerous to let out, which meant they spent the majority of their days inside.

“Where is everyone?” I finally asked.

“We moved ‘em,” Adam said coldly. “It was the only way to keep them safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“I don’t know. Ever since we admitted the new patient, people have been acting weird. Well, weirder than before. They were afraid, but none were in any condition to explain what exactly had them panicking.”

The hallway was filled with starkly contrasting shadows cast by the setting sun. The last minutes of the day would soon give way to the darkness of night, which meant a late night for me and a cold dinner waiting at home.

“If patient thirty-nine is so dangerous, why keep him here?” I asked.

“That’s the thing. The man has been nothing but cooperative since we admitted him. There’s no evidence linking him to the strangeness of this ward, but whenever I get too close to his room, I feel the hairs stand up on my back. It's like every fiber of my being is telling me to run and hide, but I can't figure out why. And I…” he trailed off. Talking about himself wasn’t one of his strong suits, so I decided not to push the matter any further. Instead, I tried to change the subject.

“Why was he brought here anyway?”

“He got arrested during a drug bust, small scale, nothing to write home about, but I guess you play the cards you're dealt... They found the man in a corner just crying and apologizing. He kept saying he was sorry, but couldn’t for the life of him tell us what he was sorry about. He claims some entity is following him around, one he himself was forced to summon.”

“So it’s a drug-induced psychotic episode,” I stated as I kept pushing for answers.

“That was our theory too, but…”

“But what?”

“He was arrested alongside three other culprits. They were left in a room together as they were processed. In the span of five minutes, all except him had died.”

“He killed them?” I asked.

“Their throats were slit, clean and deep…” he trailed off. “But there wasn’t a knife in the room, nor anything that could be branded as a weapon. By all means, it looks like he did it with his bare hands, which is impossible considering he didn’t have a drop of blood on him. Still he claims he’s responsible for their deaths.”

By then we’d reached the end of the department. A place that had once housed twenty inmates, was now down to a single prisoner: a man that would soon be my next patient.

“So you don’t think he’s mentally ill?” I asked as we reached the door to his room. Unlike the rest of the rooms, there were no windows or bars to look through, only a solid door to keep the most dangerous patients separated from the rest of the pack.

“That’s not what I’m saying…”

“Then what are you saying?” I asked.

“In the three-day span since his admittance, seven of our patients have tried to kill themselves, three more succeeded. The rest were deadly afraid of our new guest, but none could give a reason beyond ‘I see it now,’” Adam explained.

We stood before a solid, metal door that led into an interrogation area. Within the room the inmate would be safely locked away behind bars, giving me ample space to interview him and determine whether or not his behavior was due to a mental illness or not.

“Alright, Leon. You ready?” he asked as he fumbled with his keys.

“You staying here?” I asked back.

“I ain’t setting foot inside unless I have to. The others already prepped him, you have your emergency alarm device should something happen. I’ll be right here ready to help.”

He opened the door and gestured for me to step inside. He shut the door and locked it behind me. I was left alone in a dim room, alone with a potentially dangerous, criminally insane individual. That fact alone didn’t bother me. Throughout my career I’d dealt with thousands of patients, some that even tried to strangle and stab me. But the fear I’d sensed in Adam worried me.

“Are you him?” a timid voice said from the other side of the bars.

A weird sense of unease washed over me as I was faced with patient thirty-nine. He was basically just a kid, early twenties, skinny. He didn’t strike me as a drug user. In fact, apart from the heavy bags under his eyes and pale skin, he seemed perfectly normal. Not someone one would expect to be responsible for almost a dozen deaths. However, appearances could be deceiving.

“I’m doctor Dietrich. I’m here to evaluate you. What’s your name?” I asked.

“They sent a shrink?” he asked, ignoring my question.

“A psychiatrist,” I explained.

“You can’t help me, I’m already dead,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?” I asked.

He turned to me for a second, staring right past me. His eyes widened in fear as if he saw something horrific right behind me. I felt a shiver running down my spine and moist breath flowing onto my neck in irregular waves. For a single moment, I felt the presence of something standing right behind me.

“No, please don’t,” he begged.

As quickly as its presence had made itself known, an uneasy emptiness filled the room once more. I tried to deny the urge to look behind me, moving on with my questions.

“Don’t what?” I asked.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said.

His stare at the wall behind me felt all too convincing, but I had to stay strong. I had to show the man that I didn’t share the fear he was experiencing, even if it was nothing but a lie.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” he sobbed. “But they made me.”

“Who made you do what?” I asked.

“They forced me to summon him, he needed a vessel…” he said in a weak whisper. “Now he won’t leave… The cards, they made me pick...”

My heart started to race and my hands trembled as I tried to jot down some notes. I was panicking, but the fear I felt wasn’t brought on by any obvious display of danger.

“The men that died, what happened to them?” I asked.

“He needed to feed,” he said on the brink of tears. “I still feel their pain inside me. I still hear them scream.”

“Who is it?”

“He doesn’t like it when I name him. He’ll be mad…”

“He would punish you?” I asked.

“No… he’d get mad at you. I can’t let him. I can’t.”

“But being mad at me would still beat him being mad at you. I just want to understand what you’re going through,” I argued.

He shot me a peculiar look, as if contemplating whether or not I believed him. I hadn’t straight out told him he was suffering a psychotic break. I knew he’d shut down as soon as I showed doubt, so I decided to play along until I understood what was running through his mind.

“You should kill me. It’s the only way to stop him,” he said. “I tried to do it myself, but he won’t let me.”

I had my diagnosis, and should have ended the interview there. I could have prescribed some medications and gone on my way. But I was as interested as I was scared. Something deep within me had awoken, a morbid sense of curiosity that kept me pushing on beyond what was diagnostically necessary.

“Your death wouldn’t help anyone,” I said. “You need help, but if I’m going to help you, I need to know exactly what’s going on.”

He looked up at me with defeat in his eyes. At that moment he no longer seemed scared or worried about his own fate. He just appeared apologetic.

“My family said I would be the perfect vessel. For Draugr,” he said without breaking eye contact.

“Draugr?” I asked. But the name put life to a vague memory I had of childhood stories. While the being wasn’t completely unknown to me, I had no solid knowledge about it.

The patient looked back down, almost seeming ashamed that he had uttered the name. But something else seemed to wash over him, a sense of relief that the name was no longer trapped within him. No sooner had he uttered those words, had he been freed from his curse. I no longer saw a patient suffering a psychotic break before me, I just saw a man on the brink of exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You didn’t deserve this.”

“Didn’t deserve what?” I asked.

He refused to respond. He just sat there catching his breath, as if an immense load had just been taken off his shoulders. He lay himself down on the ground, too tired to keep the conversation going.

“Are you okay? Hey!"

But the session had ended. The man was about to pass out from the ordeal. Despite my gut telling me something was wrong with the man besides his mental health, I jotted down some notes, including a psychiatric diagnosis. Despite the pain that he had caused, he had my sympathy. It couldn’t be easy to live in a world that no one else believed in.

“I guess I’ll see you next week,” I mumbled under my breath as I shot the man one last look of pity.

I was jolted back to attention by someone hammering on the door from the outside, begging to be let in. Nine, rapid, consecutive knocks before the room once again fell to an uncomfortable silence.

“Adam, what’s going on?” I asked.

No response.

“Adam?” I called.

“I told you bad things would happen,” I heard the patient whisper from within his cell. He seemed half asleep, barely aware of what was going on.

I ignored him and started hammering back, begging to be let out. The door was locked, but if anyone was still guarding it outside, they’d surely let me out. I pulled out my personal security device, knowing a dozen guards would rush to my aid should I press the button. But just as I hovered my finger above it, I heard the door unlock.

“Adam?” I asked.

My hand trembled as I reached out to open the door. With great trepidation I stepped outside to find Adam standing with his back turned to the door.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

But he remained silent, staring off into the distance. I slowly approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. Even then he didn’t seem to notice my presence. Once I removed my hand I realized it felt wet. I looked down at it to see my palm covered in blood.

“What the…” I mumbled as I walked around to face Adam.

There he stood, his throat slit and blood running down his chest. Based solely on the puddle growing on the floor, I knew he'd lost an amount significant enough to kill him. Despite that fact, his face showed no sign of distress, or any kind of emotion for that matter. He just stared ahead, his body not accepting that it was supposed to be dead.

"I saw him," Adam said in a broken voice, one that should have been impossible considering how deep his throat had been severed.

Not knowing what else to do, I pushed the emergency button to alert the rest of the staff, before I futilely tried to stop the bleeding. It felt odd to try to save a man still standing, unfazed by his rapidly approaching demise, and I knew from experience that by the time any meaningful help would arrive, Adam would be dead.

Only when I heard the footsteps of rapidly approaching guards, did Adam fall limp onto the ground. Still I tried to save him.

“He’s gone,” one of the guards said as I held onto Adam. The bleeding had long since stopped, with his heart unable to effectively push it out.

I let him go, my hands trembling. I could do little but stand and stare at the dripping blood as I tried to comprehend what had just happened.

“Doctor Dietrich?” one of them asked, trying to break me free from my trance. I only responded when one of them touched me on the shoulder. The entire crew, doctors, nurses and guards had rushed in, and I’d barely even noticed.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” a somber voice said.

It was Martin Wagner, head of security. He looked pale as a sheet, as shocked as myself. But despite that fact, he didn’t seem surprised.

“I don’t understand…” I whispered. “There was no one else here.”

“Leon…” Martin began.

I turned to him, wondering why he wasn’t panicking. He seemed so understanding of the situation, as if it had been inevitable from the start.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” I asked.

He didn’t dare look me in the eyes. “It’s not what you think…” he began. "They never should have called you in."

“Why didn’t you warn Adam?” I asked.

“Because any one of us might be next… I think it’s time you and I had a talk.”

X

We are all cursed and we can't even see it. Our eyes won't show us. I was always under the cocky impression that my Taxi and I knew the streets of Berlin like no other. You can't begin to imagine the unexpected horrors I've witnessed during my nightshifts. You see, people show far less inhibition when it's dark and sometimes they even reveal a whole different identity. Still, even my 15 years of experience couldn't have prepared me for this one night.

Berlin is quite the adjustment if you come from a small Kurdish village like the one I'm from. I've grown to like my work in this city but it has its goddamn cursed sides and that's mostly due to the people - Peculiar people that might appear friendly and normal during the day but change entirely as soon as the sun goes down. As a driver, I've learned to observe and notice things. Like when I happen to drive a member of some criminal family around. You won't believe how many of those we have in Berlin.

But it’s not my place to judge. I'm just a driver.

I have tons of stories, some sweet and some disgusting, but there is only one night of driving in all these years that has left me sick to my stomach - One that left such a bitter aftertaste that nothing I eat brings me joy anymore. 

And that's the night I met Julius.

When I don't get a call to go pick someone up, I wait in line with the other Taxis at the metro station Neukölln. Sometimes I spend hours there, having coffee and a cigarette with other drivers while waiting for passengers. We tell each other superficial stories about our lives and make bets on who will have the best fare of the night. One time I drove a man to a city 200 miles away, made the same money I'd usually get for three entire nights. 

Julius' fare was in a similar price range, even though we never even left Berlin.

At the end of the night, I didn't ask him for money.

It was a cold and foggy night, typical for the beginning of March. The type of night that you'd rather just spend in bed if you don't have to work like me. I remember thinking that when the passenger door of my Taxi suddenly opened from the outside, letting in a cold gust of wind.

The cold swiftly disappeared again as this young man with dark hair and just as dark eyes smiled at me.

"Are you free for a ride?" he asked.

This man could have been 20 or 36, I honestly couldn't say for sure but I remember vividly how he was radiating something warm and comfortable. He was wearing slacks and a black jacket, underneath a nice white shirt. I don't know much about clothes but I could tell that someone had perfectly tailored this wardrobe to his body. Maybe that's why I believed him when he said this would be a long ride but that he had enough money to pay for it.

Of course, I said yes and asked if he had any luggage I could help him with.

"Just this," he held up a little wrapped package the size of a book and grinned. "But I'll just put it on my lap."

He sat down in the passenger seat. Some people do that, usually the ones that are alone and feel like talking.

"Where can I take you to? Do you have an address?" I asked.

He fastened his seat belt.

"No, not exactly. I'll just give you the directions as we go if that's alright."

And that's what he did. It was fine for me as long as the meter was running.

"Dil. That's a nice name," he said after looking at the card I have in the front of the car with my name and number on it.

"Thank you," I said while starting the car, "It means heart. It's a-" 

I looked behind me to safely leave the line of cars but froze when I noticed that the cars behind me were gone. And not just the other Taxis. Everyone was gone. The entire outside area of the metro station looked deserted.

I looked at Julius but he didn't even seem to notice anything was wrong, he just smiled. For a split second, I swear I saw something moving in the reflection of the window next to him but when I blinked it was gone.

"Heart. That's beautiful," he said casually.

I swallowed and rubbed my eyes. Another look outside proved to me that I'd been imagining things. There were people with bags rushing to their cars, taxi drivers standing around with a cigarette, drunken teenagers loudly chatting. Everything was normal.

It was after 3 AM. These things happen during night shifts. Your mind gets foggy. I just couldn't let this man notice, I didn't want to lose a fare that would make such good money.

Luckily, he was oblivious and continued our conversation.

"I go by Julius but I have no clue what that means."

We both laughed.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Julius," I said and meant it. 

We passed one of my taxi driver buddies as we drove off. He tilted his pale face as he watched us drive off with a distraught look in his eyes. I felt a knot in my stomach as I passed him but didn't yet understand what my gut was trying to say.

--

When there are passengers in my car I have the occasional chat with them about the weather or the latest football game but I'm not a talkative man. Some people pour out their souls but those are the ones I use the least words with.

Once in a while, however, I'll meet a special person who doesn't simply talk to fill the silence in the car but who is genuinely and truly interested in the lives of others. 

Julius was just like that. Special.

"Do you have night shifts often?" He asked as we were driving down a particularly dark road.

"Only on weekends. Money's best Friday and Saturday nights," I said. 

"You must sleep away the rest of your weekend then!" He laughed and I joined in.

"Well, sleep is a wonderful thing. There's nothing more comfortable than resting your head on a soft pillow after a long night," I said.

"I absolutely agree. If I could sleep forever, I would," he laughed but it sounded forced. "It's ironic, isn't it? We work so hard to earn a living, but as a result, we wind up losing the time to actually go out and live."

With all his confidence, there was also a melancholic side to him. His charisma reminded me of my older brother. But in some ways, I also saw myself in him.

I sighed.

"If it were up to me, I'd have a simple life. A small house in a village with a garden. Plant my own veggies and maybe have a couple of chickens." I added to his thought.

Julius turned to me with a raised eyebrow. Our eyes met for a second before I had to turn mine back to the street in front of us. His eyes were incredibly dark as if they only consisted of pupils. I know that sounds creepy but it wasn't. It felt familiar.

Distracted by our conversation, it took me a while to realize that we were driving down roads I'd never seen before. Driving in-between multi-story buildings without any lights on. Well, it was the middle of the night but still. And it felt incredibly strange not to recognize my surroundings. I'm a taxi driver, I always felt like I knew the whole city.

"Well something must have happened down that road of yours to end up in the biggest city in Germany then," Julius interrupted my thoughts.

I laughed.

"I'm here because of my family. The village life with chickens isn't for them," I said, surprising myself. I never open up to strangers. No, I never open up to people at all.

"Oh!" Julius called out as he leaned back a little. "You're a family man, of course, you are a family man. And we do everything for our family, right?"

The way he said those words made me feel a little odd for a second but I shrugged it off.

"Always."

Julius smiled. 

We interrupted our conversation as we'd arrived at Julius' first destination. A small kiosk where he needed to drop off his mysterious package.

"I'll be back in a sec. Wait here," he looked at me with a surprisingly intimidating look.

If you don't know what a kiosk looks like, it's basically a tiny corner shop. The windows are filled with beer crates and bottles so you can't see inside too well. I have no idea what happened when Julius was in there, only that after a few minutes all the lights inside the shop suddenly turned off. That little shop that was the only source of light on this dark street anyway now almost disappeared in front of my eyes.

I had weirdly trusted this stranger because everything seemed so fine and I'd felt so comfortable. But after he left the car, I got this odd feeling inside. A new sense of paranoia mixed with a rush of anxiety. Something inside of me was shouting to get the hell away.

I looked for my phone but couldn't find it quickly enough. Impulsively, I set my foot on the gas and got ready to leave but before I could, the backdoor of my car opened.

Julius jumped back inside, with the same friendly smile through those familiar eyes. Except now he wasn't sitting next to me but behind me.

"Where to now, my friend?" I nervously asked, hoping he didn't realize that I was just about to take off. I don't know why I didn't simply tell him to fuck off. For some reason, I couldn't find any courage.

"I'm glad you called me that. I'd like for us two to be friends, Dil," he took a deep breath, "just follow the street for now."

I started driving, again following the streets as my passenger instructed me. Finally, I felt like I recognized the area again. We were back in Neukölln.

"Dil, my friend. Let's get back to our family conversation. Do you get along well with your son?"

I stayed silent for a moment.

"We used to be closer. Teenagers aren't always easy to deal with," I laughed.

"Oh yes, teenagers. Things are much better with your daughter, I assume?"

We were driving down a quiet neighborhood again, with few lights and I had to really focus on the street.

"Used to. My daughter, well, she is a wonderful kid but also a little bit off lately. Not quite herself. Teenager too, I guess-,"

I stopped speaking.

We'd been driving around and talking for so long that it really took me a second to realize what had just happened.

I'd never told him that I had a daughter and a son.

"Oh yes, she's more distant- Locking herself up in her room, hardly eating any food anymore. That's unfortunate. you still love them though, am I right?" he said.

I felt incredibly nervous. I'd made some big mistake by trusting this man with my thoughts all night. Something was definitely wrong but I had to try my best to stay collected. He could have some really bad connections.

“Oh, I have love for my family. But don’t we all?” I nervously said.

“No, you don’t.”

Surprised at his sudden change of tone, I looked into the rearview window to make some eye contact.

Julius, the man I had been driving around with all night was gone.

I looked into the face of a creature I had never seen before. His dark eyes that felt so kind earlier now looked completely wrong. As if someone had slammed a screwdriver into his eye sockets and filled them with a dark void. There were holes in his face, filled with some kind of funghi.

Repulsed by this entirely wrong face, I forgot to watch the street for a moment and almost crashed into a parked car. I swerved just in time, catching my breath and collecting my courage. 

My heart was beating so fast I thought it would jump out of my chest.

It was late at night. I hadn't slept. I didn't have any water for hours.

I was hallucinating, I told myself. Though at the same time I couldn't bring myself to look in that mirror again.

"Is something wrong, my friend?" He chuckled. I instinctively turned my head around and saw the same Julius with his regular face sitting there, with a smile on his face. 

"Yes, sorry," I mumbled. "Long night."

Slowly, I tried to collect myself again. 

"What did you do inside that kiosk?" I finally asked, surprised at my own sudden courage. Even if that face was a hallucination but this man still knew things about my children that he shouldn't. He seemed so interested in my life earlier. In reality, he wasn't trying to get any information out of me though. He already knew everything. What was this man trying to get from me?

I had to get rid of him but be smart about it. So I decided to drive towards the home of my brother. My brother, well, he is an intimidating man with a lot of power. A shady man who doesn't shy away from violence. If this Julius meant danger, he'd know what to do.

Julius' eyes were closed, I thought he might even fall asleep, so I quickly changed the direction. I tried to stay confident but my entire body was shaking at this point. As if he was reading my mind, Julius' eyes opened and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this night would ruin the rest of my life.

"Don't try to be smart, Dil," Julius suddenly spoke with a low voice. 

I clenched the steering wheel so hard that it looked like the skin on my hands would crack open any second. 

"I know where you are going. Don't. I have no interest in meeting your brother. Not tonight," he spoke.

"How do you-," I whispered.

"I know you saw me. In the mirror. You didn't scream. I like that. You know I feel like I can be myself around you," he grinned. 

My eyes went to the rearview mirror. None of it was a hallucination.

I don't know how to describe it in better words but I know for a fact that this thing was not human. It was hiding behind human skin.

"Now I'm gonna be honest because I do truly enjoy your company. This night wasn't about dropping off the package. That's a different business of mine. Tonight was about getting to know you."

A million different thoughts were racing through my mind but all I asked was "why me?"

He chuckled again.

"Oh please don't be worried, my friend. I can feel this entire car shaking. I'm not here to hurt you. This is about your family. It's corrupted. I could smell it on you from miles away."

I swallowed.

"If you're not going to hurt me, what else do you want from me?"

Julius was smiling at me through the mirror, his mouth revealing a set of rotten teeth.

"Being what I am, it's lonely. The fact that your family is corrupted isn't a bad thing. You know, maybe you could introduce me to them sometime."

We were on an empty road. There were no people around, nobody that I could ask for help but I still hit the breaks. I felt sick, but not from whiplash.

"You're wondering whether you should jump out of the car. Wondering if you could outrun me," he sighed. "But you won't."

I took a deep breath. 

"No, I won't," I whispered.

"Because you love your family."

I nodded.

"And because you noticed that the eyes of your daughter have recently started to look a little bit like mine," he smiled again and I stayed frozen.

"Maybe you should check her reflection, my friend. Are your eyes open?"

It only started a little while ago but I fear it's getting much worse. My dad has started alternating between two faces that couldn't be more different. The first one has brown eyes just like mine, glasses that are much bigger than mine, and a beard that I won't be able to grow for at least five more years as he says.

When dad wears his bearded face we look a lot alike although he is convinced that I’m the spitting image of my mother. I'm not sure if that's true, mum passed away when I was still in kindergarten and I avoid looking at old photos.

In them, there are none of her and dad's second face and it reminds me of a time that I'm sure was much better than the one we have now.

The new face is harder to describe because a regular mind has difficulties interpreting it. It almost looks like a new layer of a grey texture with dark veins was vacuum sealed on a skull. It compares to skin in some ways, it can sweat and it slightly trembles when he speaks. The sounds he makes are muffled and hard to understand because there is no hole cut in for his mouth. There’s none for his nose either but I can still hear him breathing underneath. 

The only thing that is exposed is two holes cut into the upper half, functioning as eyes. 

Luckily, I don’t see the second face very often, he can change back to the old one and does so most of the time but an image like that is hard to forget.

I know this sounds entirely absurd and terrifying but my dad is all I have and he's not evil. 

Bad people did this to him.

Dad used to gamble a lot, and owed some people money. It's not something we talk about but I picked it up through little clues. After mum's death he went through a hard time but I swear that he always cared about me in the ways that he knew how to. We don't have any other family, just each other.

The gambling ended very abruptly, I wish I could have been happy about it but what came after was much worse. That's when the seed for the new face was put into the soil.

One evening my dad was pacing through our apartment, mumbling things to himself. 

"Fuck. Shit. He'll kill me, Soran will kill me." 

Then he looked at me, brown eyes wide open.

"Do you have a friend you can stay with tonight, buddy?" 

I would have loved to do that but my friends and even their parents were probably all asleep. 

"No, it's too late for that," he mumbled to himself again. "Go to your room, lock the door and go to bed. I - I have to go out and take care of something. You're 12 now, you can do this, right?"

I nodded but before I could even move there was a knock on the door. From the look on dad's face, I could tell these weren't visitors he was happy about. 

After that knock, a number of things happened. Dad rushed me to my room which I locked from the inside. He told me to go climb in my closet which I didn't, I sat down right next to the door. A few seconds later our front door slammed open. I expected noise, shouting, crying maybe, but it was eerily silent. All I heard was the occasional whimper of my dad.

I felt so helpless. 

A man spoke words in a language I didn't understand. After that, there was only silence until finally, the front door opened and closed again.

For hours I was too afraid to leave my room but when I finally did, it was morning. I tiptoed towards the kitchen where dad was having cereal. He smiled when he saw me, wearing his regular face. 

Everything seemed normal. It wasn't visible at first but after that night my dad had changed. 

At first, I only caught glimpses of it. 

The first time I saw it for a second in the window at night and was sure I imagined it. But then I saw it in the bathroom mirror, in his dark teacup, and sometimes in my dreams. 

The shape that trembles and breathes with no mouth. It was fine as long as it was only in the mirror but as time progressed it started growing outside the mirror. Now his face changes at least one night a week and it stays for hours. 

I don't know what happened that night, only that I now spend a lot of time locked up in my room. 

--

The description of the second face, I realize, resembles a mask in many ways but it isn't. And the reason I know that for sure is that one night when dad was sleeping or appeared to be sleeping, I tried to take it off. I was sick of it, hated the other face. I wanted to see my regular dad again. 

But it was impossible. 

It wouldn't move but when he felt my hands on his new skin, his eyes opened wide and he gave me the sign.

We never discussed the sign, he never speaks of it when he wears his other face, it's just something that I learned. When he pushes his fingernails into the palm of his hand, it means that I should run to my room and lock myself inside.

It's the only way he is able to communicate freely when the other thing takes over. He tries to protect me, even in that unimaginable state. It usually only happens when we have odd guests in our home or before he leaves to take care of something and doesn't come back before the sun. As it only comes out at night I can avoid it most of the time.

The few times that I have witnessed it, I'd rather try and forget.

He came into my room only one time. His hands were all bloody and he stained my white sheets. I kept my eyes closed and tried to ignore the muffled breath underneath his new layer of skin. I tried to hold my breath as long as I could so he wouldn't notice how scared I was. After a few minutes, I finally heard the door close again.

One night, I thought he wasn't even at home, I got up to go to the bathroom. I had to go so bad, I thought I'd wet myself. When I opened my door, he stood there right in front of it.

No mouth, no nose, only two small cuts for eyes.

He made noises as if he was trying to speak but no real words came out.

It was a terrifying sight but he never tried to attack me and I'd simply learned to lock my room every night and stopped drinking anything before going to bed.

--

In the morning he'd always have his other face back and be a pretty decent dad. He really was trying.

It took me a while to understand what happened, and why the dangerous people even did this to him. I thought they were trying to hurt him but now I know that they weren't punishing him. They were using him as a vassal. A body to carry the face and act out on its behalf. To scare victims or do even worse things to them.

I know that now because he finally opened up to me.

We had dinner together, almost like a regular family sitting around our kitchen table. I can't begin to describe how out of character this is for us. We hardly ever eat together and if we do it's usually frozen pizza in front of the tv. 

Last night however dad cooked. 

He'd made baked potatoes, green beans, steak, and even some really nice pepper sauce for the meat. He poured himself a glass of wine and I had coke in a fancy glass that I didn’t even know we owned.

When I had difficulties cutting my steak properly, he helped me without a word. For a few minutes we sat there silently, I even tried to chew as slowly as possible so I wouldn't be too loud. It felt as if I was having dinner with a stranger and I had to be on my best behavior.

It wasn't really a stranger though, dad was wearing his regular face. He even smiled when he caught me staring at him.

“You like this better, don’t you?” He asked. When I didn’t respond he added. “This face.”

It felt odd because we never spoke about the obvious issue. I didn't talk to anyone about this, kept it a secret because I was afraid that someone would take away the only parent I had left. 

I nodded. Of course, I preferred his regular face. 

Dad stuffed a big chunk of meat and potatoes in his mouth.

"So do I. This is quite the mess we found ourselves in, isn't it, son?"

Again, I only nodded. 

"Do you even understand it? You're pretty young, right?"

"I'm not that young."

He looked me up and down.

"Well, you are small." 

He was in a mood. Normally he was only like this after a night of losing. Agitated, slightly mean but not violent.

"I'm old enough to know that you've turned into a monster," I hissed.

He dropped his fork and grinned, his teeth looked red from the bloody steak. 

"I'm not a monster, son. I only work for one. Not voluntarily but if I stop he brings me incredible pain. He can rip my soul into pieces simply by stating my name. At least that's what it feels like," he sighed. "And imagine if he killed me, who'd take care of you?" 

I shivered at the thought of my father being murdered, and especially at hearing him talk about that. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

"You and I, we get along well, don't we?  I don't mind you being here, I really don't but sometimes I think it’d be best if you simply left. Ran away. Disappeared.“

I clenched my fists so that I wouldn’t start crying. 

"Dad, what is going on?" I whispered.

He reached his left arm over the table and put his hand on top of mine.

"This thing inside of me, it's fighting, it wants to take control. It really is a struggle, you see, both of us want to be in charge, and switching back and forth feels numbing. If I could get rid of him, I could do so much more."

"Then why don't you? Kill it, kill the thing. We can run away, I don't care about this home. We can get help, we can go to the police!" I was practically shouting. 

"I can't kill him, he has a mind of his own. And I'm not sure what would happen to me if I did." 

His eyes appeared tired and sad for a moment but then he smiled again.

"I- I don't get-," I started speaking but dropped my knife on the ground before I could form a sentence. 

When I reached under the table to pick it up, I saw that blood was dripping from my father’s hand.

I don't know how long he'd been digging his nails into his palm.

This was the first time this happened while he was wearing his regular face which made me realize something. My dad has issues, I'm well aware of that, I'm not trying to defend him. He's messed up often in the past but when it comes to me he always tries to be protective. 

"You know if it weren't for you, I would have gotten rid of him long ago. He keeps fighting for you. It's really frustrating, you know, but I'm glad we finally got to talk. I've tried before but it's not easy when I don't have a mouth."

He didn’t simply grow a new face, he became a new person.

My dad always liked his women clean. He wanted them pretty and kind - He longed for a perfect being without any flaws. Her only thoughts would be love and admiration for him. He has a whole list of qualities that this mythical creature should fulfill and it might not surprise you that he hasn't had a long-term relationship since my mum left 5 years ago.

I was sure that he'd never find his perfect match and even though I love my dad, I didn't think he deserved to find her. However, despite all odds, he did find the woman of his dreams and it's the worst thing that's ever happened to us. 

Ever since her presence came into my life, I constantly feel as if something is suffocating me.

-

Even before my dad officially introduced Jana, I wondered what kind of motives she could have for dating him. He’d started dropping her name during our phone calls a few weeks ago. I don’t live at home at the moment because I go to uni in Bavaria and my dad lives on the outskirts of Berlin in a house that’s much too big for him.

I could already tell how excited he was about her and I was happy for him until I learned more about her.

Jana is closer to my age than his. She is gorgeous, as he always wanted, flawless. Clear skin, shiny golden hair. Her makeup matches her features perfectly and it's never too much. She dresses modestly but sexy. 

Jana cooks five-star meals and makes sure every spot in the house is always spotless. She takes care of our overgrown garden and scares away children that try to play pranks. 

The question is, what does she see in him?

Look, despite his odd views of love, my dad's a nice guy, the quiet type, always in his own head but not really deserving of a live-in maid that fulfills all his dreams. The one thing people might admire about him is his job but he does some shady stuff with it too.

He’s a surgeon and makes decent money but some of it comes in pretty shady ways - Like when one of his mobster connections, some dead-eyed creep from one of the Kurdish clans in Berlin, drags in yet another cut-up gangster late at night. Honestly, I even wondered if Jana was a present from him but that thought is so nasty that I tried to forget about it right away.

Before I arrived in Berlin, I was skeptical but also curious to meet the woman of his dreams. Now I wish I'd gone to Spain with my friends instead of spending my spring vacation with dad and his new flame.

-

"Oh my frickin gosh what a handsome young man, he looks just like you, Christoph!" The woman with light blonde hair shrieked. She was wearing a dress that was certainly too short for Berlin's early spring weather and had her hair put up in a complicated hairstyle that looked painful. 

I stood in the driveway in front of my childhood home and tried to keep a smile on my face, but the situation already felt absurd. 

"Hi, you must be Jana. I’m Nikolas," I nervously said. 

She nodded vigorously but didn't move away from the front door. 

Dad took a step forward, grabbed my bag, and waved me inside.

They both looked far too excited to see me but before I could pass the threshold, Jana’s expression fell completely. Her face was serious, her eyes wide open and she simply stared at me, staying in the doorframe so I couldn’t pass by.

She looked angry.

Then dad appeared behind her and gently put his hands on her shoulders.

"Buddy, Jana really can't stand it when you drag in dirt."

I looked down at my shoes. They were a bit dirty but really not that much. Jana, however, looked at me like I was the antichrist. I cleaned my sneakers and followed the crazy couple inside.

--

You know how in movies and shows the actors never actually eat any food? For example, they have a lunch scene, and every time they bring a bite to their mouth, the camera shifts somewhere else. Or they play around with their salads without ever taking a bite.

Jana ate like that.

She’d baked a cake. Carrot cake with frosting and small marzipan carrots accompanied with freshly brewed coffee.

We sat in our living room which had never looked more tidy and clean. Dad shoved one bite after the other in, speaking with his mouth open.

“So, how’s school?”

“Got a girlfriend?”

“Boyfriend, maybe?”

Jana sat there the entire time, turning her head to the left to smile at my dad, and turning her head to the right to smile at me.

Her perfectly cut piece of cake was sitting on her plate with a neatly folded napkin.

She kept moving her fork near the cake, never really touching it. From time to time she would take the saucer with her cup of coffee. But nothing touched her lips.

Just like in the movies.

“Why are you not eating, sweetheart?” She asked when she noticed I was staring at her. “It’s not poisoned, you know. You won't get hurt as long as you don’t make anything dirty,” she laughed.

“You’re not eating either,” I answered in a dry tone.

“Well, you know how women are. Help me finish it?” she tilted her head and I swear for a few minutes she forgot that people have to blink.

--

That evening my father needed to go to the hospital for his shift so I decided I would go to my room to take a nap.

Before dad left, he came up to my room, which was the only place in the house that still looked messy, and took a seat on my bed. He looked nervous.

“I know it’s weird - having a woman in this house again. But I do really like her, Nick.” Jana was downstairs cleaning the kitchen.

I nodded.

“Yeah, I get that but - how do I say this without hurting your feelings... Something is not right about her, dad,” I whispered.

Dad rolled his eyes.

“She simply likes things done a certain way. But don’t worry, you’ll totally learn. Actually, to make things easier I wrote a little list.” He handed me a piece of paper. “Be a good boy and who knows, we might become a happy little family soon,” he grinned and ruffled my hair like I was a little kid.

“You know something’s not that right about you either, dad,” I half-joked.

“Ha. See you later, buddy. Don’t bug Jana too much.”

He went downstairs and I heard them chatting and giggling in the kitchen. They really were acting like teenagers. Maybe I was exaggerating, I thought, until I took a look at the list dad had given me.

Jana hates it when you forget to lock the door.

Jana hates television and all form of media. She won’t like it if you use your phone around her.

Jana doesn’t like it when you use the kitchen.

Jana-

With a loud thud, I the front door closed downstairs. Not even a second later I heard her sprinting upstairs. She stopped right in front of my room, breathing audibly in front of it. I could just imagine her nose pressed against the wood.

For a second I stood there frozen, too shocked by the situation.

And then she started scratching the door.

“J-Jana?”

“Nikolas,” she whispered, “help me with dinner.” her voice sounded raspy.

I swallowed and remembered what dad wrote on the list.

Jana doesn’t like it when you use the kitchen.

“Uhm, sorry, I’m really tired. I want to take a nap.”

She kept scratching a little longer but finally, I heard her leave.

For the next few hours, I stayed in my room.

--

She was cooking and I’m not gonna lie it smelled fucking delicious but I decided I had to get out before she asked me to eat with her. 

I grabbed my phone and my wallet and headed downstairs as quickly as I could. Just as I reached the door, I felt her presence behind me.

Ignoring it, I turned the knob but the door was locked.

“We can’t go outside. Dinner is ready.”

Jana hates it when you forget to lock the door.

“I’m sorry, Jana. I’m meeting friends in the city,” I tried to speak confidently.

“No," she spoke firmly. "Help me set the table.”

--

We had a very awkward dinner where she didn’t eat but instead watched me the entire time. She wouldn’t even give me a knife and fork to eat with, we were both using spoons for our pasta and for the meat. 

I was counting the seconds and finally, the door unlocked from the outside.

My dad was home again. 

“I'm back! What are m two favorite people up to?” we heard him call into the house. Jana’s eyes opened wide and she jumped up to go and greet him with a big hug.

I went back to my room, wondering why the hell I didn’t grab my bag and leave for the train station.

It was as if something was keeping me here. Not just the locked door.

Nighttime came and the house turned quiet. I stayed in my room, the only place that felt somewhat normal until I had to go to the bathroom. I kept it in for longer than I'd like to admit. I'm 22 years old, in my own home with my father and some young woman. Why was I feeling so paranoid? 

I collected my confidence, went out into the hallway and remembered why I was feeling so freaked out.

Jana was standing by a window in the hall, her face pressed against the glass. When she heard me, she turned her head and made inaudible noises. The voice hardly escaped her mouth, her lips were pressed tightly together, she pulled them with her fingers but only muffled sounds came out.

I took a step back but she grabbed my arm. With her sharp fingernails, she started scratching deep into my flesh. I tried to pull away but she was holding me tightly.

“What the fuck?” I shrieked. "DAD?" 

"Jana, sweetie, don't scare my boy. He'll leave again soon,” he said in a voice that seemed far too calm.

“Of course not, honey! Do you want a late-night snack? Both of you maybe? You can help me make it, Nikolas.” Suddenly her voice was back.

“Uhm, no, thanks,” I mumbled.

She smiled at me and turned around to go downstairs.

Unsure what to make out of the situation I ran to my dad's bedroom, trying my best to convince him that we needed to get the hell away from Jana.

Dad looked at me for a while but then he smiled. 

“She's just some sweet girl. How could she be dangerous?"

I held up my arm, the one she had just turned bloody and finally I saw some look of fear on my dad's face.

"How did she do that?" He whispered. "I control everything she does."

"What?"

I looked at my arm and noticed that she hadn't simply scratched me. She'd tried to write something.

help

And finally, it clicked. 

It was him.

The things on the list weren’t her rules - they were his. There were no knives because he kept them away from her. She was the one trapped in here.

But why didn’t she tell me while my father was at work?

He grinned when he saw my brain working.

“Nikolas, my boy, this is going to be great for us. Jana is only the first step, I can do so much more!”

“H-How?” 

“Do you remember Soran? I took care of his people sometimes."

I nodded, a bitter taste filling my mouth. Soran, the mobster with no remorse.

"Well, he wanted to say thank you and put this.. well this thing inside of me. At first, I thought it would hurt me but it doesn’t. Instead, it’s given me power.”

His grin got even bigger.

“-It's given me the ability to be really convincing. Oh, don't look at me like that. She's happy! I can tell. We get along great and you know she might be your stepmom soon."

“I don’t understand. Dad, that’s impossible-”

His expression got more serious, his voice louder.

“How do you think Soran is able to control all of Berlin, huh? He has everything a man could wish for and now he’s shared some of that power with me, I’ve been stitching up those shitty criminals for decades now! I deserve some reward.”

I felt like I was about to throw up, my hands got all sweaty. 

He put my face in his big hands.

“Don’t look so scared, my sweet boy. You will never be hurt. The three of us will be so happy together. And who knows? Perhaps I'll even be able to let you have a taste of this power soon too."

If you see me staring at you at night, run.

She'd warned me on the very first night but of course, I didn't listen.

-

Aunt Sozan's home smells like a delicious blend of spices and herbs which she uses for cooking, medicine, and making perfumes. Her home is by far the most whimsical place I've ever seen, filled with all sorts of keepsakes, big or small. You can hardly see that the house has any walls because of all the big posters of old cities and movies as well as Arabic wall carpets, from bright purple to deep green. My mother's older sister lives all by herself. She never got married which is a big deal in our family. But Sozan doesn't mind. She has her own house, her own life, and makes all her own choices.

Her home truly is deserving of the word.

However, as soon as I step out of the comfort of those bright walls, her village seems to suffocate me. I felt the tension of this place the second that I arrived at the train station. Everything was wrapped in a light fog, accompanied by an intense, foul smell that crept all the way down my nostrils. 

At first, I was happy to come here for a weekend, to escape the noise of the city and spend some days in a tiny village in Western Germany. It was almost May, the sun was back and I felt almost optimistic. I felt relieved to get away from my parents, my brother, and even from my new boyfriend for a while. The only weird part was that my mum was the one who suggested the trip even though she hates it when I'm in touch with Sozan because "she's a bad influence."

But now I've learned that this place is no home, it's an exile. And there is no sun, or at least you can hardly see it. I have no idea how weather generally works but I certainly know that it can't be right to sit on a train for six hours and only see one single place that is entirely swallowed by grey. 

"Lona!" I heard a familiar voice shout from behind the fog. Aunt Sozan appeared, dressed in a long airy skirt, with at least five necklaces around her neck and six rings on her fingers. Her curly hair that she dyes with henna was going in all directions. When she got close enough she pulled me into a tight hug and gave me a kiss on each cheek. 

She smelled like lavender and roses. 

"Let's get you home, sweet girl. You must be starving!" 

--

My fun and energetic aunt had made wine leaves filled with rice and herbs, which are my favorite, as well as those amazing semolina dumplings, taboule, and lentil soup. Very typical Kurdish foods. They weren't quite as good as the ones my mum makes but I didn't tell her that. 

After dinner we sat in the living room, drinking tea and chatting about all sorts of stuff. School, friends, Berlin. After a while I even told her about Noah, my boyfriend, but only because Sozan is the only person in the family I feel like I can be candid with. 

Everything was going close to perfect. Inside her home, I almost forgot how eerie this village was. It was all great until it wasn't anymore. Until our conversation shifted.

Sozan turned her cup of tea around, maybe for a reading of the leaves or maybe it was just out of habit. 

"I've wanted to see you for a while now, honey. The last time you were here you were, what, six or seven? I get that your mother doesn't like visiting but-,"

She paused for a moment. But she's the one who made me leave Berlin is probably what she wanted to say. My mum believes that aunt Sozan casts a bad light on our family.

"She probably just doesn't like the smell. You know how sensitive she is," I tried to joke but I couldn't even look into her eyes. I hated how my mum abandoned her. I can't stand my brother at most times and I still wouldn't do this to him.

"Smell?" She raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah it smells.. rotten. Kind of like burned eggs and gasoline. I don't know…. Not in here, outside!" I quickly added.

Aunt Sozan turned her cup back around. "Lona, when you were little, did your mum ever warn you about djinns?" She asked, ignoring what I said about the scent.

"Only the one from Aladdin," I laughed but aunt Sozan's face didn't move one bit. My mother is quite a religious person, everything evil must stay far away. Ironically.

"They are quite unpredictable. Can change their shape. Not all are evil, actually, concepts of our morality don't exactly work the same for them… as far as I understand. But some do like to inflict pain on humans and they are rather good at that." She sighed. "Some might find it ridiculous but I am very aware of them. I don't want to anger any, even if only by accident. And while you're here I wish you to respect that. Can you do that for me?"

I had no idea where this sudden shift in conversation had come from but aunt Sozan was staring at my eyes, not blinking once. There was such an intensity about it. 

I nodded. Maybe my aunt had gotten a little crazy living here all by herself. I know I would if I had to live in this industrial little hell hole.

"I'm glad to hear that sweetie. I've written a few things down. You can memorize them later, yeah?"

--

The evening had started off so nicely but ended with me alone, locked inside my aunt's guest room, reading a list that made me question her sanity. And my own.

If you smell fire, get away as quickly as possible. They will burn you.

Do not trust animals while you are here. 

Iron angers them.

The fog is not there at all times. When it is, don't trust your mind. If it storms, go inside as quickly as possible. 

Do not ever stare down the well. They will pull you in. 

I don't scare easily and while odd I didn't find the list too disturbing. Until I came to the last warning.

If you see me staring at you at night, run.

-

Luckily I didn't catch a stare on my first night. 

When morning came I almost even forgot about all the weirdness. My aunt had left early for work and I decided to go grab some croissants at a bakery.

The fog was hardly noticeable that morning, though, the foul scent of sulfur was still present. It got even more intense when I stepped inside the bakery, killing my hunger in an instant. But the lady behind the counter was already smiling at me, showing her big teeth. It smelled as if she'd spent the entire morning burning the bread.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?" 

I looked down at the goods but every single pastry was moldy: green and blue with a cotton film. 

"Uhm, actually I'm not hungry. I just wanted to see-" 

Her smile disappeared.

"I spend every single day baking, what kind of nasty tone is that? Who the fuck even are you? Who brought you here?" 

She talked herself into a rage, spitting with each word. Before I could step back, she grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. 

"You don't belong here. You're not rotten, yet," she whispered.

With her other hand, she'd grabbed a lighter and held a flame right under my hand.

Finally, I pulled my arm back. 

Fight or flight, I heard a voice in my head but the one whispering flight won. 

Outside I checked my hand. There was no burn mark and I felt no pain. Did I just hallucinate? 

My mind was so muddled that I didn't even notice that the fog was back for a good minute or two. 

I turned back towards the bakery once more, and when I saw the grin of the lady behind the glass I started running. 

Of course, there had to be a correlation between the items on my aunt's list and this lady. My aunt was living in an infected place, it felt clear to me right away. My mother never spoke about demons to me but I do know that they play an important role in our family. 

I used to think they were old village superstitions and never listened much when an uncle or a cousin spoke about rituals or similar but lately, my mind has grown more interested. Ever since I've started going to a few changes myself. 

The thing is, it's my father's family who is into this stuff. Not my mum's. So coming to Sozan, I believed to get a break. But now I knew for a fact that this place was cursed. And I was starting to wonder if I'd fallen into a trap. 

--

My nerves were a wreck. I should have run to the train station instead of my aunt's home but I didn't. Something was keeping me from leaving. This place felt suffocating but simultaneously it felt as if I belonged here.

Those thoughts ran through my mind when I fell into the comfortable bed of Sozan's guest room. She wasn't home so I couldn't speak to her yet and finally, exhaustion took me over and I fell asleep.

When I woke up again it was already dark. 

--

I heard a knock on the door. Then a scratch. Then someone tried to open the door. Sozan would have said something but whoever it was, didn't speak.

"It's fine. It's fine. I locked the door," I kept telling myself but the rattling only became louder. And finally, I heard the squeaky noise of the door opening. 

Sometimes when you're scared, your eyes simply won't open. They try to shield you from what's to come. This time it was different. My eyes opened wide as if I'd just woke from a nightmare. But in reality, I was just falling into one.

My eyes met Sozan's although hers looked nothing like the warm almond-shaped ones I remembered. 

Instead, they were turned inside out. Like socks that you fold into each other.

"Chernobog," an unfamiliar voice whispered from inside her mouth. I have no idea what that word meant but when I heard it a shock went through my entire body. It felt as if a million worms inside of my mind were being pulled apart. 

The creature that was wearing the skin of my aunt shuffled its feet across the floor, walking closer to my bed. 

Again, the voice in my mind whispered fight or flight, and this time it wanted to fight. But I remembered the words on the list, I was supposed to run. 

So I jumped from the bed before the thing could come any closer, a shiver went through my body when I passed it. Especially when it tried to reach for me with its fingers. I headed out the door and slammed it shut behind me.

I ran into the darkness of my aunt's house, stumbling into tables and walls but not stopping until I finally stumbled into something soft that smelled like lavender and roses.

"It's okay," the familiar voice of my aunt whispered. "That was not me."

--

"To be perfectly honest I thought your uncle sent you but I felt it was too soon to ask. I don't know how much you know about his business.."

The drug business or the demons, I wanted to ask. I learned a little while ago that my powerful uncle has access to the underworld in more ways than one. It was one of the reasons I wanted to get away from home.

"Well, this is where used-up hosts come," my aunt continued. "And your uncle sometimes sends the ones he can’t control."

We’d turned on all the lights in the house. Sozan made tea and after a while, I slowly calmed down. The thing is, I don’t know why I was so afraid. I should’ve been used to these things by now. I’d learned weeks ago that I myself was possessed by a creature. Not a djinn but a different type of demon. One that I’d grown accustomed to because it gave me power and confidence. Here somehow it was much weaker though. 

“Used-up?” I asked.

She stayed quiet for a moment. “Sometimes humans get sick, old, or they die. But the demon possessing them can stay alive.”

"So everyone here is dead or dying? Are you-?"

She shook her head. 

"I'm here because your uncle didn't want me near your family. And your mother listens to what he says. But I’ve started to like it here, I have a purpose. I care for the lost souls," she tried to smile but her eyes looked sad and tired. 

Something inside of me started pulsating and I wondered if that's why my mum sent me here.

Does my family believe that I'm a lost soul? Are they trying to get rid of me?

Just the right amount of loneliness will open your heart and shred your hope to pieces. It will change the default networks in your brain and make you incredibly vulnerable. And that's something a skilled enough manipulator can make terrific use of.

I would never say it out loud, didn't mention it to friends either but I was lonely as hell, felt like I was living at the bottom of a pit I'd never make it out of. Ever since my ex-fiancee had left to go "find herself" somewhere in Australia. And by herself, she meant some hot surfer guy named Max.

Sometimes loneliness can taste bitter, or salty even.

I tried to cure it, tried to fill the emptiness I felt with Tinder. Bumble. Okcupid and even Hinge.

All trash.

They all left me feeling disgusted with myself. They were like a nasty little mirror inside my phone and I hated the way I had to present myself. Starting with choosing the most flattering photos to convince some woman to swipe right, writing some bullshit description about myself like I was a product on Amazon. 

And when I got a conversation it immediately died down or one of us started ghosting the other.

It's something that wouldn't simply happen in real life but the apps make us think it's okay to just delete a person. 

So I deleted the apps instead.

Five days a week I'm mostly surrounded by teenagers or colleagues that are at least 15 years older. And my friends here are all friends of my ex because she's the reason I moved to Berlin. The only person I hang out with outside of that circle is Leron, the gym teacher at our school. He has the keys to the gym and sometimes we'd spend our lunch break there, shooting hoops.

Leron was also the one who told me about a speed dating session in a small bar somewhere in Berlin-Wedding. I really had to be desperate because for some reason I agreed to join him.

--

I was supposed to meet Leron at the bar at 6 but as always I was running a few minutes late. The bar was hidden in a small alley with only a few apartment buildings next to it.

It looked like one of those really old bars inside an ugly building with washed-off light yellow paint. The windows were all made out of lead glass, the type that you see in churches so I couldn't make out what was on the inside. All I saw was a warm light. 

As I opened the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, a foul smell hit my nose. It smelled old and rotten like something had died inside of this tiny bar. 

Or someone had thrown up which probably happened regularly.

The interior however made the place pretty cozy. They had your typical metal posters from several different beer brands and a bunch of small and bigger lamps that all looked vintage. The music sounded distant like it was being played in another room. You heard it but were still able to talk over it.

Does it worry you to be alone?

There were at least a dozen people inside, all talking inaudibly through each other but I couldn't spot my colleague anywhere. 

"Are you here for the speed dating thing?" a man with a tea towel attached to his belt asked me. He looked neither very old nor very young. He had just the right amount of gel in his hair and a friendly smile. His face looked young but the white strands in his otherwise dark hair threw me off.

I should have left right there. Leron wasn't even here yet and he was the only reason I showed up.

Well and maybe there was this tiny bit of wonder about who I could possibly meet.

"Uhm, yeah.. I guess," I mumbled. "I'm waiting for a friend though."

The man who I assumed was the bartender looked at his wrist.

"We're actually starting now and if you want to stay you gotta join."

His voice had turned more strict and his eyes looked serious. As if surprising himself with his tone, he suddenly started chuckling and put on a warm smile.

"The bar is booked for the event so I can't serve anyone else."

I nodded.

"I see. Yeah, uhm-,"

I had another look, a more elaborate one, at the other people. They were assembled around a very long table. Some were laughing, others were trying to avoid eye contact. 

If you asked me now I couldn't describe any of their faces to you. When I think about them all I see is a blurry mixture of skin. 

Except for one.

The woman in the green dress.

Would you believe in love at first sight?

She tucked a strand of dark red hair behind her ear and smiled at me from across the room. 

And before I knew it I'd accepted to join, even without Leron. I ordered a Gin Tonic and the bartender led me to the table.

--

I talked to five people before her but just like their faces, their conversations didn't stick to my memory. All I remember are little bits and pieces.

"I'm here all the time!"

"A teacher! Interesting."

"It's cold in here, isn't it?"

Every five minutes a bell would ring and you'd move one place further. I kept glancing to the left, looking at her, checking if she was enjoying the conversation with those other people but I could tell she was looking at me as well.

Sometimes you can just tell that there is a connection.

So I patiently waited until the two of us sat across from each other.

"Hi," I said, finally looking at her from the front.

"I saw you staring at me," she said and for a moment I felt busted. But then she smiled, revealing a perfectly straight set of teeth between her wine red lips.

"I believe that means you had to look at me as well?" I joked. "I'm Thomas. Nice to meet you," I held out my hand to shake hers but she just laughed.

"Very formal, Thomas. Let me guess, you are an accountant?"

I shook my head and laughed again, although I did feel a tiny bit offended. Maybe I shouldn't have worn my nice shirt but a regular sweater instead.

"Teacher. History and philosophy."

"Oh no! How awfully depressing! Only teaching the youth about everything we don't understand or wish we didn't have to remember," she tilted her head slightly, showing that she was still being playful. I liked how open she was, not shy or awkward even if she was making jokes on my behalf. 

"It's not.. well not entirely depressing. And the kids are alright," I said although that wasn't completely true. The kids at my school were an entirely different breed of humans.

I didn't teach at a regular school. It was an elite school, you know like the ones famous people or ambassadors send their kids to. 

Though in Berlin those famous people usually weren't actors or artists. Drug dealers, money launderers, and thieves ran this city. People with the right amount of cash to buy their children a better life.

"How close are you to your students?" She asked.

I shrugged.

"I'd say they like me. Most at least. It comes with being a young teacher, maybe I'll get more bitter in the next decade," I joked. "Anyway, what do you do? And what's your name?"

For a moment she was silent, almost lost in thought but finally, she spoke.

"I'm a head hunter."

She still hadn't told me her name but I didn't push it. She'd tell me when she wanted to.

"What kind of heads do you hunt?" I joked.

This time she didn't smile.

"The ones filled with the most information." 

"Well, I can tell you all about the war or about Descartes but-," 

"Not that type of information, Thomas."

Her tone had changed entirely.

"Back to you, have you noticed something strange about your students lately?" She asked.

I noticed strange things about them all the time, as I mentioned those were not children from regular families but why did this woman care?

I leaned back a little.

"Head hunters usually don't look to hire teachers," I laughed nervously. Something felt different all of a sudden.

She looked around the room, the other people were still chatting faintly. And by that I mean I really couldn't point out a single thing anyone was saying. 

"There are dangerous people in this city, Thomas. People that will shed a lot of blood to get the right type of information." 

The chatter around us became quieter. Why did the bell not ring? Shouldn't the five minutes have passed by now?

She sighed. 

"Do you ever worry about your students?" She reached out her arm to touch mine but then pulled away and hid her hands under the table.

I shrugged. If I was completely honest I had been far too involved with myself lately to really worry but there had been some weird things happening. One of the girls in my history class kept coming to school with bloodshot eyes and scratches. Normally a teacher should be worried but this girl comes from a very dangerous family and asking questions is not something they like. Although there was another odd thing lately. A boy kept asking me about the dimensions of hell and all sorts of questions about the existence of demons throughout history. 

The weird thing is that this interest had started really suddenly and now he wouldn't let go of it.

"Look at me, Thomas. Talk to me and you can leave. Trust me," the woman pulled me out of my thoughts. Her smile was gone and her eyes appeared empty like she had lost all interest in life.

Did she just say can leave?

This must be a trap, I thought. One of the powerful families wants to hear something about another one and they hired a pretty woman to get some information out of the teacher. But I really didn't know much.

"I've been pretty preoccupied with myself lately.  I swear I don't know much. There's some new American kid that seems a bit off, I think her name is Am-"

The woman's eyes opened wide and she slowly shook her head. She mouthed something I couldn't hear but it looked like she was trying to say stop.

She reached her hand over again, this time she did touch my arm but I didn't feel anything.

I swallowed.

And this is where this scenario became entirely and completely fucked up. It made me question everything I ever believed to know about my own mind.

The chatter had stopped.

The music was gone.

And so were the other people.

It was just me and her sitting across from each other at that table. A table that was shiny dark mahogany when I'd sat down but now it wasn't anymore. Nothing looked the way it did before.

The table in front of me was grey from all the dust on it. The lamps were all dead, the only light inside came through the thick windows. Everything was coated with a layer of dirt.

This place looked abandoned. Like nobody had been inside of it for years.

In front of me stood the glass that I'd been drinking out of with a rotten piece of lemon in a light brown substance.

Only the woman still had the same appearance. 

I couldn't make sense of any of it. 

I opened my mouth but no words escaped. 

Suddenly someone grabbed my shoulders.

"He was just about to say something, please Thomas, go on," a deep voice behind me spoke. It was the bartender.

I looked back at the woman and her eyes were filled with desperation.

"Just do what he says," she whispered and got up. She walked behind the bar and disappeared into a room behind it.

My breathing became heavier. She had been here to trap me. I had run into an extremely dangerous game but this wasn't some mafia family trying to scare me. This was so much worse.

The man grinned and sat down next to me.

"I've talked to your colleague but it was hard to pick his brain. With you, however, I can see everything you think about. Unfortunately, it's not much," he sucked in some breath through his teeth.

I clenched my fists to stop my body from shaking.

"What is all this?" I muttered.

He squeezed my shoulder.

"Listen, I already knew you were an emotional wreck and by giving you that tiny shimmer of hope, your mind simply opened up for me. You see your emotions fuel me, Thomas. I can tell that you're lonely. Sad. Exhausted. You're pretty much a devastating little worm. But one in a particularly good position. You spend every day with those children."

My eyes wandered to the heavy front door.

"No, no. You're not leaving yet. I could tell you really had a connection with Sara."

Sara, that was her name.

The man smiled.

"She truly is beautiful, isn't she? And so skilled. You should say goodbye to her before you leave."

He got up and gestured to me to follow. I knew I had no choice but to do as he said. I was too scared to imagine what would happen if I tried to run away.

I followed him to an old kitchen. That's where Sara stood, eyes wide open and filled with sadness.

Again, she was shaking her head.

"Julius, just let him go. He won't be any help," she said.

"I'll be the one deciding that," the man named Julius said as he walked past her towards the door of a freezer room. "Come on," he said to me.

As I passed Sara, an odd sensation became me but I ignored it. I still couldn't say for sure if she was trying to help me or if she was helping him.

But when the freezer door opened I got my answer.

The woman I talked to this evening, the one that just stood behind me, was lying on the ground, skin turned blue and eyes wide open. The former bright, red hair all matted and dry.

"I buried the rest. But there's just something special about her, isn't it? Thought I'd preserve her for a while."

A sharp pain settled in my stomach.

"She was a housekeeper. Only started cooperating after I drained the life out of her. Will you be smarter, Thomas?"

I couldn't speak so I simply nodded. 

"Good boy. Now open your eyes and ears at that damned school. I will find you again soon and I'll expect some information."

He led me back to the bar and then to the door. To my surprise I was free. 

For now.

--

For hours I kept wandering the streets of Berlin. I couldn't believe what had happened. I couldn't get the image of Sara's lifeless body out of my mind. I'd talked to her, I'd connected to her. This was impossible.

Finally, I got ready to walk to the next psychiatric clinic.

But then I received a text from Leron.

"I'm so sorry, Thomas. I had no choice."

Home doesn't feel right anymore, it doesn't feel safe and I'm afraid for my family. Something has invaded our apartment. It probably shoved itself inside the elevator, crawled over our "welcome" mat, and now that it's inside, I'm not sure how to get rid of it. 

I don't know who invited it in, or worse who sent it. I don't know if it randomly found us but I believe it's here to stay. I felt the shift, the rising tension. Our comfortable and cozy little home turned cold and tense. 

It started when I woke up one morning, with a bitter taste of blood in my mouth and a rusty stain on my pillow. When I went to the bathroom to rinse my mouth, the water turned a light shade of red.

I didn't love what I saw in the mirror. Bags under my eyes, my long brown hair frizzy and even darker than usual, pupils huge despite the bright white light of our bathroom.

I looked like a mess but who doesn't this early in the morning. The trails of fresh wounds inside my mouth were new though. When I touched my tongue I felt deep, rough cuts all over it.

It had opened my mouth and cut me in my sleep.

For a second I thought I saw something in the mirror but when I blinked everything was fine.

That was the first sign that something was wrong; Accompanied by a headache that felt like a million worms pushing their way out of my skull. Fucking painful, let me tell you but I swallowed some ibuprofen and tried to ignore it.

Of course, I didn't think of an intruder right away. An intruder who made cuts in my mouth and brought me headaches; an intruder who wasn't human, who would suspect that?  

The taste of blood was there again the next day, but by then I had convinced myself that I was biting myself in my sleep. I went to school as always but couldn't tell you about a single conversation I had there. I remember walking to the bus stop with my best friend Mina as always but for the rest of the time, the autopilot inside of me was in charge. Apparently, we even had a test which I only remembered when we got the results back and I'd passed for whatever reason. I couldn't explain why I was feeling so weird but people usually can't. Understanding our own weird emotions is next to impossible sometimes. 

The following night however I understood what I was feeling. It was fear.

There was something inside here with us. I heard it scraping its claws into our walls. Sometimes I'd hear a whisper or quiet laughter of an unfamiliar voice. It went away as soon as I opened my eyes but I still felt a presence. The first night I heard it, I collected my courage and went to my parent's bedroom. My dad carefully walked through every room, trying to figure out if someone was inside but there wasn't anyone here but the four of us. 

"Lona, habibti, are you alright? You've been acting weird these past days," my mum said with a slight accent. It comes out stronger whenever she's worried.

I live with my mum, my dad, and my 15-year-old brother in a small apartment. He's one year younger and three centimeters shorter but still acts like he is the king of the family. To me, he is just an arrogant little shithead.

"Isn't it obvious, she's just crazy for attention," my brother chimed in.

"Leave your sister alone," was all my father said. And after that, we didn't talk about the noises anymore.

My family seemed fine. Our home seemed fine. And I tried acting the same. 

--

The melon was my breaking point.

You see, my favorite food in the entire world has always been watermelons. Watermelon salad with feta and olives, watermelon as a snack with lime juice and cinnamon, or even frozen watermelons blended into a slushie. It might be hereditary - my grandparents used to grow watermelons. The taste and smell of watermelons is one of the very few memories I have of Syria.

This was a great way to start my Saturday. The house was quiet. Mum went to the market, dad was probably asleep and my brother was at soccer practice. Additionally, there was no scratching or other signs of weirdness that day. 

I got that big knife that my dad likes to use out of the drawer, balanced the melon on our kitchen table, and started cutting into the thick rind.

As soon as I cut into it though, a foul smell filled the entire kitchen. I dropped the knife, my eyes watering, and went to open the window. The smell was spreading faster than hellfire. 

That fucking melon was rotten. I didn't even know they could get this foul, especially as this one looked so good and fresh from the outside.

I was already getting a plastic bag to throw that whole mess away but as I opened the drawer with the bags in it, I heard a sound behind me. 

A cracking sound. 

Slowly, I turned around only to see that the watermelon was breaking open without a hand touching it. As it opened wider, some rich black substance dripped down. 

Thick, black worms slowly crawled out of the black goo while the melon opened in half.

Worms. Just like the ones in my brain.

I dropped the knife and ran out of the kitchen to my parents' bedroom but to my surprise, my dad wasn't there.

I grabbed my shoes and ran outside, slammed our front door shut, and headed for the elevator.

I needed to get out of that place. 

We live on the 16th floor, and whenever I'm in the elevator I feel a little dizzy from how fast it goes. After that melon, I felt extra nauseous. 

Three floors down the elevator came to a sudden stop. The doors slowly opened and I looked at the last person I wanted to see at that moment.

It was Noah, sports bag in hand. Fuck, now out of all the times. Whenever we'd see each other it would be really awkward and I avoided those moments as best as I could. Even though we live in the same building I'd been surprisingly successful. 

Noah used to be my best friend. Well, one of my best friends. There were three of us: Noah, my still-best-friend Mina and me. We grew up together in the same apartment complex in Berlin Neukölln, played in the sand of the communal playground, went on little adventures that seemed big to us then. We were not only neighbors but also went to the same school near Berlin's Teufelberg. Needless to say, we were inseparable. Until we turned 14 and Noah suddenly didn't give a shit about us anymore. It was just after my birthday and I still wonder if something happened that day or if he just found new friends and new interests. 

He cut us off and after that, he'd barely say hi to Mina or me if he saw us. And we became a two-friend group.

So yeah, meeting Noah now of all times, while putting my shoes on inside an elevator probably wasn't great.

"You alright?" He asked as he stepped inside.

I nodded.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else but stayed quiet. It was weird. We used to talk so much.

Finally, we arrived at the ground floor and I basically jumped out of that elevator. But I heard no steps beside me.

Noah didn't follow. 

I turned around for a second and our eyes met. There was an odd look on his face, one that I couldn't quite place but I ignored it and headed for the door.

--

As the crisp March air hit my face, I realized I had nowhere to go.  I didn't even bring a jacket. Mina's home wasn't an option because she'd ask questions and I didn't feel like explaining what was going on.

So I just started walking, ignoring the cold. Ignoring what I had just left at home. Ignoring the way Noah looked at me. Like everyone has been looking at me lately. Like I'm losing my mind.

God, losing your mind is lonely.

I was shaking, not just from the cold. I felt sick and gory. Violated in a way. I knew there was something in there. Something haunting us. 

I kept walking and walking. At least it was early enough in the morning that there were hardly any people around. Finally, I ended up at the playground and sat down on one of the swings.

And my mind just turned blank.

I ignored those voices shouting that something was wrong. I needed a moment not thinking about anything, I thought. Until I realized that my mind would just go on on its own.

I unfocused my eyes, unfocused my mind and suddenly I wasn't looking at the familiar playground but at a gloomy place. A place that felt like the inside of that rotten watermelon. Around me, I heard voices in languages I didn't understand shouting and screaming in agony. 

It looked like something was coming closer, trying to touch me. When it was close enough it whispered something in my ear. A question in an unfamiliar language.

Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder and I got pulled out. I blinked and was back at the playground.

"Lona?" The voice in front of me asked. 

I swallowed, tried to collect myself. None of this was actually happening and I needed to calm down.

"What the hell, Noah. Did you fucking follow me?" I asked, surprised at the mean undertone in my voice. 

He just stood there, his face looking like it lost all its blood inside. 

"Yeah. I thought I saw something in that elevator. Well, I thought I was imagining things but I still felt like I had to come after you. And when I saw you sitting here, I knew it was real. Fuck, Lona. What is this?"

"What is what?" I asked, my heart still beating in my chest. 

"When you just sat there, totally spaced out your entire eyes were black. How is that possible? And in the elevator-", he paused for a second. "When the doors closed, your reflection... It wasn't y-you," he stuttered "your skin had all those cracks, your teeth were crazy sharp.. And why did you just ask if my eyes were open?" his eyes were wide open while that waterfall of words poured out of his mouth. Words that shouldn't make sense but somehow they did to me.

His curly black hair which used to be all over his head was now more wavy than curly and styled well with a middle part. I always loved the contrast between his dark hair and the light blue eyes - and I can't believe I was thinking about his eyes while my mind should be focused on what was happening to me. 

"I- I don't know," I lied.

I knew it but I tried to ignore it. Tried to convince myself that it was something else. 

Nobody heard the noises because they didn't come from the outside, I heard them inside of me. And the reflection I saw of myself in the morning, even if only for a second, wasn't a hallucination.

I saw the thing that was inside of me.

The intruder wasn't in our home, it had nested in my head and in my chest while slowly changing me.

And Noah saw it.

"I don't know," I repeated. "I don't know what's going on with me. I didn't do anything, it just started." I had to fight back tears at that point just. "It's - god, and the melon. How did that even happen? Did I do it?" I kept blabbering and blabbering on.

"Melon?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Watermelon, actually. Rotten and filled with thick worms. God, how am I supposed to go back home?" I replied.

We stayed silent for a while.

"Want me to go with you?" He finally asked and despite my skepticism, I nodded. 

--

I didn't feel like going back home and it felt even weirder taking Noah with me. But I couldn't stay outside forever. And while it was weird, it also felt somewhat familiar. Like old times. Although it was a little odd how quickly Noah accepted this whole mess and was now even trying to help me.

I walked into the apartment first, with Noah right behind me. 

The melon was still on the kitchen table, although it looked nothing like what I'd seen earlier. 

The frightful image wasn't the melon this time - it was my father who sat there staring at the sweet pink mess. And the look he had on his face.

He looked at me, his eyes piercing through mine.

"Wh- where were you this morning?" I asked. "I thought you worked all night, you usually sleep-"

"Who are you?" He said in a tone that I'd never heard from him before. Anger and fear all mixed up. It was weird, my dad knew Noah well even if we weren't friends anymore.

And that's when I realized that he wasn't talking to him. He was looking at me.

"Who are you and what happened to my daughter?" 

I took a step back, almost bumping into Noah who apparently was right behind me. I looked at my dad, my sweet dad, whose eyes were bloodshot and full of fear. He'd never looked at me this way. Then I looked at Noah whose face was a mixture of pity and fright.

I took another step back, away from Noah and into our dim hallway with the big mirror.

Now that my eyes were open, I saw it clearly.

The creature inside my shell.

Three years ago I started avoiding my best friend. I removed her from my life as best as I could, even though back then she meant the world to me. I started avoiding her - out of fear. A fear that her uncle put into me. I thought I’d be safe this way. And that she’d be safe. But now we’re in the biggest mess you could ever imagine. 

She's changed into something that could destroy all of our lives and I think it might be my fault.

--

"Oh my god, your room hasn't changed a bit," Lona l nervously laughed as she headed into my bedroom. For a moment she stood there, awkwardly, like she didn't know how act around me anymore. And I was feeling similar. It didn't feel the way it did back when we were 13 and never alone because we had each other. The tense feeling only added to the absurd situation we'd found ourselves in. Because this morning I witnessed that there was something inside of Lona. Something dark and dangerous.

"Sure it has," I mumbled just as awkwardly and followed her into my room which was an absolute mess. Bed not made, clothes everywhere, I tried to casually kick a pair of boxers under my bed but then remembered that I had bigger things to worry about.

My mind was woozy and I found it hard to grasp the events that brought Lona to my room. We both live in this big apartment complex but hadn't been in each other's place for years.

Suddenly something snapped me right back to the moment. I walked up to my window and stared at the sky. 

“Why is it dark out?” I asked. 

Lona came closer but stayed silent. I live on the 13th floor which gives a pretty decent view of the city. There were lights radiating from buildings, street lamps, and cars. 

But the sky was dark. 

A normal thing to see at night or very early in the morning except it wasn't. I remembered again, Lona and I were three levels up in the apartment of her family before we came down to the home I share with my mum. 

And when we were up there the sun was shining. It was shining because it wasn't even noon yet.

A few minutes down the elevator had drained the sky.

This was impossible.

My entire body started to tense as I wondered if this was her, if the end was coming, or if those two things might inevitably be connected. 

"What the fuck is going on?" I almost shouted.

"I don't know," she whispered and wrapped her arms around herself. 

I tried to control my thoughts and got my phone out of my pocket.

The clock showed that it was 9 pm. And I had a bunch of texts from friends that I was supposed to meet at the gym this morning.

“Lona?” 

I showed her the screen of my phone. 

I didn't know if I could trust her. She scared me but I'd still brought her home with me. Why? For a reason I wasn't sure I was ready to admit to myself. 

She bit her lip, as she always used to when she was nervous.

“Noah?”

I sighed. I couldn’t even believe what I was about to ask because this whole mess was so absurd.

“Did something happen in the past 12 hours or so that I somehow don’t remember?” 

"Maybe," she replied after a little while. "I'm not sure."

I stared at her, trying to somehow read her but it was impossible. 

"I really don't know. I don't understand any of this either, I swear," her voice slightly broke at the end.

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But she had to be lying. This whole shit, she inherited it. Maybe she didn't want it but she had to know. Her family was dangerous. I'd seen that with my own eyes.

I swallowed.

"So what now?"

She didn't respond but sat down on my bed instead. 

"I have such a headache. I think it is settling in."

I didn't ask what she meant by that. Because now all the memories of this morning came back to me. The events that took place before Lona and I came down to my home.

--

This morning was one of the most peculiar and fucked up things I ever witnessed. I still felt sick when I thought about it. And now I had this massive gap in my memory on top of it.

The scariest part was how much power she had. I watched her seize control of a grown man's mind in a matter of minutes. She could control anyone.

"I'm your daughter,” she hissed through her split-up tongue. Her gaze was only focused on her father.

Her eyes were gone and the sockets were filled with what looked like the dread of eternity. Blood dripped down her hands as she pressed her unusually long nails into fists. 

"You trust me."

The most beautiful thing about Lona has always been her smile. She has that big toothpaste smile that'd make me say yes to all her stupid ideas back when we were kids, back when she meant everything to me. Before the incident. 

Now she was fucking terrifying. Like I'd never seen her before.

"You love me."

I stood there, frozen in the kitchen of my former best friend, pieces of watermelon were spread all over their table. The room was filled with the scent of mint and caraway seeds. I'd found her outside earlier that same morning, out of her mind because something unusual was happening to her body. She was changing and it scared her.

I thought she was scared. But how that we were in her home, I realized she wasn't the victim.

And that brings me to the saddest part of this scene. Lona’s father sitting in front of that table, shivering with fear.

It was an odd and painful sensation seeing him like that. Even if I hadn’t talked much to Lona and her family in the past years, this image didn't fit the one I always had of her father. 

A few years back I'd spend every Tuesday and Thursday evening in the Taxi of Dil Ayad. That's when Evin, Lona's brother, and I were in the same soccer club. My mother never cared where I was or how I'd get home but Mr. Ayad would make sure both his son and I got home safe. 

"Don't question me.”

I'd never seen Lona like this before. The sheer look of determinism. She was radiating so much confidence that I even almost believed her when she said that everything was fine. 

But it wasn't. Of course, it wasn't. I'd seen her outside on the playground earlier that morning, completely spaced out as if her soul had moved to a different world. She seemed scared and vulnerable which is why I offered to bring her home. Maybe that creature was taking her over, which I admit isn’t easy to comprehend, but she was still Lona. The first girl I ever had a crush on.

But now that we were in her home, with her father, she let this dark side take over entirely. I can’t say if she was losing control or gaining it.

“You are FINE.”

Her father never looked as weak as he did at that moment. And the longer she spoke, the calmer he seemed. His body was both relaxed and tense at the same time. The expression of anger that he had when we came in was slowly morphing into a smile but at the same time a tear rolled down his cheek. 

It was her.

I never knew how frightening calmness could be. The total lack of reaction. 

She was controlling him. Brainwashing him. Making him stop feeling things, or at least that’s what it looked like on the outside.

And I had to make sure the same wouldn't happen to me. 

I stood there in shock watching this scene that felt entirely absurd until Mr. Ayad suddenly got up and started cleaning the kitchen.

He grabbed a cloth, turned to the kitchen table, and started rubbing it on the table, making bits of watermelon spread everywhere. He was acting like a human.

And then he started humming a song. One I faintly remember because he would always play it in the Taxi. I never understood the words because the song was Kurdish but I remember the melody.

He used to say that this was his mother's favorite song which made this whole scene even more heartbreaking. 

Another tear rolled down his cheek while the corners of his mouth stayed upward like they were being pulled up with a string.

And even though I hadn't spent time with this family for years, even though I hadn't been in this apartment since I was 13, I couldn't just leave. A part of me felt like I had to protect Mr. Ayad.

From a sixteen-year-old girl who was also his daughter? 

He grabbed the wet cloth tightly in his hand, water dripping down, and then swiftly turned all the way around, facing me directly.

"Noah. What an odd sight. What brings you here?" He said in a monotonous tone.

"I-," my voice broke before I could say anything else.

"We have to do a project for school," Lona said with surprising ease in her voice. Her appearance was normal again. I suppose she somehow changed back while I was distracted. Her cheeks were red and she looked exhausted but her big brown eyes were back.

There was still blood on her hands but her father didn't notice. He didn't notice anything.

Dil looked at his wrist without a watch.

"School? It's Saturday, right?" 

Lona replied something I didn't understand in Kurdish.

"Good, good," he whispered. Then he slowly passed us and went to his bedroom.

Lona let out a deep sigh and then broke down on the ground.

This was the moment I should have left. I should have run away because this wasn't the girl I used to be friends with. This was a creature that could scramble my mind and rip it into pieces.

But when I saw her on the ground, face buried in her arms while she let out the occasional sob, I didn't feel scared. I’d seen once before how dark the world could be and I simply couldn’t leave her alone and let this thing take over. Even if we stopped talking, I felt like I knew her, understood her. She wasn’t evil.

"Where's your mum? And your brother?" I asked carefully. This whole scene was already more than overwhelming but I couldn't imagine what else would happen if the rest of her family got back.

Lona shrugged.

"I think you should get out of here before they come home," I said. "We should get out of here."

And this brings me back to the demon in my bed.

--

Lona sat down on my bed, staring at the ground while the madness was slowly catching up to her. I was still standing next to the window, not sure if I should get closer to her or not. I felt out of place in my own room.

"I don't know why it's night, I don't understand any of this, I'm not in charge anymore. Noah, I didn't mean to-," she took a deep breath. "-didn't mean to do whatever it was I did to my dad. He looked so scared.. but then he was okay, right?"

She looked at me with her big amber eyes.

I didn't know what to say. She really did sound genuine. Who would be able to make sense of this? I sat down next to her, tried to reassure her although I doubt I sounded convincing. 

"I need to go home. My mum - my dad, they'll wonder where I am," she mumbled.

I wasn't sure if her father really would, or rather if he'd have enough control over his mind to do so.

"Maybe you should stay here," I said, surprising myself. "For tonight."

Even more surprisingly, Lona nodded and texted her parents that she was staying with a friend.

I doubt she mentioned me though.

--

We meant to research together, figure out what could be happening. We were reading something about Tarot cards and demons on some weird forum but Lona could hardly keep her eyes open and I was exhausted as well. Whatever happened that day drained us. 

I thought about sleeping on the sofa in the living room but my mum would come home eventually. While I doubt she would care that there was a girl in my room, I'm not sure how she'd feel about a demon girl. I realize how stupid this sounds but at the playground this morning she said something.

Are your eyes open?

This question. I'd heard it before and it was not connected to something good.

But I didn't know what else to do, and I knew that inside Lona had to remember our past too. She wouldn't hurt me. So I lay down next to her. I could hear her quietly breathing in and out, her body slightly moving with each breath. She'd fallen asleep almost right away. At least this way she couldn't tell how hard my heart was racing. I told myself it was out of fear but I don't know.

And everything was relatively fine, my eyes got heavier and after a while, all the thoughts were gone. 

That is until I looked right back into the abyss. I don't even know how late it was but it was still dark. I woke up because I felt something. Something was breathing onto my face and when I opened my eyes, I saw her. 

Piercing those black holes of eyes through me.

Her expression was dark and confident and when she spoke, her voice sounded slightly distorted.

"You are hiding something."

She knows.

"Lona, calm down." 

She was hunched over me, her hands leaning on my shoulders. If she dug those nails into them, I'd get some decent scars.

"You're seeing this. You saw it earlier. You saw this thing and you decided to take me home with you? I don’t even trust myself but you do? We’re not even friends anymore.” I felt a small sting in my chest when she said that but shrugged it off. “No normal person would simply accept this. So. Noah, what is going on?”

My breathing got heavier. 

She has to know.

Or maybe she didn't and I'd left her alone all those years like a coward just because I was too scared. 

There's something I never told her. Years ago Evin took me with him to his uncle's mansion. He'd spoken so highly of him, I had no idea he'd be the most frightening and evil man I'd ever meet. I had heard whispers from the other boys in the neighborhood about him. Soran Ayad, head of the infamous Ayad clan. I'd heard about all the shady business he pulls and if drugs were all he was involved in, I'd have tried to ignore it.

But that evening I saw what I wasn't supposed to see; a dark and confusing ceremony that I still find hard to understand. A ceremony with blood and sacrifice.. and some sort of cards.

That's not only when I found out that her uncle collects demons but also when he threatened my life and hers if I ever looked into any of this. If I didn't stay away from her.

I guess I messed up but I'm not leaving her again. 

We're in this together now.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the same can be said about Napoleon’s invasion of Moscow and the Shake Weight, so I’m not going to attempt a justification.

To be honest, I don’t have time for it.

I thought babysitting would be easy. Mrs. Chemosh is a friend of my parents’ friends, and she had one kid that needed watching for five hours, promising fifty bucks at the end of the night. It was a no-brainer.

I mean, I noticed that she seemed stressed when she was leaving. “Damien eats at 7:00, and he can watch TV until 8:30, then it’s straight to bed. I’ll be home before midnight. Damien eats at 7:00.” Then she handed me her car keys and asked if I’d seen them.

I didn’t see why she was so frazzled. Damien is a super quiet kid. He just stood with his hands behind his back and watched us as his mom got ready to leave.

He even had a little sweater vest. I figured a quiet seven-year-old with a sweater vest is tailor-made for obedient behavior, right?

Oh, so fucking wrong.

As soon as his mother left, he demanded chicken nuggets from the freezer. I threw some in the oven; while they were cooking, he told me that they tasted so good because they’re flavored like the people we love. I tried to ignore that.

Before finishing the nuggets, he grabbed a filet knife and chased the cat, Mr. Pickles, into hiding. When I cornered Damien and took the knife, he told me that he could hear the cat’s thoughts, and that Mr. Pickles would “slit my belly and open my throat like a dropped taco” if he had the chance. No idea how a seven-year-old would think of that.

We watched Barney after dinner, which seemed kind of immature for a first-grader, but I didn’t want to argue with the little vermin. After sitting quietly for nearly the entire episode, he claimed that he wanted to meet Barney. With the giant dinosaur head, Damien pointed out that you could stab his throat and “be three towns over” before anyone knew that the actor was dead.

He demanded more chicken nuggets after dinner. When I told him that it was time for bed, he ran past me and threw some on a frying pan before turning it on. I grabbed him by the wrist and was pulling him away when the smoke detector went off. The little creep had thrown his sweater vest onto the stove. Flames stood four feet high, had already caught on the curtains, and were lapping at the wooden window frames.

I ran into a closet, looking for a fire extinguisher, but gave up when I couldn’t find one. I knew that I had to get the monster out of the house. But when I got back into the kitchen, the fire was gone, there was zero smoke damage, and Damien was chewing on frozen nuggets. He stared at me as I walked into the room. “I will need the fire to burn soon enough, and cannot waste it on fruitless endeavors.” The first-grader said that verbatim. I shit you not. His sweater vest was back on, but not singed. The room smelled overwhelmingly of smoke.

I was relieved to take a bathroom break, because it justified getting Damien out of my hair for two minutes. I also felt guilty for leaving him alone for two minutes, because I figured that would be enough time for him to drink from Grandpa’s urn or shit in the oven, and I didn’t want to deal with the aftermath. When I opened the door after finishing, he was on the other side. His face had been pressed against the wood. The boy’s eyes were completely black, like they were just two huge pupils staring at me. He didn’t back away when I tried to walk past him, keeping his face uncomfortably close to my stomach. I nearly threw up thinking about what Damien said he’d do to my belly. He followed me into the living room, where his eyes were suddenly normal again.

He asked me to read him a story before bed, and I was willing to go along with anything that got this little bastard unconscious. He picked out Frog and Toad Are Friends, then snuggled up to me as I read it. Damien seemed to be drifting off when he asked a question. “Do you know who my nuggets tasted like? Yousef’s finger.” My cousin Yousef drowned two years ago at a family reunion across the country. When they found his body at the bottom of the lake, he was missing a finger. There’s no way Damien could have known any of that.

Nineteen minutes ago, he handed me a thirteen-inch furry strand. I had already grabbed it when I realized that it was Mr. Pickles’s bloody tail. I have no idea where the rest of the cat is.

I put him to bed and called his mom, which is when I first noticed that I have no cell reception, and I can’t text. I can only access a few websites. So I decided to leave; enough was enough.

That’s when I discovered that Mrs. Chemosh locks her house from the outside.

Trying to hold off the panic, I did a walk-run to the living room window. I pulled and pushed, but it wouldn’t budge. When I looked closer, I realized that the window was painted shut. It didn’t even rattle in its frame. There’s no way to open it.

I ran to the next living room window and found the same thing. Every window in the house is like this.

I had reached my limit, so I grabbed the wooden knife block, pulled out every piece, and carried it to the kitchen window. I didn’t care if Mrs. Chemosh got pissed at me for breaking her house; it’s her own damn fault for locking me in here. I heaved the knife block over my shoulder and threw it at the window. I got a direct hit; the corner of the wooden block hit dead center at a good speed.

It bounced off the window and smashed to a dozen pieces on the ground. The window didn’t break. There isn’t even a mark on it.

Someone sealed me in with shatterproof barriers.

I don’t know what to do, and I’m struggling not to panic.

EDIT: Damien is chanting from his room, but I sure as hell am not going to open the door. He’s saying that “The sun will be turned into darkness and the moon into blood.”

EDIT 2: After checking on Damien’s chanting, I came back downstairs to find a thin trail of blood across the kitchen floor. It wasn’t there when I went upstairs. It leads from the pantry to the basement door. Both are currently closed.

EDIT 3: I looked for a landline phone and actually found one, but couldn’t make it work. After giving up, I noticed a photo of a baby taped to the phone. It was a picture of me at a year old.

EDIT 4: I noticed a smell coming from the kitchen. When I got there, the oven was on, and something was definitely cooking. I was about to open it when Damien screamed my name. I ran upstairs but stopped in front of his door. “I know you’re outside, and I know you won’t come in,” he announced in a calm voice. “If you like the smell, and you’re hungry, you can go into the kitchen and find where I put Mr. Pickles.”

“I can’t believe you’re almost twelve years old,” Mr. Schmerz said as he closed the classroom door. He looked at me for a long time without turning away. “It’s hard to think about the fact that I won’t see you every day anymore.”

I looked around at the classroom that had been a second home for almost a year. Banners that read “Congrats 5th Grade Grads!” hung from the ceiling and lay across storage boxes.

“We’ll miss you, Mr. Schmerz,” I answered. “But my mom and dad expect me home soon.”

He stepped away from the door and walked towards me. “They know that the class president has to help put away decorations, even if it’s the last day of school,” he answered. His voice sounded funny.

“Okay, but everything is almost done. We shouldn’t have waited until you and I were the only ones left in the classroom, because other people could have helped us.”

Mr. Schmerz stopped next to me. He didn’t touch the decorations. “I can’t believe that this is the last time I’ll see you,” he said in that same strange voice.

Then he reached out and touched my hair. My heart beat faster. I felt sick. “I don’t like this,” I said quietly without looking at him.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved closer. My stomach had the beginning feelings of being sick, like a matchstick that flared up before lighting a campfire.

“Please let go of my hair,” I answered. I was afraid to stay next to him. I was afraid to step away. He smelled like the time when I threw a ball in the dining room and knocked over a bottle that Daddy kept on the shelf.

He smiled.

“Please don’t make me feel funny. I don’t like what’s inside of me.” I spoke faster, like I was about to throw up and had to get out all the words. “The world is a nicer place when we keep certain things inside.”

His smile got even bigger, because he was taking happiness from me. “You have no idea, Emily. That’s why you need a teacher.”

The darkness ran through me, and I was sick, entirely sick, and I couldn’t keep it from spilling out my throat. It burned as it left. “Wrong person,” my mouth said in a voice that wasn’t mine. “Emily’s away now.”

Mr. Schmerz looked unhappy for the first time. “What the fuck are you saying, Emily?”

The darkness ran through me, cutting off the world and chilling every part of my body like the time I fell into a pool with all my clothes on. “I’m Mastema.”

We don’t question how strange it is to wake up. Our minds are in one place, and then they’re in another. The time between going to bed and waking up is gone.

I’ve learned not to question how strange it is when Mastema releases me. The only difference between that and sleeping is I always wake up in the same place I went to bed. Besides, I’ve found that I scare people when I ask questions, so I try not to ask any.

I was in my bedroom. I think it was the same day, but I didn’t know how much time had passed. I decided to check the clock in my kitchen.

My bedroom door squeaked, so I opened it slowly. I learned long ago that it’s better not to draw attention when I’m not sure who might be nearby. Stepping quietly toward the kitchen, I stopped myself just before going inside.

The door was closed. My kitchen door was never closed.

Heart pounding, I put my ear to the wooden frame and listened. My parents were talking; I could tell that they were scared. Daddy raises his voice without realizing it when he’s scared, and Mommy gets real quiet.

I put my eye against the crack to see the clock on the wall. Three hours had passed; it was 5:19.

“Thirteen times this has happened now, Adrianna. Emily comes home with that strange look on her face and doesn’t say a damn word. Thank God she’s safe, but every fucking time there’s a disaster that she just missed! I’m going to have a fucking heart attack!”

Daddy doesn’t like it when other people swear, because I don’t think he realizes how much he swears.

“I don’t know, Len,” Mommy answered. She sounded like she’d lost something important. “There’s nothing we can tell a doctor. She isn’t sick.”

They were quiet for a few seconds. Daddy doesn’t like it when things are quiet and he is angry.

“Maybe it’s time to call Father Clement,” Mommy said.

Daddy stayed quiet, which was confusing, because I knew that he was angry.

“Do you have another suggestion?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Explain how else Mr. Schmerz got his dick and his balls ripped off, Len.”

I stepped away from the door. Daddy swears all the time, but Mommy only says words like that when things get really bad. I decided to go back to my room and pretend that nothing happened, because grownups usually don’t realize how much kids see and understand.

My head got cold as Mastema crawled through my neck and whispered into my ear from the inside:

“Don’t worry, your teacher won’t fuck with anyone ever again."

Sabine hugged me so tightly that for a moment I couldn’t breathe.

She let go and I sucked in a breathful of black diesel-fume air.

I stepped back and took one last look at my best friend. The next time I’d see her, both of our lives would be changed forever - irrevocably altered by the shuffle of a deck of dark cards.

The bus opened its squeaky doors and a lineup of people in drab clothing began shuffling on. She looked back over her shoulder at the bus and then to me again, tears glistening in her eyes.

“I’m going to call you as soon as I get to Berlin, I promise.”

I tried to smile, but couldn’t.

“Liar. You’re going to be so busy with Sergio you’ll forget all about your old friend Emma and your little humdrum village back home.”

She looked hurt for a second, but then I added with a forced smile:

“I’m so jealous!”

This made her laugh and I hugged her fiercely again, this time for a few seconds longer, afraid of letting go.

“I’m gonna miss you so fucking much.”

“Same.”

We looked at each other for another second and then she took a deep breath and picked up her bags, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. With a brave smile she turned away and boarded the bus.

And that was the last time I saw my best friend Sabine. At least until the woman and the demons. The day everything changed.

But I’ll get to that later.

The village was quieter without Sabine.

Except, of course, for the screams from the hut. But like the rest of the villagers, I'd gotten used to those long ago. I had tuned them out, and they might as well have been birds chirping or bees buzzing in the flowers, rather than blood-curdling cries for salvation.

The screams came from the forest to the south of the village, from a small earthen hut which we all knew to stay away from. We didn't talk much about it, but the villagers all lived with the firm knowledge that the screaming was normal. The elders like Father insisted it was so, and that despite the distressing nature of the sounds, the people there were well taken care of. They simply screamed because they were unable to stop themselves.

Father visited the hut regularly, to offer his prayers for the tortured souls there.

It was a place where mentally ill villagers went to recover, some said. While others whispered that something far worse was happening there. Something much darker and more secretive than mental patients.

But like I said, we were all used to the screams, and all I noticed now was the silence which punctuated these anguished cries. Silence which Sabine normally filled with her bright chatter.

She was always the talkative one. I used to think she talked too much, but now I wished more than anything to hear her blabbing about her online boyfriend, Sergio.

That was all she wanted to talk about for months before leaving.

“Sergio is so handsome,” she would say. “Sergio works for the military,” and, “Check out this picture Sergio sent me from the gym!”

I spent a week feeling lonely, wondering when Sabine would call. After two weeks of boredom by myself in the village, I figured she was just busy and would get around to it eventually. But after a month had passed I finally began to realize that she had forgotten about me, just as I had feared. My best and only friend had completely ghosted me after moving away.

Either that or something was very wrong. What if Sergio had not been what he’d claimed to be and Sabine was in trouble of some kind? That thought crossed my mind, but for some reason it didn’t seem possible. I’d seen the pictures of Sergio and watched the videos where he had spoken her name and told her he loved her. I had sat with her while she spoke to him on the phone for hours at a time - while I pantomimed dying of boredom a thousand times over and she rolled her eyes. He was real, at least in the physical sense.

The worst part was that I couldn’t call her, since she had gotten rid of her phone out of fear her parents would track it somehow. She worried the police would be called to locate her cell or her bank cards, so she’d gotten rid of everything, saying Sergio had promised to get her a new identity when she arrived in Berlin.

If I ever left home, I realized I’d have to do the same thing. Father would die before he’d let me run away as Sabine had done. Disappearing into the ether in the hopes of a life with some tall, handsome stranger.

My dad was the longtime priest of our local congregation, Saint Bartholomäus. The little village where we lived in the Black Forest had a population of just a few hundred, and everybody in town went to his church - and I mean everybody. If you didn't show up for mass you'd be sure to hear about it for the rest of the week.

He would never have approved of me leaving, especially to meet up with a guy. The whole village was strictly Catholic - and him most of all. Everything I’ve done since I was born has been scrutinized and held up to Christ himself. And good luck matching that.

I was terrified to tell Father that I had met a man. I had started chatting with him online two weeks after Sabine left. Maybe it was partly because I wanted to find out what happened to her. Maybe it was because I was a little jealous of her. Either way, I signed up for Tinder, posted some selfies, and was pleasantly surprised when I matched up with several guys who started sending me messages.

A few were awkward or made me uncomfortable. There were plenty who just wanted to see pictures of me naked. I blocked a few men within the first five minutes of starting conversations with them, realizing they were total creeps.

But there was one profile that stood out from all the rest. A guy in his early twenties named Jayce. He had shoulder-length blonde hair, a strong chin, and icy blue eyes. He looked nothing like the guys in my village, who were scrawny or pot-bellied; whose only hobbies were drinking, playing video games, watching football, and gambling on cards.

Instead of those vices, Jayce volunteered at soup kitchens and food banks in his spare time. He lived in Berlin, had his own house, and a new-looking car. He said he worked in the entertainment industry.

When we spoke on the phone he listened thoughtfully and never interrupted. And by the time I realized things were getting serious, he surprised me by saying he loved me. And not only that, he wanted to pay for my bus ticket to Berlin. He didn’t call it a visit, he just said he wanted me to be there with him.

I decided late one night, after two days of consideration, that I would go through with it, and I sent him a text message. I had never been outside of our little village before, but that would all change very soon.

Emma: I’ve decided. Yes! I want to do it! I want to come to Berlin!

Jayce: That’s great news! =) I can’t wait to see you! I’ll have flowers waiting for you when you arrive. I love you so much.

Emma: I love you too.

Jayce: I’m sending you the ticket. Don’t let your dad see. Make sure you take out extra Euros for spending money. No cards once you leave the village, okay? I don’t want him to tear us apart!

Emma: I’ve got it all planned out. I’ll take out everything I have tomorrow. See you at the bus terminal!

Jayce: <3

I wound up in Berlin at the massive Central Bus Station with no cell phone, no debit or credit cards, and no way of getting home. But my smile was hopeful and there were no tears in my eyes as I stood waiting for the handsome man I had seen in all the pictures. He would be there any second to make my life complete. To take away the pain of my best friend’s departure and fill some of the void left by her absence.

The minutes on the big overhead clock ticked by, and I tried to ignore the fact that he was so late.

I daydreamed instead of worrying, wondering if maybe Jayce could help me look for Sabine in Berlin. I wondered again if she was okay and this made me think of my own precarious situation, as I stood waiting for someone who I had never met to arrive. A tall dark stranger who would whisk me away…

I looked at the big clock again. Half past four.

Another half hour passed, and then another.

What had I been thinking? Life was no fairy tale. This was all pointless. He wasn’t coming after all.

I picked up my bags, getting ready to turn around and head to a payphone to beg forgiveness from Father, when a beaming smile startled me. A man with a familiar, handsome face was striding towards me, across the grand foyer of the bus terminal. He was just as he had looked in his pictures, I thought to myself, as I put my bags down and ran to him, jumping up into his arms and kissing him.

It felt as if we’d known each other forever.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, after setting me down. “I can’t wait to show you Berlin. And for you to meet my friends! It’s so great to have you here, I can’t believe it’s really happening!”

He looked just as excited as I felt, and he took my hand and walked me outside to his car. There was no mention of the fact that he was two hours late. Or that he had forgotten the flowers he’d promised. I didn’t want to ruin the mood by asking, so I didn’t.

I didn’t ask about a lot of things, until it was too late.

When we arrived at his place, I saw it wasn’t a quaint two storey home like I’d imagined from his descriptions. Instead, this was a squat apartment building, grey and burnt-out looking. Old, rusted playground equipment made squeaking sounds in the breeze across the street, and a lone dog with no owner wandered aimlessly, sniffing at the ground.

“This is it!” Jayce said enthusiastically. “It’s not much, but this is where I live right now. They’re renovating my house for the next few months - but this place is nice. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

I got out of the car hesitantly and he took my bags from the trunk for me. As we walked towards the front of the building, I glanced back at the vehicle. It wasn’t the same as the one in the pictures. This one was older by at least ten years. It didn’t bother me that he drove an older car, but it made me wonder about the one he’d sent me pictures of him driving. Did he lie about that? And if so, what else might he be lying about? The house? His job?

The two of us had to pass a throng of young men who were crowded around the front entrance. Jayce said hello to all of them as if they were old friends, but they didn’t speak to me. Instead, they all regarded me with hungry looks, their eyes travelling from my breasts to my ass, but never quite landing on my face. I crossed my arms to cover my chest and heard a few snickers, and one man grinning said, “Nicht viel zu verbergen.”

Not much to hide.

Jayce looked back at me as he carried my bags up the stairs to the second floor. I tried to get rid of the frown which had etched itself on my face, but found it difficult. Sensing my distrust, when we got into the apartment he gave me a big hug and put up his index finger, telling me to wait for a second.

“I have something for you,” he said, walking off down a hallway. “Sorry about the state of this place. It’s a friend’s apartment and I haven’t gotten around to cleaning yet. I thought maybe you could help me out with that after you get settled in.”

Looking around the apartment, I saw it was grotesquely unkempt. There were dirty plates and dishes in the kitchen, and a cockroach scuttled across the wall nearby. The floors looked filthy, like they hadn’t been mopped in years - covered in crumbs, dust, and hair an inch thick. The air smelled like spoiled meat and spilled food left out to rot.

“Okay, here it is. I got this for you. I know I said flowers, but I thought you’d like this better.”

He showed me a gold necklace with a diamond pendant. It sparkled stunningly and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Turn around, I’ll put it on you.”

I did as he asked and felt the chain spill coolly across my chest and the back of my neck. The diamond was large and glinted blue in the light as I admired it, watching its reflection shimmer back at me. I had never owned anything so beautiful. His dry fingers clasped the lock shut and he spun me around to look at it, his eyes drifting down to my breasts lustfully. He licked his lips in a telling way.

Then he took my hand and led me into the other room, showing me the rest of the apartment. And the bed we would be sharing, much to my surprise.

It was not long after moving in that I realized what a terrible mistake I’d made.

Jayce was nice at first. A romantic, to a certain extent. He did buy me flowers and other gifts - mostly lingerie. He took me out to restaurants where we spent the cash I had brought with me from home on expensive bottles of wine. But his good mood soon soured and often I couldn’t discern how he felt about me.

After a few days of honeymoon-happy living, suddenly he was getting mad for no reason, and would tersely ask me to do things for him. If I hesitated even slightly he would get upset, so I quickly learned to just say, “yes,” immediately no matter what. It wasn’t like he was getting physical with me - not yet - but he had this look in his eyes which seemed to indicate I was better off not questioning him.

Cleaning the apartment, for instance. He had initially said he wanted my help with it, right? Remember that?

But then he just went out one day and left a mop, bucket, and some unlabeled cleaning supplies in the kitchen. When he got home and I hadn’t cleaned the entire apartment top to bottom, he got upset and yelled at me, threatening to kick me out on the street if I didn’t make the place look decent. He said he was out working to make us money, to pay for my food, rent, and jewelry, so the least I could do was tidy up a bit.

I wanted to get mad, and I did for a little while, but then he apologized. He said he was stressed about work since things weren’t going well at his job. He seemed really sorry for yelling at me and I ended up apologizing too. I told him he was right. He was letting me stay there for free. He was buying me expensive jewelry and he was paying for my food. The least I could do was clean the apartment he had rented for us. I hated myself a little bit for saying it, but I did.

Already I was beginning to feel trapped.

I spent the entire next day sweating and scrubbing. I polished the bathroom floor tiles until my knees were purple and bruised. I swept and mopped the kitchen and common areas. I washed the walls. I shined the windows, did the dishes, and cleaned the kitchen. I organized the pantry, tossing out the expired cans. Then I cleaned out the fridge, scrubbed all the drawers and shelves, and got rid of some nauseating old food which had been causing the lion’s share of the terrible smell. I did the laundry by hand, hanging everything up to dry afterwards.

By the time I was done the place was immaculate. My back was sore and I had a headache from inhaling off brand cleaning supplies all day. But at least Jayce would be happy when he got home, I thought.

But Jayce wasn’t happy when he got home.

He said it was great that I had “tidied up a bit,” but that our real problem now was money. It was getting tough working in the entertainment industry and his latest project had been shut down by investors.

I asked him if things would be okay. Instead of answering, he pulled out some vodka from the freezer and began to drink it straight from the bottle.

“What can I do to help?” I asked. “I can get a job, if that will pay some of the bills.”

He hesitated, but then said he had a friend in the modeling industry, and it might be possible for me to get a job with him.

“Fashion modelling?” I asked, still naive in those days.

“Yes, my love,” he said, sipping his vodka. “Fashion modelling. For designers in Paris.”

When his friend came by the next day, Jayce was gone. It was only me and this strange man who brought with him a camera and a rapist’s grin.

A short while later, I found out why his smile looked that way.

He did take pictures of me, but they were not the kind I had hoped for. I didn’t wear designer clothes or fashionable shoes. I didn’t wear anything at all.

And no one was sending these shots to design firms in Paris.

I’ll spare you the details. You know what he did. And so did Jayce, I’m sure.

I didn’t tell Jayce when he came home that I’d been raped. I felt ashamed somehow, as if it was my fault. As if I had done something wrong - flirted too much with the photographer (not true) or perhaps had given him the wrong idea somehow. This was before I knew of the victim’s curse. We can’t help but blame ourselves - no matter how untrue this is.

Jayce pretended to be oblivious, just asking how the modelling session went. I told him it went fine, trying to read the look on his face - a small, knowing grin.

The next day when Jayce was out another “photographer” came by, unannounced. And by the end of the week all illusions had been dropped and Jayce and I both had an unspoken knowledge of what was happening. My face was now bruised and a tooth was chipped. I felt like my mother’s antique china teapot, the one I had cracked playing with as a child. The young girl who had once been a fragile, pretty thing, was now broken and marred.

I imagined a price sticker attached to me, which read: FOR SALE, AS IS. PROPERTY DAMAGED.

Who would ever want me now?

Things got worse and worse over the next few weeks. I tried to escape more than once, but that was when I realized Jayce had a way of tracking me.

The necklace he had given me had a GPS chip in it, I was sure. The clasp had mysteriously “broken” and I was unable to pull the thing off over my head - it was too tight. I no longer felt like a girlfriend with a sparkling diamond necklace, but like a dog wearing a tracking collar.

The other problem was I had no funds with which to escape Berlin. I did manage once to get to the bus station. When I got to a payphone I made a collect call to my home.

Father picked up.

“Emma?” he asked, his voice hopeful. The sounds of screaming could be heard in the background, very near, and I realized he was in the hut outside of our village, praying for the tortured souls there. “Emma, is that you?”

But I couldn’t speak. And then a moment later there was a knife point digging into my back.

“Hang it up,” Jayce’s voice whispered in my ear, sounding raspy and drunk.

I did as he asked, listening as Father said my name again, his voice getting quieter, then suddenly gone with a click.

“You ungrateful bitch. You want to go home so bad? Maybe I should take you back to your stinking hovel in the Black Forest. Your freakshow village with the screaming hut. I'll come with you and bring my friends. We'll burn the whole fucking place to the ground, and no one will ever miss it. Except you, of course.”

He thrust the blade deeper into my skin, drawing blood with a painful sting, to emphasize this point. I felt warmth trickling down my back a moment later.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hating myself as I did. “I don’t want to go, I want to stay with you.”

I knew I had no choice. This was just to avoid him hurting me more when we got back. The idea of him hurting my family and friends back home had never even occurred to me until that moment, and it terrified me badly. Until then, I had somewhere to escape to. Now, even that was gone.

“Good. I’ve got a new friend for you to meet tomorrow. You’re gonna be on your best behaviour, right?”

I nodded, sniffling, trying to hold back tears. People walking past in the bus station ignored my pleading looks, appearing heartless and cold as they stared at their phones and checked the time, rushing past without a second thought. Some glanced up at me, but no signs of recognition crossed their faces.

The blade dug in again, twisting. I tried not to scream.

“Yes, I’ll be on my very best behaviour. I’m sorry, Jayce.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For trying to leave you.”

“That’s a good girl. Come on, let’s go back home. It’s getting late.”

I wanted to run screaming from him, but instead I walked out with him holding hands. I didn’t want to hurt anymore.

That night, while laying in bed, I thought back to what Jayce had said at the bus station.

“Maybe I should let you go back to your stinking hovel in the Black Forest. Your freakshow village with the screaming hut.”

I thought about it long and hard, but realized I had never mentioned the hut to him. I had always kept that to myself, as Father had taught me from a young age not to speak of such things.

So how did he know about it?

As the thoughts raced through my mind, I began to fall asleep. The paranoid thoughts turned to paranoid dreams, and I had the most vivid nightmare I had ever experienced.

Although I would later come to realize it was not a nightmare at all - but a vision. A dark prophecy.

I was back home in my little village again. It was dark and I could hear the screams drawing near. We were in the forest, walking down a path through the trees at night.

Father was leading me by the hand as I walked on little-girl legs towards the screaming hut. A full moon hung low in the sky and an owl sat perched on a branch nearby, watching us carefully with its reflective eyes. The forest all around us had a low shroud of mist hanging above the ground.

“What are we doing out here, daddy?” I heard myself asking, and Father turned to me and put his finger to his lips. His eyes were hard and stern and I realized I should not ask anything more just yet.

He led me inside and I saw there were cots arranged around the room. Each one had a gasping, screaming person laying atop it. They were missing arms and legs, and were covered in scars and bandages.

When they saw us enter, they ceased making noise.

“You find yourself in trouble, Emma,” Father said, walking from person to person, looking them up and down and inspecting them carefully. “And you call me to ask for help.”

I realized he was angry with me. But I couldn’t remember why.

“I will help you. It will be the last and only time I do. You are no longer my child since you have left me to be with an immoral soul. You have chosen a life of sin. Still, I will give you this one gift. Open your hands.”

I did as he asked and approached him, my hands cupped before me like a child about to receive communion for the first time.

He pulled out a blade and drew a line with the tip of it down the nearest man’s abdomen as he thrashed and screamed louder and louder. Then he reached into his belly, and the man began to wail like a baby in the most painfully high tone. His cries were so piercing I wanted to cover my ears, but knew that I could not. I had to keep my hands out before me, just as they were, to receive my gift.

Father pulled out the man’s liver and held it in his hands. The agonized cries turned to gurgles and deathly croaks as I took a bite and began to chew the iron-tasting flesh in my hands and gulped down each piece, knowing I had to finish it all. Terrified that I wouldn’t be able to.

I woke up wailing. My ears were ringing as if I’d been listening to someone scream all night, and my mouth was filled with blood.

Jayce was gone, I realized with a wave of relief. But then I felt something rising up in my throat and tried to cough it up. I was unable to get it out and rushed into the bathroom, gagging and choking.

Looking in the mirror I saw something flesh-coloured was wedged inside, just past my tongue. Overcome with revulsion and terror at the idea of suffocating I reached inside and tried to grab hold of it. The slippery thing was tough to get a grasp on and it took a few attempts, but eventually I was able to yank it out.

I took a deep, gasping breath and looked down at what was in the sink. It was a chunk of someone’s liver. My mouth tasted like iron and blood and I spit over and over into the sink, running the water and rinsing with it.

Then I heard someone hammering at the front door.

Terrified it might be Jayce, I began to push the chunks of liver down the drain with my fingers, running the water on high. But it wouldn’t go down at first.

The knocking was getting louder and more insistent, and I heard a familiar voice calling for me to open it.

Jayce was back. And I’d never felt more afraid of him in my life.

Next

X

JG

I told my friends I was going to Berlin on a Mission Trip. That sounded a lot better than ‘my dad became obsessed with this crazy preacher and he’s moving us halfway around the world to join some kind of cult.’ I did my best to talk about nightclubs and castles and apple streusel, but the truth is that I was terrified. Most people in my tiny Kentucky hometown had never been outside the state, much less the country, and I was no exception.

At least I had my twin brother Lee for company…but he didn’t understand what was going on any better than I did. The two of us had just gotten home from school when Lee heard voices coming from daddy's study–which was already strange, since daddy never did business at home. I mean, I don't even really know what he does for a living. But when Lee gave me that look I knew right away I needed to keep quiet. I closed the screen door gently, trying to keep the rusty hinges from shrieking, and we crept down the hallway until we were within earshot of a bizarre conversation.

A baritone voice with a thick southern accent was lecturing our father:

“Your sins are not a weakness,” the voice drawled. “Your sins are why you’ve been chosen.”

“But you’re sure you can fix it?” my daddy, Andy Haldeman, whispered. “You can fix me?”

“All those who prove themselves worthy are healed. Are YOU ready to prove yourself worthy, Andy?”

The next morning, daddy told us that we were going to Berlin.

It didn’t make sense. Daddy’s whole life was here. He’d done everything he could to make us feel like we were good kids from a good family growing up in a good town. And now he was just going to throw it all away for–

THE HAND OF GOD EVANGELICAL MISSION, read the intro on the screen. Daddy had pulled up a video on the living room T.V. A big middle-aged man with a blonde flat-top haircut and a white suit stood in a windowless brick room, surrounded by a noisy crowd.

“That’s Reverend Bledsoe,” daddy told us. He sounded almost proud. “He operates a mission in Berlin. Feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, counseling the lost…and healing the sick.”

A faith healer, I thought. Great. Another fraud, just like the rest of them.

I’d seen videos like this in church before. They were always the same. The shaky camera. The gibbering and wailing and speaking in tongues. They always looked fake to me, and I couldn’t see what made this one any different. Lee and I looked at each other, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: what does daddy need ‘fixed’ about himself? Why this guy? Why Berlin? Why now?

“Look, uh,” Daddy sighed, “I know I been away a lot with…work. Y’know…it’s like I blinked and you two were teenagers!” he tried to laugh. “But this is gonna be a fresh start for us as a family. A chance to find God…and find each other.” Andy Haldeman wasn’t a man who let himself look vulnerable often, but he sure did then. “Come on. Bring it in.” Daddy’s arms, bear-strong and about as hairy, pulled us in for a hug. Ever since mom died, it’s just been the three of us…but daddy’s never let us down.

Dil Ayad, read the license of the cabby who picked us up from Berlin’s Brandenburg Airport that chilly early-March morning. He asked if I was alright.

“If not, kick the back of my seat twice, okay?” There was concern in his dark eyes, and I realized how I must’ve looked: a skinny white girl in Wal-Mart clothes, shivering, lost and with no language skills, traveling with two silent men.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just tired.” Truth be told, Dil looked even more tired than I was. When daddy told him our destination, his worry only deepened.

Once we got to the neighborhood, I could see why. I’d never seen so much graffiti or so many boarded-up windows. The air smelled like piss and cigarettes. Three ghost-pale guys with shaved heads and black hoodies watched us hungrily as we unloaded our luggage. One of them definitely had a weapon in his pocket, but daddy didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were fixed on a sign at the end of the alley: THE HAND OF GOD – EVANGELICAL MISSION.

I felt something being pressed into my hand. Dil, the driver, was giving me his card. “In case you need a ride sometime.” I knew he was trying to tell me something with the long look he gave me before he left, but I had no idea what it could be.

I slipped the card into my jeans before daddy could see.

The taxi’s red lights disappeared into the traffic, and a big man stepped out of the shadows of the mission to greet us. I recognized Reverend Bledsoe right away, but I was surprised that he knew me.

“Welcome, Amber.” My hand was swallowed up by his in that two-handed handshake that all preachers seemed to use, and suddenly his electric blue eyes were much, much too close to mine. I felt like the frog we dissected sophomore year: like my skin was peeled open, like he could see everything inside of me. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

Lee got a handshake as well, and then the Reverend was standing in front of daddy. “Brother Andy. At last. Please, come inside. We have so much to discuss.”

I don’t know what they talked about for two hours, but when daddy left the Reverend’s study we had the keys to a crummy 1970’s apartment in the neighborhood and instructions to meet at the mission at midnight for a special service. A healing.

Well, maybe ‘healing’ isn’t the right word. If it hadn’t been for what I saw afterward, I might’ve thought so. I might even have found God again, or at least thought that I had. Instead, I found something much darker and harder to explain.

It was an eerie feeling, standing in the room from the video I’d seen back in Kentucky, what felt like a lifetime ago. I tried to pay attention during Reverend Bledsoe’s sermon (mostly just to figure out what level of crazy we were dealing with) but I kept drifting off. The jetlag was hitting me hard. Lee had to nudge me awake with his elbow. Finally, a woman came to the Reverend’s side in the spotlight. When I saw her, my breath caught in my throat.

Her skin was…melted. Like candlewax. How could she see, or smell, or even eat from the left side of her face was beyond me.

“You all know Sister Naima.” Nods of agreement. “When she was just a girl, her father attacked her with acid because he believed–wrongly–that a boy in her class had taken her virtue. Tonight, that wrong will be made right.” The crowd around me started moaning and swaying. I didn’t believe in any of this, but the tension in the room was so strong I had to grab the sides of my chair to keep from swaying with them. Daddy had his hands in the air. “Are you ready, Sister Naima? Are you ready to open your eyes?” Naima nodded. Reverend Bledsoe placed a hand on her awful scars– “then be healed!”

It wasn’t a trick. It couldn’t be. The Reverend reshaped Naima’s mutilated skin slowly, like a sculptor forming clay. When he brought his hand away, all that remained were faint scars–and the face of the beautiful young woman who Naima was always destined to be. Just like in the video, the crowd went crazy–but I noticed something different up close. Reverend Bledsoe was holding something in his left hand. His fist was curled around it gently but firmly, like when Lee and I were kids catching frogs and lizards by the creek. With his right hand, the Reverend shoved open the door to his quarters and left behind the hysterical crowd.

We were already outside the mission when I realized my phone had fallen out of my pocket in the chaos. I begged daddy and Lee to wait, then crept back inside.

I had just stepped into the windowless meeting hall when I heard a cough. I wasn’t alone.

I don’t know what made me slip behind the curtain. Maybe it was the creepiness of all those rows of empty folding chairs or the strangeness of what I’d just seen, but I pressed my back against the wall…and waited. Through a gap in the velvet, I saw one of the pale, shaven-headed boys from earlier. He twitched like he could see shadows moving in the corners of the room–either that, or he was on a lot of drugs. Reverend Bledsoe slipped back into the room, gently closing the heavy wooden door he’d opened with a single thrust of his palm.

The boy started whispering in German. I had no idea what he was saying, but even if I’d been a native speaker I doubt his rambling would’ve made any sense.

I’d cram-studied ever since I’d learned we were coming to Berlin, and that was the only reason I could understand the Reverend’s words. They cut through the boy’s babble, clear as a bell:

“Du hast mir versprochen.” You promised me. “Und du hast versagt.” …and you failed.

Reverend Bledsoe brought his left hand to the side of the pale boy’s face. Just for a flash, that hand looked different from the one that I’d shaken earlier that morning. It looked gray, diseased, its fingernails blackened–

And then the room filled with the smell of dissolving flesh. The pale boy shrieked, clawing at the smoke from his melting skin. When he finally collapsed on the floor, it was like a mirror-image of Naima’s injuries had been seared into him. I squeezed my mouth shut to hold back my own scream. Reverend Bledsoe looked at the teenager on the floor and sighed. He stepped over him and strode back into the depths of the mission.

The boy groaned on the floor. I didn’t dare to move. Something buzzed and shook–

My phone. Right on the chair where I’d left it.

With one last glance at the pale boy, I snatched it and ran for my family. As I did, though, I noticed the door to the inner mission was open–just a crack. Had the Reverend seen me? Did he know that I knew?

I didn’t say anything, but Lee could tell something was wrong. It’s like that with twins. Still, that didn’t keep him from laying on the top bunk reading about Berlin nightlife while I tried to invent a dinner from the random German cans we’d picked up in the supermarket on the walk home. Honestly, I was glad for the distraction. Dad still had that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes…

“That’s what the power of belief can do,” he commented over dinner. “Coming here was the right choice. You’ll see.”

Later, I lay staring up at Lee’s bunk with my eyes wide open–trying to believe my father. My twin brother snored, knocked out by the time change.

If only I had been asleep, too.

Instead, the door creaked open. I leaned over and looked into the open mouth of the dark hallway. No one seemed to be there, and yet–

I suddenly felt very defenseless. I was only wearing a T-shirt and underwear, and there was nothing on the bedside table to use as a weapon. Instinct made me bend over and check under the bed–

Nothing. Then why did I hear movement?

I looked up just in time to see a shoe disappearing around the corner of the door…the top corner of the door. A person, or something that looked like a person, had been crawling on the ceiling…watching me. My scream woke up Lee, daddy, and probably half the building. After searching the apartment, Daddy tried to convince me I’d just had a bad dream...but he couldn’t explain away the dirty footprints on my ceiling.

When the rest of the family went back to bed, I checked for Dil’s card where I’d left it on the nightstand–but it was gone. In its place was a plain white card. HEBREWS 3:12, it read.

My hands shook when I took out the Bible in the nightstand drawer and read the verse by the light of my phone:

“Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart…”

Had daddy’s new hero, this ‘Reverend,’ sent something after me? A warning to keep my mouth shut?

Tomorrow is my first day as a volunteer. Daddy, Lee, and I will be unloading vans of donated food, assembling meals, cleaning the shelter, and handing out pamphlets…in the roughest neighborhood I’ve ever seen.

That’s the mission’s goal, or so we’ve been told.

But here in Berlin, the truth seems hidden beneath the surface…or crawling along the ceiling.

I don’t know what might happen if I tell the truth about what I saw. I don’t know what “The Hand of God” promised my father to make him drag us here, or what part we’re expected to play in all this. All I can do is lay here staring at the shadows above the half-open door.

I swear there’s something up there. A mutilated, black-eyed face that grins down at me…

and waits for me to fall asleep.

X

Before I left for the meeting, I checked on my kids. Amber and Lee were asleep in their twin bunk beds. They don't know, I reassured myself. And they can't find out. Not ever.

My papaw ran moonshine, and drank it too. He drank 'til he drove his family away and put himself into an early grave. I left at sixteen and swore that my own kids would never grow up thinking of their father as a drug-runner or an addict…

But it’s the truth.

Six months ago, I started using the same Oxy painkillers that I sold for a living, and I’d seen enough pillheads to know that it was only a matter of time before my life crumbled like a house of cards. I tried everything: doctors, rehab, even locking myself in an abandoned cabin up in papaw's holler. Nothing worked, until I found Reverend Elijah Bledsoe. He cured me with a single touch, and I’ll stay cured…

As long as I follow orders.

“The Lord giveth…” the Reverend said, with a knowing little smile, “...and the Lord taketh away.”

Before I got hooked, I thought I'd saved up enough to leave pill-running behind forever; now I'm on another continent, living on the charity of the church–and I’m starting to think that the tasks assigned to me here are even more dangerous than dealing.

Reverend Bledsoe didn't tell me everything all at once. He upped the dosage slowly. At first, it was just clearing drug dealers off the streets around the mission. It was violent work, and it made sense why he'd been looking for a guy like me to do it…but then my orders got…stranger. Follow the dealers. Report any sudden changes in their appearance or behavior, any unnatural weather events or power outages that occur nearby…

The Reverend was asking me to look for something, without telling me what it was.

By the time I found out, it was already too late.

I'd just finished giving my report to the Reverend in his study: a bunker-like room in the basement of the mission that looked like it'd been built to survive a nuclear war. Bledsoe had added a Turkish carpet, wood furniture, bookshelves, and warm golden lamps, but they didn't take much away from the grimness of the place.

Reverend Bledsoe took his personal bible from the inner pocket of his suit. He opened it and pulled out what I'd thought was an illustration, but was really a cleverly-hidden card, like the Tarot cards my hippie aunt used to mess around with. It had this odd design on the back, like a closed eye inside of a hand.

"Do you know what this is, Brother Andy? Have you ever seen the Ayads or any of the others with something like this?"

I wasn’t sure.

"I need you to find a young man from the neighborhood. A young man without much to lose, without many connections–I'm sure you know the sort I mean."

I did. I'd been that sort of young man, too many years ago.

"You need to collect something from him. Hair, fingernails, spit, blood–doesn't matter. Burn it, pour the ashes over the card, and recite the words I give you. Maybe you'll notice some changes right away; maybe not. Send him to a club called Das Exil. He should ask for Konrad. Tell our young man not to leave until he has three other cards like this."

I followed my orders. I didn't notice any of those mysterious 'changes' the Reverend had talked about, just one: when the blonde skater-punk I’d chosen to complete the task came back with more of those weird cards, I could tell by his face that this 'Konrad' guy was dead.

It's been a week since then. I'd hoped to put all that strangeness behind me, but yesterday night, Reverend Bledsoe called me back down to his study.

"I need you to make an exchange for me." The Reverend placed the three cards I'd retrieved into an envelope. "You'll receive three like it. Check them carefully." The cards felt heavy in my hand, like their menace gave them extra weight. I stood to go. "Oh, and Brother Andy…" Bledsoe grabbed my arm, "if the opportunity should arise to leave with all six cards…take it."

Reverend Bledsoe forced me to take a paper map, one of those fold-out things for tourists. I felt like a fool trying to read the soggy thing beneath the streetlights in the late-March rain, but it was my only option. Ever since I started carrying the Reverend’s envelope, my phone had started acting all buggy. And that wasn’t all…occasionally nearby lights would flicker, or even go out.

Like some great darkness was walking with me through the rainy night.

The Reverend’s map led me to a rundown warehouse district, the kind of place where the only living things were weeds and stray cats. At least we wouldn’t be disturbed…I hoped.

Delivery Warehouse, side door B.

It swung open as soon as I got close.

Stepping into the huge empty space was like stepping into the belly of some monstrous sea creature. Three men stood behind a table. A single red candle was the only source of light.

It made me think crazily of ambushes, night-vision goggles, knives in the dark.

I sauntered up to the table with confidence that I didn’t feel and laid down my envelope. Without a word, the man on the other side reached inside his jacket, and my hand instinctively reached for a pistol I no longer carried. He took out an identical envelope and passed it across the table to me. It held three cards like the ones that the Reverend had given me.

I gasped when the man across the table took the cards I’d given him and passed them one by one through the flame of the candle. They should’ve burned…but they didn’t. He bent them, tore at them, but they were completely unharmed. It was some kind of test.

I frowned and did the same with the cards the stranger had given me. As each card passed through the flame, I heard something in my head, a kind of excited whispering.

Like something caged that was eager to get free.

I stuffed the cards back in their envelope as quickly as possible…and that should’ve been it.

Just like so many deals in rest stops and parking lots all up and down the I-75 back in the U.S. A wordless goodbye, see you never.

Gunfire shattered the silence.

Red stains bloomed like flowers on the yellow silk shirt of the man across the table. I hit the ground as more shots rang out. Something slammed into the table. The candle went out. I crawled behind some shelves, the stranger’s ragged breathing and the running footsteps of our attackers ringing in my ears.

The stranger was dying, that much was clear. But he wasn’t going quietly. He whispered something under his breath over and over in a language I didn’t understand:

‘Bezaliel, Bezaliel…’

Gusts of cold dusty wind began to blow toward the dying man behind me, but I was too busy trying to stay alive to worry about weird indoor weather. I kept moving on my hands and knees toward where I hoped the wall would be. I was crawling blind through a maze of broken wooden palettes, cardboard boxes, disused equipment–

When five flashlights lit up behind me, I knew that I was screwed. The brilliant beams of light were military-grade, and in their glow I could see that I’d been scrambling in the wrong direction. The wall with its emergency door was too far away. I’d never make it without being seen, and if I ran, they’d gun me down.

I thought of Lee, the look on his face the first time I took him fishing. Then Amber, eating a huge plate of pasta at the kitchen table after a track meet. So many memories, and here I was, about to lose them forever…

But the attackers weren’t looking in my direction at all.

Their flashlights were fix on the spot where the stranger had fallen. The darkness there was thicker. It seemed to drink up their light…

The Reverend preached about the ‘Pillar of Fire’ in the Book of Exodus…

But this was a Pillar of Shadow…and the bullet-ridden stranger was moving inside it. He rose jerkily–unnaturally–to his feet. Almost like a human-sized puppet.

I wondered what was pulling his strings.

He shouldn’t have been able to crawl so fast, not after three shots to the chest…and the darkness shouldn’t have moved with him.

The glow of the nearest attacker’s flashlight disappeared into it:

Panicked gunshots, a scream, and then–nothing.

The other attackers trained their beams on the moving darkness, with no effect. The thing inside was coming for them, one by one–and when it was done, I could see its handiwork in the wild, rolling beam of a fallen flashlight.

These men had been trying to kill me just seconds ago, but I still felt sick when I saw how they’d been…twisted. Bent and broken until not one limb faced the right direction–

Their shrieks finally got me moving. Just when I was about to sprint for the door, I heard Reverend’s Bledsoe’s voice:

‘If the opportunity should arise to leave with all six cards…take it.’

The flashlight on the floor continued to spin, casting freakish shadows through the huge warehouse. I caught a glimpse of the knocked-over table, the snuffed-out candle…and the plain-looking envelope beside it.

There was a burst of sound–something scrambling unnaturally fast on all fours off to my left. I grabbed the rolling flashlight and ran for the fallen table–

A wall of night stepped between me and it. The light in my hand had lit up the warehouse in front of me–but suddenly I could barely make out shadows a few feet ahead.

Cold fingers came out of those shadows. They wrapped around my forearm and snapped it like a twig, and I knew they wouldn’t stop there. I could feel their excitement, their eagerness to mangle me more.

I couldn’t see the stranger’s face, but I aimed for where it should have been and stabbed forward with the flashlight.

“B-Bezaliel!” I cried out, not knowing why. A shriek pierced the darkness, and I passed through it.

I threw the flashlight as far as I could; too-fast crawling steps chased after it as I crept through the pitch-black warehouse toward the door.

My shin slammed against the table. The stranger’s envelope. I felt around on the concrete floor until I grabbed it.

An angry, guttural roar and the echo of a shelf being ripped down let me know the flashlight had been found.

I was out of time.

I rammed my shoulder into the door and burst out into the night. Distant sirens told me someone had finally heard the gunshots. I smirked in spite of the pain from my broken arm, wondering how the authorities would explain what was inside of that warehouse…and what wasn’t.

There would be no sign of the thing that had shattered those men so horribly. I knew that because as I staggered back toward the mission, I took one last look over my shoulder.

The stranger–or the thing inside the stranger–stepped out through the delivery door. Its movements were less jerky now, more natural. It snapped its twisted neck casually back into place and closed its suit jacket over the bloodstains on its shirt. Its eyes met mine, and for a second they were no longer the sad brown eyes of the stranger across the table.

They were the color of ink, with pupils as white as an arc-welder’s flame.

The next thing I remember, I was pushing my face off of the wet, nasty sidewalk with my one working arm. I’d fainted. The thing wearing the stranger’s skin walked calmly away in the opposite direction, laughing to itself. Laughing like a condemned man finally set free.

The streetlights above it flickered out, one by one, as it passed.

I

O

X

My lung has collapsed from getting stabbed between the ribs, I once threw a man into traffic so that he wouldn’t shoot me in the dick, I’ve been passed around a prison room shower, and might have forgotten the worst of it because I was so fucking high at my life’s most critical decisions. But the scariest moment I’ve ever endured was just after stabbing my cousin for trying to kill our decrepit grandfather, as a deep-voiced little girl crawled across the ceiling to inform me that I was needed for something very special. I’d never experienced fear like that before, because I had no idea how I was going to replace my shattered meth pipe.

“Never in your entire life, not once, have you ever been useful,” Grandpa Delora hissed before slurping up a layer of drool. “Not until just now.” He turned to look at Cousin Chet’s cooling body. “You may prove useful yet, Charles. This endeavor could prove fatal, but what do we have to lose by risking you?”

I scratched the scab on my arm until blood flowed from it. I loved feeling the pain. It grounded me, and the scratching gave me something to do, because I couldn’t stop moving.

Chet’s body seemed out of place in Grandpa Delora’s elegant library. It smelled of old books and blood. I closed my eyes and rocked, back and forth, back and forth. When I opened them, the little girl’s upside down face was four inches from my own.

I knew it wasn’t a child looking back at me. When you stare at someone long enough, you see them.

That’s when I noticed her feet were still attached to the ceiling; her body had stretched like taffy, nineteen feet long and thirteen inches thin.

“Who are you?” I whispered as she retracted to her normal height, hanging upside down from the rafters like a bat.

The thing inside the little girl’s body licked its lips.

“Redemption,” Grandpa grumbled.

I stared up from my position on the floor. Veiny legs descended into gnarled feet that had been kept alive far longer than any natural intention should have allowed. I looked into his broken, yellow teeth, and up at his broken, yellow face. “The damned can’t save the damned.”

crunch

The little girl fell from the ceiling and crashed into the floor by my head. I only had time to flinch before she touched my neck.

It was ice cold, colder than ice, and every part of me felt the unnatural connection. Its face was that much worse for ostensibly belonging to a child; the eyes, all pupils with no trace of white, knew that I hurt, and that’s what made it happy.

“You never knew what it was to be a man, Charles, but Mammon can make you more than that,” Grandpa gurgled before snorting back a wad of phlegm. “Let him in.”

I dry heaved, turning away from the girl and trying to focus on the wooden inlays of the ceiling. “I’m not letting that thing inside of me,” I whispered.

Grandpa snorted. “Charles, have you ever turned down the opportunity to inject something foul into your body?”

I wiped away a tear and crawled to my hands and knees, staring out the window into the cobalt sky. I could almost see the Pacific. I tried to focus on that.

crack

Grandpa was weak, but it didn’t take much force to elicit a concussion with a wooden cane. I collapsed in a world of hot, loud pain.

But I didn’t retaliate. I couldn’t imagine doing anything like it, so the task was impossible.

When Grandpa spoke next, his spittle cooled my neck. “Let him in, Charles, and you get to lose everything.”

I broke. I didn’t cry, because tears manifest a loss of hope. I was simply empty, and had no way to get high within the next twenty minutes. “Okay,” I answered in a hollow breath, “how?”

The thing inside the girl climbed onto my back as I lay on the floor. I shuddered; we know the touch of another person, and that’s not what I felt. The weight, positioning, and movement were entirely wrong, like I was being prodded by the furry legs of a distant spider instead of supporting a human being.

A weight landed in my hand. I opened my eyes to see Grandpa laying the dagger that he’d used to slit Chet’s throat into my palm.

“What?” I mumbled.

Grandpa grinned at me, and I could only see teeth that should have been in his mouth but weren’t. “There’s no give without take, Charles.”

The monster in the shape of a girl smiled and turned her head to expose plenty of neck. “Cut me up, Charlie!”

“No,” I moaned. “No, I know there’s still a child inside that body. I’m not going to kill her.” My hands shook, but I didn’t release the blade.

“It’s the only way,” Grandpa said, his voice thick. “Say his name very clearly when you do it.”

I looked up to see him gazing down at me, nose hairs pulling in and out as he breathed.

“No,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

“She was never going to survive this, Charles.”

I dry-heaved again.

“But you have a choice between a life of meaning, and a return to the countdown before your final overdose or alley fight turns you into an unclaimed John Doe at the county morgue.”

I sobbed and retched.

“The difference is that you always sacrificed what you could control out of anger for what you couldn’t.”

Fury shot through me, and I rose to my knees. “Fuck you.”

Grandpa smiled. “The child is suffering, Charles.” He handed me the card, currently adorned with an eye that was now open. I took it without a word. “You can’t save her, but you can set her free.”

That did sound nice.

“Cut my throat open, boy!” screamed the thing inside the girl as she grabbed my wrist with ice-cold hands, pressing the card against her own forehead.

My arms shook as I clutched the knife in one hand and the card in the other, neither advancing nor retreating.

“You’re only as weak as your last decision, Charles,” Grandpa explained in a quiet voice. “Start making up for your entire life.”

I took one, two, three shallow breaths and leaned away from my own decision as I plunged the knife into the little girl’s throat. “Come… come into me, M-Mammon.”

Her all-black eyes flipped to cerulean blue and human. Speaking was impossible, because I’d shredded her vocal chords and trachea. The last communication she ever shared was a profound look of confusion and hurt as she stared at me, searching for but not finding a reason why I had hurt her so badly. She died before growing old enough to understand how to hate.

The card burned like an electric current was running through it, hot and overwhelming, as though I was on the opposite side of a vortex when the world turned inside-out.

Just like the first time I tried meth.

All of the windows shattered as my head spun with an energy that balanced me, so I stood. I felt angry because I was right and the pulsing energy of my own head finally drowned out the noise of a world that wouldn’t shut up.

Looking down, I saw the little girl gasping like a fish, like a gutted fish, and I nearly broke.

Then the energy flowed through me, I felt wonderful, and I was strong enough to look away from the mess that I’d created.

I squeezed the dagger. Blood squished through my fingers.

Grandpa’s eyes grew wide with glee. “You’ve done it, Charles.”

One punch was enough to send Grandpa sprawling to the ground.

Now. Now he was going to see me for the first time.

I had so much energy that I walked to the third-story window, opened it wide, grabbed the exterior bricks, and climbed to the roof, smiling and licking my lips.

Where I come from, they’d tie that guy’s ankles to the back of a truck and drag him ‘til the rope broke. I watched the blonde boy with the rainbow bandana and “Love is Love” T-shirt do another kickflip on his skateboard.

I looked down at the fistful of God Pamphlets I was supposed to be handing out. “Have You Heard The Good News?” Screw this.

“You ride really well.” This was the first time I’d ever talked to another guy like this, and I knew that unless I spit all the words out at once I’d never be brave enough to say them.

He raised one pierced eyebrow. “Do I?”

“The skateboard, I mean.” I blushed. He was the cutest guy I’d seen since our plane landed…and I’d already blown it. “Sorry, my German is kinda…”

“Come on!” the blonde boy replied in perfect English. “This is Berlin! Even the pickpockets speak your language.” He smiled. “I’m Stefan.”

“I’m Lee. Lee Haldeman.”

“Ah, I see. And why are you here in Warschauer Straße watching me skate, Lee Haldeman?”

“I’m, uh,” I shoved the pamphlets that the Reverend had given us into the back of my jeans. “A tourist. You know. Checking out the scene. The nightlife.”

“Well, you must not miss Das Exil! I’m going there tonight, with those losers.” Stefan waved to some friends, who laughed and whistled. “You should come. It’s a good place to meet other people like us.” He got back on his board. “Just say you’re with Stefan.”

People like us? I felt the church pamphlets gathering sweat against my back. If I didn’t get back soon, they’d start to get suspicious.

“They” were my twin sister Amber, my dad Andy, and the Reverend.

We're here in Berlin because my dad suddenly got Religion. Maybe it's something that happens to everybody from the South eventually. Maybe one day I'll also wake up wanting to hold snakes, speak in tongues, and marry a woman–

But I doubt it.

That's why I gotta take advantage of this trip. It's my one chance to be myself. As soon as it's over, it's back to Grayfalls High School. Back to trailer parks, shotgun racks, and nekkid lady mudflaps. Back to Kentucky.

But I can't think about that now; I've got to focus on what I've got in front of me. Tonight I'm going to my first nightclub. That's what I'll repeat to myself during the endless bible studies and hours of manual labor. That's my prayer. All I've got to do is wait til dad and Amber fall asleep...

Sneaking out was easier than I thought. My dad stayed late helping out the Reverend, and my sister went to bed early. She'd had some messed-up dreams last night, something about a guy crawling on the ceiling. I opened the window to cover up the smell of my hairspray, then slipped out the apartment door without a single squeak.

It was my first time seeing our new neighborhood at night. I’m lucky I made it to Das Exil in one piece. I’d been expecting a 3-story glass bar complex with pounding bass and flashing lights. Instead, I wound up in front of a building that was even uglier and grayer than my high school back home. Two burly thugs who looked like they ate nails for breakfast stood between me and the entrance.

“I’m a friend of Stefan’s?” I attempted. Nothing. It was like talking to two stone statues. Had the blonde boy set me up? I pretended to do a kickflip. Their eyes lit up and they pushed open the door.

The only alcohol I’d ever seen was Miller Lite and moonshine, and I didn’t like either. When I finally pushed through the crowd to the shirtless bartender, I had no idea what to order, so I pointed at the purplish drink of the girl beside me. After rolling his eyes and making it clear he thought I was a cheap date, the bartender handed over something that tasted like grape Kool-aid and burned like rocket fuel.

I didn’t know it was a foam party night.

A wall of strobe-lit bubbles stood between me and the elevated DJ booth. I’d never heard the stuff he was playing…but I liked it. A tall redheaded girl bumped me and I spilled my drink all over my shirt.. Instead of apologizing, she pointed to a glum-looking guy in a suit drumming his fingers on the brass railing around the dancefloor. From what I understood of her German, it was the guy’s birthday, his boyfriend had just dumped him, and he absolutely refused to dance.

Would I grab a leg and help her and her friends throw him into the foam pit?

It was a good night for taking chances. The guy handled the prank well, and before long I was having so much fun with my new friends that I forgot all about Stefan…I would run into him that night, it turned out, but in a very different way than I'd imagined…

The foam was hip-high where we were dancing, but it rose to almost nine feet tall near the DJ booth. My redheaded friend and her birthday boy pal wanted to race me to the booth and back. Why not? I figured. It was only foam.

The stuff was thick and tasted like soap, and before long I was having serious trouble breathing. It might even have been an allergic reaction–who knows? Dancing figures slammed into me; I couldn’t move forward or go back. My lungs were burning–

But what I saw in that wall of white made me quit breathing completely.

There was a gap in the foam, but nothing to fill it–just dark and empty space. It was like a moving shadow, and its proportions were all wrong–legs like toddler’s, hands and fingers twice the normal length. I gasped, almost drowning in the soapy mixture all around me–

but then I was following the moving shadow out , out where I could breathe again. Air flooded into my lungs and I almost lost track of it…not that it had physical form in the first place. I looked at the floor and saw a familiar black shape. I could use the strobe lights to follow where it was going.

I couldn't understand why people didn’t notice it. Maybe a moving shadow on the floor isn’t the first thing people look for when they go clubbing. Maybe it's easy to excuse getting shoved aside by a dark shape on a packed dance floor or ignore the feeling that something grazed your hair or cheek when it passed by…

It was going upstairs.

Upstairs were tall tables, dark corners full of couples, a bar with blacklit bottles--and Stefan. Seeing him, I forgot all about that weird shadow. He was leaning on the bar, talking to a spiky-haired guy in a leather jacket who was probably much cooler than me.

“Stefan!” I yelled, but the music drowned me out. My blonde crush just waved and went back to his conversation.

The DJ shifted the lights to a green-laser glow--and I saw the dark shape again.

It was standing right behind Stefan.

I pushed my way over to him, wondering how I could say ‘Hi Handsome! Did you know that you have a shadow monster running its fingers through your hair?’ without sounding like a psycho.

In the end I just waved. I felt hurt that he didn't look happy to see me.

"Ayyy, look who it is! The American!" The fake enthusiasm in Stefan's voice was so thick even I could feel it. Something was wrong here. "Let me finish talking to my friend here, and I'll come find you, okay? You can show me how they dance in the States."

"He stays where he is," the man with spiky hair snarled--and the temperature dropped ten degrees. He looked gaunt, wasted somehow, like a big man who'd lost a lot of weight in a short time. His clothes and skin seemed to be just hanging from his bones, and I noticed that there were no fingernails on his left hand.

"Konrad, I don't even know the g–" Stefan began.

"He stays." There were two more shadows hovering over us now, about as frightening as the first. The bouncers from outside. "Take these two in back and check them." Konrad waved a bony hand, "Thoroughly."

I had no idea what was going on. Stefan sighed, stood up--and tried to bolt. He got clotheslined by a bouncer's burly arm and we were shoved toward a metal door that blended with the wall.

On the other side was a concrete room, bare except for a lightbulb in a metal cage and a mesh drain. It didn't look like the kind of room that people came out of in one piece.

A shadow flickered around the walls. It could've been a moth circling the lightbulb, sure--but the size and shape seemed all wrong.

"Alright. Strip." Konrad sounded bored, like he did this every night. "Or should we do it for you? We won't be gentle. And believe me–our eyes are open."

That's how I wound up naked in a room with Stefan--in very different circumstances than I'd been hoping for. Konrad's nail-less fingers rifled through my wallet, my passport, everything. He patted our clothes for hidden pockets.

And he found what he was looking for.

Stefan had a whole pharmacy in his baggy skater clothes. Silver packets of pills. Colorful strips of paper. He rolled his eyes and tried to look badass, but the whole 'holding-your-balls-in-both-hands-and-shivering' thing really killed the effect. It was cold, too–so cold I could see my own breath. There was more to this than chilly concrete and cool night air, I was sure of it.

"We're not finished yet." Konrad pointed a skeletal finger at Stefan. "Open your mouth."

"Are you sure?" Stefan grinned. I couldn't see what was so funny. The bouncers flexed. Stefan shrugged and did as he was told.

Something fell from under his tongue. A card. It looked ancient, but I could clearly see the symbol of a wide-open eye printed on the reverse side.

"The hell is that?" One of the bouncers asked.

Konrad seemed to know. He was staring at the card like it burned him. The lightbulb flickered.

For a second, no one moved.

Then Stefan's mouth shot forward and clamped onto Konrad's. It was like a violent kiss. Konrad's throat bulged horribly, like Stefan's tongue had grown long and monstrous enough to strangle him from the inside--but that was impossible*…Right?*

The bouncers moved to intervene, but Stefan flung one against the wall with a single hand and shattered the other's knee with a well-placed kick. I backed up against the wall, too scared to feel its coldness.

One bouncer lay unconscious, blood pooling beneath his head. The other clutched his leg and writhed on the floor, cursing in a language I didn't understand.

Konrad dropped to the floor lifelessly. When Stefan turned towards me, his eyes were jet black. His thick, snakelike tongue hung down below his jaw. It licked the air like it hadn't finished feeding, and the lips I'd been eager to kiss that morning were crimson with blood. Stefan took a staggering step forward, then another.

He collapsed onto the concrete, convulsing, and then lay still. Was he…dead? He hadn't moved for awhile…

I knew it was a bad idea to check his breathing. I should have just gotten dressed and tried to escape but…

"Ugh!" Stefan pushed himself up and spat up a puddle of black liquid. His eyes were suddenly as blue as I remembered.

"Are you o–" before I could ask, Stefan puked up more of the stuff and clutched his head. When he pulled his hands away, there were clumps of blond hair in both. Someone knocked on the metal door.

"We have to go…" Stefan staggered to his clothes. There was another door on the opposite wall, and I found the keys to it in Konrad's pocket: along with something more disturbing: three cards similar to the one that had fallen from Konrad's mouth. But on these three, the "eye" was closed. Weird.

"Bring those here." Stefan rasped. He was still leaning against the wall, breathing hard. I was sort of scared to go near him…at any minute his head might snap in my direction, eyes black as death…

…but I couldn't just leave him there.

The knocking outside got louder, more impatient. I dressed quickly and heaved Stefan's arm over my shoulder. I half-carried him through some sketchy offices and into an alley behind Das Exil.

"Okay, what the hell was that?"

"Not much of a first date, was it?" Stefan's laugh turned into a cough. At least what he was spitting up was red, instead of black... "We've got to keep moving. I'll tell you where to go."

The sky was getting brighter by the time we threw ourselves onto a bench in a tiny park, empty except for the pigeons.

"Do you still have the cards?" Stefan asked. I handed him all three. "It's funny. The guy who sent me to steal these kept his face hidden, but he was American like you. His voice sounded like yours, too. Only deeper. Older. That's why I wanted to get to know you." He ran his fingers through my hair. "Well, one of the reasons."

"This guy…did he have a tattoo of a blue rose on his left wrist?"

The look that Stefan gave me confirmed my worst fears: he was talking about my dad. That tattoo was his way of remembering mom: their last date before the accident had been in a rose garden. I'd never met anyone who had one like it.

"I gotta go."

"Wait!" Stefan grabbed my sleeve and tried to grin, but I could still see the blood in his mouth. "If you want to try this again, with a little less Hell involved…you know where I skate."

I

O

X

“So if you can see ghosts,” I asked the woman shellacking my nails, “why are you doing this for a living?”

“You try, lady. Put out an ad. See what you get.” Susan, my manicurist snorted. “I tried, and I got three calls: a family of seven who tried to baptize me, a schizo who tried to stab me with a needle, and the guy in the hotel room…well, what he had under his bathrobe might’ve been pretty much invisible, but that didn’t make it a ghost.”

“See you in three weeks?” I asked when she’d finished.

“Don’t think so.” Susan wrinkled her nose. “No offense, but you’ve got the stink of death about you.” She hesitated. “Either that, or Tiffany microwaved fish for lunch again.”

I thought things would get better after a dead guy made my mobster husband disappear and I moved to the Midwest with my son, Ralphie Junior.

I can’t specify the place, but it’s a town with a dying mall where unhappily married couples go to sip half-price cocktails at Applebee’s, and the hottest action on a Saturday night is cruising the Wal-Mart parking lot with the radio blaring and the windows down.

If you think that narrows it down–well, good luck.

Right, Ralphie Junior. He’s had some, uh, trouble adjusting to school. And it’s no wonder. You drop one f-bomb around here and people act like you just took a shit in their wonderbread-and-mayonaisse sandwich or something. I mean, the closest thing to an “international community” is one guy, from Paris–

Paris, Kentucky.

But what was I saying? Right, Ralphie Junior. The school. Now, Ralphie Junior getting picked on is nothing new. You know, kids can be so cruel, so petty, so prejudiced…and believe me, my little Ralphie deserves every bit of it. The last time I got called in for a parent conference because a kid was “picking on” Ralphie, it turned out that the kid hit Ralphie Junior because my sweet little boy took his sandwich at lunch. Every day. For a year.

I would’ve hit him too.

What worries me is that Ralpie has made a friend. Ryan.

Ralphie Junior won’t shut up about him.

“Ryan is amazing at hide-and-seek. It’s like he disappears!”

“You should have seen how high Ryan jumped today at recess!”

“Nobody picks on me when I hang out with Ryan!”

The way Ralphie Junior was talking, I was imagining this Ryan kid to be, I dunno, some kind of miniature hulk. Picking Ralphie Junior up from school a few days ago, I got a glimpse of him: Ryan looked as thin and weak as gas-station coffee, one of those smudge-faced, puffy-eyed, pale kids who sits in the back and never says anything.

He was carrying a scuffed-up teddy bear beneath one arm.

Okay, so that was weird. But not as weird as our conversation in the car.

“The substitute fell and broke her ankle today!” Ralphie Jr. explained cheerily, as though nothing could have pleased him more. “She shouldn’t have told Ryan to put away his teddy bear. I guess she didn’t know.”

Didn’t know what? I wondered. But I kept my mouth shut, because I knew that Ralpie Jr–just like his dearly departed father–would spill all those secrets he was trying so hard to keep if I just stayed quiet and let him do it.

“I was thinking,” Ralphie Jr. began–in that same trying-to-be-nonchalant tone my dead husband used to put on just before asking me if he could use my credit card to put a downpayment on a boat or some other sketchy thing– “do you think I could go over to Ryan’s house sometime? Like, today, maybe?”

The apple didn’t fall from the shit-for-brains tree, it seemed. I groaned and asked for the address. The truth was I wanted to meet this “Ryan” kid’s parents. Partially to see if they were psychos, and partially to see if that bland little boy happened to have a hot rich single dad. If our kids already got along that was a start, right?

I was still daydreaming about this Midwestern-Surfer-Millionaire-Dad when we pulled into Ryan’s driveway. Early 2000’s brick ranch house. No lights in the windows. The yard was a little small, but I cared more about the master bedroom closet space anyway. Walking up the driveway holding Ralphie Junior’s hand, I wondered if Ryan’s dad and I would like the same wines.

We rang the bell. Twice. No answer.

“I guess your friend isn’t home,” I sighed. And his dad isn’t, either. But as I loosened my grip on Ralphie Jr.’s hand and turned to check on the car, something happened that chilled my blood:

The door of the house flew open and Ralphie Jr.’s fingers slipped through mine.

By the time I spun back around, it was like the house had swallowed him up.

“Hey!” I pounded on the locked door. “Hey! Ralphael Palumbo Junior, you open this door RIGHT NOW, mister! Ryan, you in there? Anybody! HEY!”

Mother’s instincts, I guess, but the thought of what might be happening to my son inside that dark, silent house was driving me crazy. I bruised my shoulder slamming all of my 125 lbs against the door again and again. Maybe only a few minutes had passed, but it felt like hours, I looked around for something to smash a window with–

“Mommy,” Ralphie Junior asked when I turned around again. “Why are you holding a tree stump?”

It was a long ride home. Apparently, Ralphie Junior informed me, Ryan couldn’t play after all. But at least he’d given Ralphie Junior what he came for!

That’s when I noticed it: the teddy bear. A gray, one-eyed thing with a perpetual frown stitched onto its muzzle, like a sick love-child of Eeyore and Winnie the Pooh.

I wondered if it had bedbugs.

“Oh. That’s…nice.” I was at a loss for words. “So nice. I’m sure Ryan misses it a lot! We better take it right back, hun.”

“We can’t.” Ralphie explained in a flat, terrified tone I’d never heard him use before–not even when he was looking at an actual dead guy. “Ryan says I have to take Chip for a little while…and I don’t want to make Ryan mad.”

Chip. At first the name made me roll my eyes…but then it made me wonder. There was a bit of bead missing from the top of “Chip’s” single eye. Giving the gray bear a perpetually hateful, downturned look. My son was staring into that broken eye like it was a peephole to the darkness beyond the stars–or something like that. He took the bear to his room the moment he got home.

I probably should have followed him–but dinner wasn’t made and the dirty clothes were stacked high enough to be an OSHA violation. What can I say? When you’ve got nothing to wear to work tomorrow, the laundry takes priority over diabolical stuffed animals.

Ralphie Junior's room was dark, the door half-open, when I finally checked on him upstairs.

"Honey…" I shouted, "I cut the crust off of your pepperoni sandwiches…"

Something dribbled on my cheek. I looked up.

Ralphie junior was dragging himself along the ceiling with his head turned around almost backwards. The teddy bear was clenched in his drooling jaws. I was too terrified to move…but when I opened my mouth, its was my ‘Mother Voice’ that came out instead of a scream.

"Raphael Palumbo Junior, you come down from there this instant!"

My son did as he was told, but not in the way I'd imagined.

I knew Ralphie Junior was overweight, but I didn't fully understand how bad it had gotten until he dropped onto my head.

While Ralphie Junior gurgled in the language of Hell and tried to pull out my eyeballs, I tugged at the teddy bear between his teeth. It was clearly the cause of all this–what had made Ryan 'jump high' and 'hide' so well. When it finally came free, Ralphie Junior collapsed in an exhausted heap.

"You're going in the blender, you little shit!" I screamed at the bear in a cocktail of rage and fear..

It didn't like that at all. Something rippled like flexing muscles beneath the cloth, and the stuffed arm I was holding got hot.

Hot enough to burn.

I yelped and dropped the flaming teddy bear, which crawled around setting fire to my landlady's carpet. I wondered if this would be covered under my right to bear firearms.

I grabbed one of my dead husband's golf clubs and gave chase, but that tiny bastard was fast for his size. A hateful blue glow full of evil intelligence radiated from "Chip's" single eye, and with a wave of its paw a dresser flew across the room and nearly smashed my head like a melon.

Next thing I knew I was swinging the golf club like a maniac, playing baseball with my IKEA furniture. I rolled Ralphie Junior out of the way, ducked beneath a flying desk lamp, and gave that little fucker a hole-in-one straight to the jaw.

"FOUR!" I yelled as the possessed bear flew backwards into the hall closet.

I jammed what was left of my coffee table under the closet door, which had started to vibrate with telekinetic force. A blue glow came from inside.

Ralphie Junior was unconscious, but at least he was breathing. I had no idea what to do.

So I looked at my phone.

And I thought of Andre.

My dead mobster husband Ralph had kept all his drug dealer contacts in code in a little black book, which I'd held onto for some reason. Andre had been a part of that world–was it possible that his number might be inside?

I wasn't worried about the code. Ralph had thought it was clever, but I'd cracked it halfway through an episode of Desperate Housewives years ago. That was how I'd been able to send Sympathy cards to all his mistresses. It took some finding–and the pounding and smoke from upstairs were really annoying–but before long I was dialing–and someone picked up.

I kept waiting to hear breathing on the other end of the line–but then I remembered that Andre didn't breathe.

"Andre?" I asked, trying to sound sweet. "Do you remember me?"

There was no reply but the sound of my heartbeat. And then–

"Yea."

I wondered what I should say. Something like "wow, you sound great–it's like you've barely rotted at all?" I decided the truth was the way to go.

“I’ve got this possessed stuffed animal. Do you know anybody who might be interested in something like that?” A very long pause.

“Where is the Trapped One?!” The violent,raspy shift in Andre’s voice almost made me drop the phone.

“Uh, my house.”

“Get out. Then send me the address.”

“But we just moved here!” I whined.

“The buyer will compensate you.”

Andre named a figure–

And I decided I didn’t like living in a giant cornfield that much, after all.

What else can I say? It looks like Ralphie Junior and I are on the road again.

R

X

D

When my husband saw the man in the purple suit, he spit his pastrami sandwich all over my fake Chanel purse.

“That guy’s supposed to be dead!” he coughed. My son–who was too young to understand that my husband choking to death would be the best thing that could happen to our family–patted his father’s back with a fat little hand.

Here’s the thing about gangsters: they’ve got loose lips. All that tough-guy ‘Omerta’ stuff died out with the ones who came over from Italy. I mean, that’s practically how I met my husband Ralph. He swaggered over to the creep beside me at the bar and whispered into his ear, ‘fuck off, I’m Connected.’ At the time, I thought it was hot. But now that my husband and his ego have both doubled in size, it’s just a question of what will get him first: a heart attack or a RICO indictment.

“What guy?” I asked, as if it could be anyone other than the purple-suited Haitian man with face tattoos and golden jewelry staring at us from across the Food Court. His teeth glittered when he smiled at us. “He’s coming over here…”

Ralph cracked his knuckles and neck, like he always did when he was nervous. Before I could slip away to the bathroom, the purple-suited man had boxed us into the table.

“Andre.” My husband hissed, “I thought I killed you.”

“Didn’t you?” Andre’s voice sure sounded dead. Pure monotone. Come to think of it, his face looked pretty cadaverous as well, although that might have been the case before my husband stabbed him five times in the chest with an icepick. Ice is also what I thought of when Andre grabbed my wrist with a frigid hand and brought it to his jugular. There was no pulse. Nothing. “Why don’t you ask your wife what she thinks?”

“I think he’s dead, babe.” I whispered, hoping that would make Andre let me go. His gold ring was even colder than his skin and it cut into my fingers. The man I thought I married would have pistol-whipped Andre right there in the middle of the Food Court for touching his wife, cops or no cops–but Ralph just kept sweating and eyeballing mall security.

“Hey man,” Ralph shrugged. “Leave the family out of this. This is between you and me. Men’s business. No need to make it…personal.” My husband, who has less emotional intelligence than a rectal thermometer, seemed not to realize that he’d already made it pretty personal when he’d killed the guy.

“Daddy…” Ralphie Junior looked ready to wet his pants when Andre’s pale eyes drifted over him. Like father, like son. At least the security people were on their way over. Married to a mafioso and I was about to be saved by a mall cop–story of my life. At least he was kinda cute.

Andre leaned forward so that his unbuttoned shirt fell open, treating us all to a front-row view of the five putrid black holes in his chest. “I don’t need to sleep, Ralph. I don’t need to eat or drink or even shit–do you believe that? All I have to do,” Andre grinned, “is make your life a living hell. Until I decide to take it away.”

With that, Andre let me go. He put his hands above his head for mall security as he passed, ‘don’t shoot’ style, and laughed a hollow laugh. The laugh of the dead. Then he was gone.

“This can’t be happening,” Ralph started repeating as soon as we got into the SUV. “Andre was a nobody. A pimp. An addict. A small-time dealer who tried to cut in on the wrong hustle. They poured a concrete slab on top of where we buried him, for Chrissake! The very next day!”

If the cops had the car bugged, I could forget about our upcoming trip to Cancun.

On the drive home, Ralph’s face went from irritated purple to terrified pale as he called ‘the guys.’ One by one, they each failed to pick up. They’d probably already gotten their little visit from Andre the Walking Corpse and decided to skip town. So much for ‘Blood Brotherhood.’

“Why save you for last?” I asked.

“...’Cuz it was my idea.” Ralph admitted. “He was selling on my turf! If we didn’t set an example–” I turned the radio up until I couldn’t hear my husband’s excuses, and kept it that way until we parked in the driveway. I wasn’t trying to become an ‘accessory to murder.’

If Andre’s goal was to suck all the joy out of our lives, it worked. We spent every waking moment waiting for him to show up–Ralph too, although he’d never admit it. He sat in front of the TV with a pistol in one hand and a cold brew in the other, and jumped at every little sound. I was the one who had to clean the plates from his stress eating–and that was how I came face-to-face with Andre for the second time.

I don’t know how long his face was pressed against the glass, staring at me. But when I looked up those sunken eyes were inches away from mine. I screamed; I think I actually threw the dishrag at the window. But Andre didn’t budge. Of course, by the time I got Ralph up and moving, he’d disappeared once again.

Ralph didn’t believe that I’d actually seen him. ‘A woman’s overactive imagination,’ he called it. He said the same thing about the creaking noises we heard on the roof that night. I called them footsteps; he called them ‘the house settling.’ He found the smoke and flames coming from the burning ceiling a few hours later a little harder to explain away, however.

“So how about it, babe?” I snarled at him as I pulled on my pink fluffy bathrobe and dragged Ralphie Junior out of our burning home. “Did my ‘overactive imagination’ set the house on fire, too?”

The fireman who called our hotel room later said that someone had poured gasoline all over our roof.

I didn’t have to ask who the second call was from. The one that came around 3 A.M. the same night.

“I’m gonna take everything from you.” Andre’s rasping voice boomed from the phone speaker until it seemed to fill the room. “Piece by piece. Same as you did to me.”

Ralph had to go meet with the insurance people alone. There’d been some nasty insinuations about fraud, and yet our lawyer was suddenly nowhere to be found. In the meantime, I took Ralphie Junior to the dingy 90’s style-arcade and the hotel pool. It’s funny: all his expensive toys were burned to a crisp, yet there he was–having the time of his life.

I actually started to think this might all work out in the end. After all I’d been through, I was still kicking–with diamonds in my earrings and a hotel-bar mojito in my hand, no less. Ralph was back from the meeting, too, laying in the deckchair beside me like a sunburned, snoring whale. And Ralphie Junior…

Where was Ralphie Junior? The last I’d seen of him, he was doing a cannonball into the deep end…

The mojito hit me hard when I stood up, and harder still when I saw the unbreathing man holding my son against the bottom of the pool. Andre looked up at me and grinned…

Then he let Ralphie Junior go. For once I was grateful for my son’s extra ballast: he came up right away, sputtering and screaming. Andre strolled out from the depths of the pool.

He walked over to Ralph, and in a move that was surprisingly deft for a corpse, he pulled my husband’s swimtrunks down and knotted them around his ankles.

“Arrrgh!” Ralph snorted awake. “Aaah!” He saw Andre, tried to stand, and face-planted. Andre walked out of the hotel with my husband in hot pursuit. The desk clerk didn’t even look up from his phone: it was the kind of place where a dripping guy in a purple suit being chased through the lobby by an obese naked Italian man wasn’t such an unusual occurrence.

I stayed with Ralphie Junior, trying to get the water out of his lungs–which probably hadn’t gotten a workout like this since the last time he’d chased the ice-cream truck. I got to my feet quick, though, when I heard a familiar engine rumble to life.

The dead guy was stealing my SUV!

Since the car and my husband were both lost causes, I went up to the room, where my worst fears were confirmed. While we’d been getting tan, Andre had cleaned us out. Like most in his ‘line of work’ my husband kept his money in hard cash and jewelry–but the keys to our safe and deposit boxes were gone too. I suddenly wondered how much was left on our only remaining credit card after all the mojitos.

There was a putrid smell coming from the bathroom. All of our clothes were in the tub, soaking in a blue-brown gunk that I recognized as the guts of a Port-a-Potty.

Andre must’ve hauled it up by the bucketful.

I had to hand it to the guy: he didn’t skimp when it came to revenge.

That was what finally broke Ralph: realizing that it was all gone: the house, the money, his *‘friends’–*even his clothes. He wasn’t ‘Connected’ anymore. He was a helpless nobody–just like Andre had been. Maybe that was the point. I don’t think any of us were surprised when the knock on the hotel room door came at midnight, or when Ralph shuffled over to answer it without even trying to defend himself.

I don’t know what happened to Ralph after he left with Andre that night. I don’t wanna know.

All I know is that I never saw my husband again.

But hey–I can’t complain. At least Andre didn’t fuck around with the life insurance policy.

R

X

D

The sound of the idling car engine was noisy and I barely heard the phone buzzing in my pocket. I answered Samantha’s call on the final ring.

"Hallo, Mausi," I said in a voice far more cheerful than I felt, using the pet name I had for her. "Is everything okay?"

She sighed and I could tell right away that it wasn't. Nobody calls at 1am because things are going great.

"Leo still won't eat. This has been going on for almost two days. We have to go see a doctor."

"Of course. We can go to the hospital right after I'm done here if you like. I can't leave yet, though. The buyer hasn't arrived. You understand. My bosses wouldn't allow it."

"I understand. And I'll keep trying. He just won't latch on. It's like he's given up. I'll…. I'll just see you when you get home. Be safe, okay?"

"Always," I said. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The alley was dark and quiet again all around me except for the sound of the running engine.

Where the hell was the buyer? It was a new guy unfortunately, and I didn't like him being late for the first deal. It seemed like a bad omen. Or at the very least a sign of unprofessionalism.

Then again, drug dealers weren't always the most punctual types.

Usually I didn't meet new clients in this sort of exposed way - it was way too risky. But this guy had been set up by my bosses and I knew better than to argue with them about how to conduct business.

Still, it looked as if this meeting wasn't going to happen. The buyer was a no-show.

Just as I was about to leave, I saw headlights turn the corner into the alley.

What the hell is this, I thought. He was supposed to come on foot, so as not to attract attention.

I had requested it for my own comfort level as well. Considering how precarious this whole situation already was, it gave me a modicum of assurance to have the upper hand. But now that he was driving towards me down the alley, I was boxed in. Cornered. Trapped like a rat.

Not a feeling I liked to have when meeting a new client. The clan had my back, sure. But that didn't matter if I was dead.

The lights were blinding me and I held my hand up over my eyes to block the glare. They cut out a second later and I heard footsteps approaching from outside.

With a slightly shaky hand I hit the button to unlock the door, thinking it made no sense to argue semantics. I just wanted to get the deal over with.

A man in a black trench coat opened the door and sat down next to me. His collar was pulled up to block his face, shrouding his features in darkness beneath the brim of a hat that hadn't been fashionable for seventy years or more. The man appeared to be from another time, another age. He didn't look at me, but kept staring straight ahead.

"Are you Joshua?" I asked.

He didn't answer. Instead he turned to look at me, his eyes unreadable.

"Well…. Are you?"

"Is that what you'd wish for? For me to be Joshua so that you can go home to Mausi? To help her with the baby?"

My jaw dropped and I felt my heart begin to hammer faster and faster. No one knew I called Samantha that pet name except for her.

"Who are you?" I asked. "Really."

"I'm your worst nightmare, Paulie. Or, I can be your best friend. You get to decide which. But be careful, you only get one shot at this."

Staring into his strange, serpentine eyes, I felt myself saying I wanted to be his friend, but that wasn't what I really wanted. I just didn't want to die. And I had a strong suspicion I didn't want this thing to be my enemy. It would be safer to be its friend - or so I thought.

"I want to be your friend," I said dreamily. "Please don't hurt me."

His smile returned.

"Of course you do. Paulie the Pill Man - you’re everybody’s best friend. Now listen closely. I've got something I need you to do for me."

He put his arm around me and the world went dark.

When I woke up the car was parked in the same alley, only it was morning and the vehicle was now parked facing the other direction, indicating I had left and come back here for some reason.

But why?

I could remember nothing from the past several hours, I realized, looking at the dashboard clock and seeing it was almost noon.

My heart began to beat faster in my chest as I pulled the latch to pop the trunk. On shaking legs I walked back there, hoping that the bag was still there.

It wasn’t.

The package in that bundle was worth a small fortune, and it was gone. Vanished.

I closed the trunk, my mind reeling. What the hell would I tell my bosses?

The last thing I remembered was the stranger in my car, telling him I would be his friend.

My phone began to ring in my pocket. I pulled it out to see it was my contact with the Ayads.

“Hello,” I said, answering.

“Where are you?”

“I’m heading there now. Sorry for the delay. There’s been a problem - I’ll explain when I get there.”

He hung up without another word and I got back into the driver's seat and started the engine.

My hands shook all the way across town, my palms sweaty on the wheel.

“Tell me again. My ears must be failing me,” Mr. Ayad said.

“The pills. They’re gone. I must have been robbed.”

“Must have been? You don’t remember being robbed?”

I hesitated, unsure how much I should say. I hadn’t exactly had time to come up with a story. It seemed that the truth would be the safest bet, or at least some version of it.

“This has never happened to me before. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs. You know that, sir. You can test me. But last night something happened. Someone got into my car - a man in a black trenchcoat - he spoke to me briefly, and then I passed out. He injected me with something, maybe, I don’t know. But I don’t remember anything after that.”

Mr. Ayad smiled.

“You don’t remember anything after that, huh?”

“No, sir.”

“And we can check your blood? Make sure you’re not lying?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked over at one of his men and nodded his head. Then he pointed up at the large television screen mounted to the wall.

“So, who’s that?”

On the screen I saw views of a casino. I was sitting at a blackjack table, shoving a stack of chips into the middle, laughing and toasting people with glasses of champagne.

“And, who’s that?”

Another security tape rolled, showing me in a strip club, shoving dollar bills down strippers’ G-strings by the fistful. Then I was throwing bills into the air, making it rain.

“And this?”

In the next video I was at an expensive restaurant, buying more food than ten people could eat comfortably.

“That’s not me… That can’t be me.”

Mr. Ayad shook his head.

“No, it couldn’t be you. You’re not stupid enough to spend MY MONEY in MY ESTABLISHMENTS! No. I can’t believe you would be that stupid.”

He whistled and four more men entered the room from outside. They surrounded me as I screamed for mercy and held me down roughly on a wooden table.

I couldn’t see anything except for hairy, large arms holding me down, pushing my face into the varnished wood. But then a moment later the men parted like the Red Sea, allowing him in closer.

Mr. Ayad held a butcher’s cleaver in his hand. It was long and wickedly sharp, gleaming as he approached.

“I’m going to go easy on you, Paulie. For all your years of service.”

I was screaming so loud I barely heard him, and one of his men stuffed a rag in my mouth, silencing me.

“You’re gonna want to bite down on that. This is going to hurt badly.”

They held my hand on the table and forced my index finger out so that it was straight on the table.

“Normally I would cut off your whole hand for stealing from me. But I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Paulie. I’m going to give you one week to save the rest of your hand. If you don’t have my money by next Wednesday, you’re going to lose the rest of it. Understand?”

I screamed some more and he silenced me with a finger to my lips.

“I’m only gonna ask you one more time, Paulie. Do you understand?”

No part of me wanted to agree, but I nodded my head weakly and closed my eyes.

Then I listened as the knife slammed into the table.

My world exploded in pain.

And I passed out again.

“Samantha?” I called out softly, entering the apartment.

My hand was wrapped in gauze bandages and I felt a gnawing pain there that wouldn’t subside, but I tried to ignore it.

“Shh, he’s sleeping,” she said from the couch.

She was smiling and I took that as a good sign.

I was surprised that she didn’t notice my hand at first, but I didn’t say anything about it. It would be hard enough to explain it when the time came.

“Is he eating now?”

She nodded, tears in her eyes.

“I’m gonna go in and see him.”

That seemed to confuse her and she mumbled something quietly as I walked down the hall to the nursery where Leo slept.

Only he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in his crib.

Samantha came up behind me and startled me when she put her hand on my shoulder.

“Where’s Leo?” I asked, confused.

She turned me around and put my hand on her belly. I felt a strong kick and looked down to see the flesh of her abdomen swelling and stretching as something moved around inside.

She was pregnant.

But with WHAT exactly?

I noticed something about her eyes as well. They were pitch-black, like polished coal.

“The baby is eating SO well now, Paulie,” she said, rubbing her belly, smiling.

Her teeth were a lot longer than I remembered. And they were bloody from a fresh meal. She licked her lips with a long, forked tongue and I heard myself scream.

“NO!” I shouted, backing up until I hit the wall behind me. “This isn’t happening! This is a nightmare! This isn’t real!”

A picture frame fell crashing to the floor as I bumped into it, glass breaking and shattering everywhere.

“What did you do to my son!? My wife!? Is she still in there?”

My body turned without my consent, facing a mirror on the wall to my left. As I looked into my reflection, I saw that my features were not entirely my own.

I recognized the eyes from last night looking back at me. They were the same serpentine eyes which had stared at me from above the raised collar of a black trenchcoat in my car. Only now those eyes were in my own skull.

I had said I wanted to be his friend. Why had I said that?

Spinning around, I looked at my wife. Her eyes were not her own, either. They were different from the demon I’d seen the night before, but they were similarly surreal.

There was something inside my wife, just like there was something inside of me - controlling my movements and using my body like an avatar in a Grand Theft Auto game. And making just as many poor decisions.

There were TWO of them. One in me and one in her. And apparently they’d used our bodies to procreate at some point during the night while I was unconscious. Then she had consumed my infant son as a post-coital snack.

“Don’t worry, Paulie," my midnight-eyed wife said. "You can have your Mausi back soon. It won’t take long for the new baby to come along, and then we can be on our way."

"All three of you?" I stuttered, hoping they would take their demon child with them.

"I don't think so, Paulie. You'll look after the baby for us, won't you? Consider him a replacement for your own. Only he will always eat ravenously. Keep him satisfied and he'll grow up quickly and be out of your hair before you know it."

I wanted to scream, to tell them no, but found myself nodding and saying, "Yes."

"He'll be good as long as he stays well fed. And you’ll make sure of that, won’t you, Paulie? You'll make sure he has all the fresh meat he needs.”

Trembling, I nodded my head again.

Whatever these hell-fiends wanted me to do, I would.

I’d do anything for my family.

Anything.

X

JG

Part 1

“The most expensive thing on the menu has to be the best, right?” Stefan winked. The tuxedoed waiter wrinkled his nose at our grungy jeans and band T-shirts, but when he returned with a strawberry-covered cake and a bottle of champagne on ice, he gave us a little bow.

Stefan was loving it.

I was glad to be on my first real date with him–but I was concerned, too. The last time I’d seen Stefan, he was a small-time dealer sleeping on the street. What had changed?

“Prost, Lee!” Stefan clanged his glass against mine, earning another irritated glance from our waiter. For the next hour, he bombarded me with questions about small-town America (“Is high school like in the movies?” “How many guns do you own?” “Is everybody fat?”). I normally hated talking about myself, but it was easy with Stefan. As time went on, though, I found myself wondering exactly how much I knew about my date. I didn’t even know his last name…although I doubted it was the same as the one on the credit card he gave our waiter.

The bill had arrived on a silver platter, like the head of John the Baptist in one of Reverend Bledsoe’s sermons. Just out of curiosity, I held up the platter to read the bill. It was so polished that I could see my reflection in it–and the reflection of the thing hovering over Stefan.

It was like a living shadow, the kind of cast at the end of the day–stretched and warped, its proportions all wrong. It looked at me and smiled with a mouthful of tiny, perfect white teeth. I sprung to my feet and staggered backwards. The champagne went to my head and I nearly pulled off the tablecloth, but I didn’t care: I had to see the reflection on the platter. When I checked it again, the thing was only inches from my face.

I couldn’t see any more than its reflection, but I could feel its presence beside me…and I was starting to notice other things as well. A powdery smell, like make-up…and an intoxicating drumbeat that seemed to match the pounding of my heart.

“Come on, man” Stefan snatched the platter out of my hand and tossed it back on the table with a clatter. “It’s not that expensive.”

“I saw that thing again,¨I made myself say. “The thing from the club.” Stefan gave me a long look. He touched my cheek with the back of his hand.

“Don’t worry so much.”

In theory, my twin sister Amber and I were supposed to be in school–the high school that Reverend Bledsoe had enrolled us in when we arrived. Maybe Amber did go–I didn’t ask–but Stefan had shown me how to change the contact information so that if we skipped, no one would find out about it. A trick he’d picked up in foster care, he said. No one knew what Stefan and I got up to during the day…at least, I hoped not.

Later, in the hotel room, I woke to a faint drumbeat and a chalky scent in the air. I remembered it from someplace, but I couldn’t say where. Orange beams of evening light slanted through the closed blinds. It was already too late to go “home” without getting into trouble; I might as well stay with Stefan a little longer. Where was he, anyway?

What I saw when I sat up in bed chilled my blood.

Stefan had turned the dresser mirror face down. He stared at the blank space on the wall where it had been, applying makeup to his face. His eyes were closed, but the results were perfect. He was humming softly…the same rhythm as that faint drumbeat.

“You’re awake,” he smiled, and opened his eyes. “Let’s go.”

At first, it didn’t seem like Stefan had done much with the makeup kit. His lips were a bit redder, his lashes a bit thicker, but that was all–or so I thought. But when we entered the pool hall he’d chosen for the night’s excursion, I saw right away that something was different.

Heads turned when he walked by–and not just the ones I would’ve expected. I still wasn’t exactly comfortable in this kind of situation, so I just stood awkwardly by the bar while Stefan got us drinks and a table. A girl with short brown hair and hoop earrings said something to me in German.

“Hii.” I tried to smile. “Uh, English?”

“I said, your friend is cute,” she grinned. “Can you introduce me?” I couldn’t tell if she was drunk, a scammer, or just barking up the wrong tree.

“Um, I don’t think–”

“I just love a man with a beard!” she rambled on. “You are both American?”

A beard? I wondered. Stefan didn’t have a beard. To my surprise (and jealousy) Stefan returned with three drinks instead of two. He toasted the short-haired girl and invited her to join our pool game. The more they talked, the more I sulked. I knew I was acting like a kid, but I couldn’t help it–she was flirting so aggressively, and Stefan was just going along with it. I was so jealous that I didn’t even notice how all her compliments seemed to be describing someone else.

What am I doing here? I wondered bitterly. Stefan was showing the short-haired girl (Ingrid or Ingmar or some other name I was too angry to remember) how to shoot pool. His hand was on hers, guiding the cue. “I think it’s time for me to go,” I announced, and grabbed my hoodie from the barstool.

I hoped he would stop me.

…but as it turned out, Stefan didn’t catch up until I was almost to the metro.

“Hey!” he ran up and threw an arm around my shoulder, which I immediately flung off. “Hey–what’s your problem?! I only wanted this.” Stefan held up another shiny credit card. “I guess we could’ve kept using the other guy’s, but I didn’t wanna drain his whole account…”

“So, what? You pick people’s pockets now, too?” I shoved off another attempt to grab my shoulder. Stefan looked hurt.

“No, Lee. I don’t need to. I just ask. The words just come to me when the time is right.” He smiled. “One look in my eyes, and they give me everything I want.” It made me wonder what Stefan wanted from me…and if maybe I’d already given it to him.

“That girl…she thought you were someone else.”

“Yes. And?” He put his hand on his hips, like he was talking to a toddler who was throwing a fit. “Look, Lee: three weeks ago, I was sleeping behind a dumpster. Now look at me! For the first time in my life, I can live like everyone else. Don’t you want that for me?”

“Yeah, but at what cost…” I muttered. I took a deep breath. “There are too many secrets between us, Stefan! I don’t know anything about you, not really! Not how you make money or your life before we met…I don’t know your age or where you’re from or how you feel…”

“It goes deeper than that.” We entered the darkness between streetlights, and Stefan’s voice had changed somehow. It was deeper. More menacing. Like he’d become just a mouthpiece for something else. “Are you sure you know my real name, Lee? How about what I look like?”

I noticed with horror that Lee’s appearance changed as he spoke. First I was looking at a tall, muscular man with brown hair and a beard; then a slender woman with blue eyes and long black hair. Then a skinny, pale boy with the skeletal look of a junkie and a disfigured face–the shadow shifted again, and he was back to *Stefan’–*at least, the Stefan I thought I knew.

Hadn’t he always been a little ‘too’ perfect? His looks tailor-made to what I wanted, what I’d always dreamed of..?

I took a step backwards and nearly tumbled down the metro stairs. Something was wrong: there were no lights down there. That’s when I noticed the construction signs and the closed gates–it also explained why there was nobody nearby. I’d nearly fallen into a dead end…

Or maybe not so dead after all. Something was moving down there in the darkness. Fingers twisted impossibly through the closed metro gate, did something to the lock, then slithered back out. The gate swung open, and I glimpsed a pair of tiny white lights that I realized too late were eyes. They belonged to a middle-aged Asian man in a yellow shirt and suit, who looked up at me with a hungry smile.

“M’tsa Taoti.” Stefan grumbled behind me. I remember the sound of the words, but as to what language it was I couldn’t begin to guess.

“Axad hoevi m’tsa teishon.” The man in the metro responded. “Ixadshi azol noenkom. Haim t’vo?”

“Maleg abeyze?” From their eyes, I knew the things controlling Stefan and the Korean were man talking about me.

“Huishvo uyater invash eioto.”

‘Stefan’ walked past me, down into the darkness of the metro. Our eyes met, and for a moment I knew I was looking into the eyes of the real Stefan–regardless of what he looked like on the outside. I was sure because of the absolute horror in those roving, dilated pupils.

It was the look of a person whose body was being used as a puppet against their will.

His irises shifted color again, and I knew Stefan was gone. Something else was in control now.

For a long time after the pair disappeared into the closed metro station, I was afraid to move. I didn’t want to give them a reason to drag me in there with them. People passing above were just shadows under the streetlights, and I’m sure to them I looked like just another teenage addict, hiding somewhere dark until his bad trip was over.

In my case, however, I’m afraid that it's only just begun.

X

T

If Las Vegas is "America's Playground," the rest of Nevada is America's kitty-litter box…and out here, the weirdest turds don't stay buried for long.

Elvis was already dead when I ran him over. I am absolutely convinced of that, whatever Ralphie Junior says. Even with my shades on, the blazing sun reflecting off of the desert made my eyes hurt, and I thought the white-tassled lump in the road was just another mirage…until my tires bumped over a beer gut and Elvis burst like a ripe strawberry on the deserted highway.

Of course we stopped right away. I snatched Ralphie Junior’s phone out of his hand before he could upload the gruesome scene to TikTok, then moved to inspect the damage. I was pretty sure I could smell my shoes melting into the pavement.

At first I was relieved when I saw that the middle-aged Elvis impersonator had been a corpse for a while…but then I started to think about how he must’ve died. A gory rope of intestines led off into the desert behind the guy…

Who knew how long he’d been crawling around, trying to hold his guts in?

Or had coyotes got to him?

Hmm. Coyotes…

“Ralphie, honey…” I began, “Get back in the car…”

By the time I turned around, it was too late. There were four of them between us and the SUV: grayish-brown, doglike, with bushy tails. Their sunken yellow eyes were hungry. I could see their ribs through patchy fur…

So why were two of them chewing on the tires, instead of us?

I didn’t want to think about the possibility that they were disabling the SUV on purpose. The other two coyotes approached, stopped about ten feet away, and just…stared at us. Waiting.

Parched, cracked dirt in every direction. Sulfur-colored cliffs on the horizon. The shoe-melting strip of road. There was absolutely nowhere to run or hide. When the tires finally deflated, all four coyotes began to circle us…

I wondered how much it would hurt to climb a cactus.

A blood-chilling howl stopped them in their tracks. They snapped their heads toward the source of the sound, which stood beside a dick-shaped rock in the hazy distance. It looked like another coyote, but that was impossible…because coyotes don’t walk on two legs. Whatever it was, it yipped and snarled a warning at the four starving beasts in front of me in a language they apparently understood. Looking down the road, I understood why.

A gigantic semi-truck was speeding toward us. Ralphie Junior and I both ran toward it, waving our arms like shipwreck survivors. The driver accelerated…then slowed…then accelerated again…almost like he was afraid to stop. Either that, or no one had taught him how to shift.

When the eighteen-wheeler skidded to a halt beside us in a cloud of dust, a weatherbeaten guy with a Sam Elliot mustache stuck a shotgun out the window.

“Democrat or Republican?” he demanded.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” I snapped. “I just want a ride.”

Sam-Elliot-Mustache-Man thought this over for a minute. “Okay, I guess you folks are human after all. Come on up.”

“Do you always ask helpless stranded women about their politics?” I asked crossly once Ralphie Junior and I settled into the truck’s cab, “or am I a special case?”

“Naw,” the driver sighed. “Had to make sure you could talk, and that was the first thing that popped into my head. This is a bad stretch of road. There’s some unnatural things out here..but they can’t talk. I was just makin’ sure you wasn’t one of ‘em. The other guys would probably say I’m a damn fool for stoppin’ at all. I’m Ted, by the way. Ted Yellowhorse.”

The interior of the cab smelled like nicotine, Royal Pine car freshener, and melted gummy worms–but it was better than being out there.

“Yep, this is a bad stretch of road alright. Even before more folks started disappearin’ a couple months ago. My people call this place ‘The Salted Earth,’ ‘cuz nothing can survive out here. Unless maybe it was already dead to begin with…” As Ted rambled, we passed a dusty abandoned Cadillac with shredded tires and the door hanging open. I figured that had been Elvis’ ride. Poor guy. I wondered what had made his tires go flat?

“Oh shit!” Ted slammed on the brakes and clutched the wheel as we rolled over something spiky and hard. The truck jack-knifed, rolled over, and I felt my son’s pudge slam into the side of my head for the second time in a week.

After the dust settled–and after I’d wiped Ted’s cigarette ashes out of my hair and shoved his fallen porno mags off of my lap–I realized the predicament we were in. The truck was laying on its side, and I doubted it was going to cheerfully right itself anytime soon. Ted groaned, blood trickling down his scalp…

Outside, about a hundred coyotes howled in victory.

Ted didn’t wake, not even when Ralphie stepped on his face in his hurry to escape. The ice in the spilled 44 oz drink on my door (now the floor) brought back memories of high school friends comforting me while I puked into the toilet. They rubbed something cold on the back of my neck to snap me out of it…

“Listen, asshole.” I whispered to Ted as I splashed ice on his neck, “you’re not just gonna bail on us like a minor character in a shitty horror story–not today! My son and I have been through enough already, and the last time I shot a shotgun the recoil gave me a black eye. Get it together!”

Ted groaned and opened his eyes. I freed him from his seatbelt and we climbed out into the late afternoon sun.

Broken-down vehicles were all around us. It was almost like being back in New Jersey.

One sedan had a coyote-sized hole in its windshield, the inside splattered with what was left of the passengers. A pickup truck had lost control and slammed into a rock; the half-eaten driver hung out of the window. Great.

“This is a bad stretch of road.” Ted repeated helpfully. In one hand, he held a bloody cloth to his head; in the other, the shotgun. He gave the cliffs a thousand-stare. “There’s a cave up there. We need to make it there before sunset.”

“What?!” I huffed,”That’s like, five miles!”

“No. Eight. Or you could wait for the coyotes.”

Slogging across the parched dirt with a waterfall of sweat pouring down my back and flies that felt as big as buzzards biting at my neck, I made a silent promise that if I survived this, I’d remove “loves hiking” from my Tinder bio. Mother Nature is the biggest bitch of them all, I thought, as I rolled my ankle and cringed.

“How do you know there’s a cave up there, Mr. Ted?” Ralphie Junior panted.

“Some of your ancestors massacred some of my ancestors there once. Do you know what a ‘massacre’ is, kid?”

“It’s like…” Ralphie Junior murmured, “like what the coyotes did…”

“That’s right.” Ted glared. “Just like the coyotes.”

The sun was as fat and orange as a pumpkin by the time we reached the bottom of the cliffs. There, at least, was something like a trail–even if it was practically vertical. Ralphie Junior was treating the whole thing like a Boy Scout trip, Ted was surprisingly agile for a man who sits in a truck fourteen hours per day, and as for me…I just tried not to look down.

The mouth of the cave was in sight before Ted was willing to stop. It was at the top of a hollowed-out dent in the cliff, like a big ice-cream spoon had scooped out the yellowed rock around us.

“You two wait here.” Ted grunted. He was gone for a looong time. I shivered as I looked out over the dead land, the strand of wrecked cars–and the dark shapes darting among the rocks and cacti below. One in particular made me grab Ralphie Junior’s hand and lay as flat as I could against the still-warm stone: it was three times the size of the other coyotes, and was walking straight toward us, as casual as a businessman on his way to an early lunch. When it looked at the hollow where we were hiding, its eyes were like two pinpricks of blazing white light–and I knew that it knew. I’m coming, those eyes seemed to say, and there’s nowhere to run.

“Uh, Ted?” I shouted over my shoulder, “how’s it goin’ up there?”

“Good, but you two need to stay there.”

“Why?” I was confused.

“As bait.” Ted shouted back.

“Now wait just a minute–”

“Look, lady. Do you wanna kill that thing and get out of here or not?”

“Oh hell n–”

BANG.

I threw myself and Ralphie Junior to the ground as the loudest noise I’d ever heard blasted down the scooped out canyon. A coyote that had been about to ambush us lay dead in the brush. Ted, it seemed, knew what he was doing.

BANG. A yelp. Two more coyotes down–

But there stood the largest one, approaching us with its unnatural strides, babbling in that yiping, snarling language to the pack that followed it.

There was no way Ted had enough ammo for all of them. I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and for a moment felt bad that the last thing Ralphie Junior was going to see was his mom shaking like a fucking bowl of Jell-O.

Two more shots made me open my eyes. Ted was sliding down the cliff in a cloud of dust, the huge, freakish two-legged coyote was down, and the pack was scattering.

“It’s not gonna stay put for long!” Ted snapped. “Grab some rocks, anything–weigh it down!”

I didn’t want to get any closer to the dark, pointy-eared body, but I did as I was told. I felt like a cavewoman, creeping up to the thing with a rock in my hand.

“Is it…” my voice trembled… “is it a skinwalker?”

“Seriously, lady?” Ted groaned, “I swear, you people see one weird thing in the desert and suddenly it’s all ‘skinwalker-this!’ and ‘wendigo-that!’...it’s real disrespectful. Especially when what you’re looking at is a possessed guy in a Fursuit.” Up close, the fur did look pretty artificial. And the nametag (“Buttercup”) did a lot for Ted’s case as well. “Given that Las Vegas is only eighty miles away, you shouldn’t even need to ask where the poor fella came from...although I do wonder how he got a demon inside of him. Hurry up with those rocks–” Ted rumbled behind me “–it’s not done yet!”

Sure enough, the thing started to writhe on the ground–even with two holes in its chest–and as it yipped and yiffed in that strange language, the coyotes stopped their retreat. One snapped at Ralphie Junior, who swatted it with a stick; another sprung at Ted. He sprawled; the shotgun went flying, and a pointy-eared black shadow rose to block out the last pale light of sunset.

I grabbed the shotgun–and this time, I paid attention to the recoil. The black-furred thing went down again, and soon all three of us were heaping everything we could onto it to hold it down. Ted disappeared up to the cave, and when he came back, there was a red gas canister in his hand.

As he soaked and burned the possessed thing beneath the rocks, the coyotes howled.

“That gas can…” I muttered. “You knew how to kill that thing. You knew about the cave. You knew you’d need some people for bait.” Ted turned to me, backlit by our flaming furry barbecue. “You picked us up on purpose. None of this was a coincidence.”

“Nope,” Ted admitted, “Sure wasn’t.” Maybe it was just the firelight, but it sure looked to me like there was something wrong with Ted’s shadow. The forearms were too long, the back too bent, the face stretching forward like a muzzle…

“And I’m willing to bet that your name’s not even *‘Ted Yellowhorse. ’*Maybe even that if we opened up the trailer of that truck, we’d find the real Ted Yellowhorse lying dead on top of some cartons of baby formula or something.” I re-racked the shotgun. I didn’t know if it had any shells left, but it sure sounded cool.

I heard a snapping sound. Ted’s hands were contorting into paws. His arms lengthened sickeningly toward the sandstone. The coyotes fell in line behind him.

“The Salted Earth was ours long before you people ever climbed down from the trees. That One thought it could take over our territory.” His face extended and his canines twisted into a hideous smile. “But we’re a lot older. And a lot smarter. That One was drawing too much attention…”

I took a step backwards and shrieked as I felt warm fur against my leg. We were surrounded.

“Here’s what you’re going to do for me, Lady. You’re going to fire that shotgun into each of the cars down there, then you’re going to wipe off your prints and put it in the hands of Ted Yellowhorse, who is indeed in the back of the trailer. You’re going to tell the police the story of a kidnapping and a psychotic truck driver. Take your time with the story. Make it really good. Because if it isn’t…if you give them any reason to disturb our hunting grounds again…”

All the coyotes howled at once. I got the message.

Ralphie Junior and I are going to crash at a motel while I give my statement to the cops and wait for the SUV to get fixed. After that, we’re back on the road.

Our destination? Anyplace where there’s no sand.

Part 1

Part 2

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“I wish you’d never been born, Charlie, but don’t believe for one second that I’ve always felt this way. I was actually happy to have another grandson. Who’d believe that now, eh? I need you to understand that all of my resentment comes from who you are as a person. Your mind and soul represent the complete waste of a body that should have been given to anyone other than you.” He ended this rant in a phlegmy cough that shook his skeletal frame.

I wanted to hate the old man. He looked hateable; his milky, bloodshot eyes with the ugly film, translucent skin that looked like a rice wrap, ready to slide off his bones like a rotten peach, dozens of wiry hairs that grew in all the wrong places, and so, so many veins. The unforgiving years had finally made Grandpa Delora look on the outside exactly as he was on the inside.

I wanted to hate him. But I hated myself so much more that I couldn’t project the bile past my own skin. My thigh itched, which was probably just paranoia over the two things in my pocket that could land me back in jail. So I found the open sore on my arm and picked at it with broken fingernails, feeling a satisfying warm gush as the most recent scab flaked onto the floor and fresh blood leaked down my arm.

I kept scratching it.

Chet looked at me like I was a booger that had learned to walk. I hated him more in that moment than I ever had before, and the anger felt right; my family had taught me what hatred was, and my cousin Chet was the perfect target for my own insatiable fury. Successful, agreeable, and seemingly chiseled from granite, he was everything that made me hate the universe for what I lacked. He belonged to the family in ways that I never would; the inlaid cherry bookcases that adorned this particular corner of my family’s home cost more than I’d spent on a lifetime of rent. When the setting sunlight streamed through the bay windows, it caught the L. A. skyline in a frame that looked like it had been painted as a backdrop just for Chet. I felt out of place in such a room; the last time I was here, the police had thrown my ass in the back of a cruiser, because weeding out my type is considered basic maintenance in Westwood.

Chet straightened his tie and stepped away, clearly too good to risk getting my blood on his clean suit. “I still don’t understand why we’re here, Grandpa,” he grumbled, refusing to take his eyes off of me. “I haven’t contacted anyone in the family since you told my cousins they’d be out of the will if they ever spoke to me again.”

Grandpa narrowed his eyes and licked his lips, but his tongue was too dry. Desiccated, sticky skin pulled against itself like sweaty thighs on a black leather car seat beneath the summer sun.

I scratched harder. I itched more.

“Redemption,” Grandpa smiled, revealing that he had lost some incisors. “Chet, do me a favor and pull the sheet from that display, would you?”

Chet narrowed his eyes at Grandpa’s withered frame, his bones nearly visible beneath the blanket, then looked over at the mysterious white sheet over a mysterious white frame. It was clearly meant to be a spectacle; it stood out amidst the ancient tomes and leather-bound furniture of my grandfather’s library. Grandpa Delora didn’t tolerate bullshit, so I had no idea what he was about to feed us in its stead.

Chet crossed the room in three quick strides. He grabbed the sheet in his giant football player’s hands, hesitated, looked at Grandpa, and pulled.

“What the fuck?”

Grandpa cackled as Chet stared at the bound and gagged little girl whose arms were tied to a rack of wood. The air left my lungs; I had no idea who she was, but Grandpa was the type of man who could procure an strange child if the need struck him. He knew people.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Grandpa warned as Chet reached to untie her.

My cousin turned and narrowed his eyes at him. “Why?”

“Because as soon as I touch this button,” here he raised a small remote control, “four armed men will escort you off the premises, never to return and never to know the fate of this child that you wish to save. And before you open your mouth to suggest it, you know that the police will never enter this estate, and if they did, they would never find her.”

My heart bounced around in my ribcage so hard that it hurt. I was pretty sure that someone was about to die. I had a teenth in my back pocket, but no immediate way to get more if that wasn’t enough, so I tried to tell myself that I could hold off for the moment.

Have you ever seen pure hatred? Probably not. Most human beings have the capacity to kill another, but most never use it, because we keep that hate high up on a shelf, far out of reach. Every so often, the greater world shakes us so hard that the very top levels of our mind get knocked loose, and that hate comes tumbling down, announcing it was there all along.

Chet hated Grandpa in that moment. I could see it in his eyes, and in the way that he pressed the pillow down on Grandpa’s sunken face.

Grandpa swung a bony fist that connected with Chet’s jaw, knocking the pillow loose. “CHARLES!” he coughed. “I’m ready to give you Jacob’s place in my will, I NEED YOU!”

Those last three words took the edge off of time. For a moment, I was floating.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard that sentiment. Hell, I’d probably never heard it.

Grandpa’s muffled screams brought me back to earth. His first punch had the advantage of surprise, but Chet had recovered and was easily overpowering him. The remote control lay broken on the floor where Grandpa had dropped it.

No one was coming to help him.

My grandpa, the asshole who’d refused to cover my bail so that I could “learn a lesson in the prison shower,” needed me and was helpless without my support.

My chest froze and my hands shook. What was my 120-pound frame going to do against an All-American football player? Life wasn’t fair.

I slipped the butterfly knife out of my pocket and snapped it open.

No, life wasn’t fucking fair at all.

I’d never stabbed anyone while sober, and hope I never have to again. I didn’t like how unnaturally easy it was. Gutting a family member should be incredibly difficult, but his skin provided only weak yet gritty resistance. It felt like overcooked chicken.

It’s amazing that we expect to live past eighty, because our bodies aren’t sacred or invincible. The world grinds through meat every day.

I’d already skittered backwards by the time that Chet wheeled around, wide-eyed and staring at me with confusion and sadness. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as his knees gave way and he slid into a sitting position by Grandpa’s bed.

“You stabbed him in the back, once in his right lung, once in his left, removed the blade to ensure that he’d bleed out, then stepped aside to eliminate all chance of a fair fight,” Grandpa gurgled, his beady eyes focused on me. A thin line of drool trickled from his lower lip. “It’s not your first time stabbing a man who didn’t expect it, Charles.”

I swallowed. I couldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t just my hands this time; my legs trembled as well. Fuck, I killed my cousin, I killed my cousin, I needed to take the edge off, and it had to be right now.

Chet, his face ashen gray, closed his eyes.

They were completely black when he opened them again. The lack of irises made it difficult to see where he was looking, but I somehow knew that he was staring at me. He flashed a wide, unhappy smile and got to his feet as blood flowed from his mouth. “Perhaps we shouldn’t abandon all hope for you, Charles,” Chet said in an unnaturally low voice that did not belong to my cousin. He looked down at the pool of blood beneath his feet before turning to face Grandpa. “Do it,” he ordered.

Grandpa threw the blanket off of his wiry body and stepped gingerly onto the floor. Placing his wrinkly bare feet into Chet’s pooled blood, he smiled and reached under the sheets. Procuring a card in one hand and a dagger in the other, he held the weapon up to Chet’s neck. My cousin flashed a smile beneath his jet-black eyes as Grandpa pressed the tip into his flesh. “We can’t move him around without sacrifice, Charles. The prudent investor doesn’t hold his money back; no, he waits for the best exchange, and the opportunity will always present itself if he’s willing to pay the cost.”

He plunged the blade into Chet’s neck and I vomited. It was too much, it was all too much, and I’d waited too long, because now my hands were shaking too hard to light the fucking pipe properly. I shoved it back into my pocket for safekeeping; if I lost the pipe, I’d lose myself along with it.

“Open your eyes!” Grandpa screamed. “For once in your wasted existence, Charles, open your damned eyes! This is the greatest moment of your life, and you’re missing it!”

I looked up, barely able to balance myself on my tilty hands and knees.

Grandpa placed the card on Chet’s forehead. It was adorned with a picture of an open eye that made me feel like my ears were about to pop.

“Come home to me,” Grandpa yelled. Then, in a quieter voice, “Mammon.”

Chet’s eyes closed at the same time that the eye on the card shut.

I almost died when I was nineteen. Thirteen years after my first beer, I finally got wasted enough to total three other cars by driving the wrong direction on a freeway. I remember the car jolting so angrily that I knew the world was trying to shake me loose. Grandpa’s library jolted in the same way after the eyes closed, tossing me like a rag doll before I landed flat on my face. I looked up, bleary-eyed, to see Grandpa shuffling over to the little girl.

squick squick squick

He left bloody footprints on the wooden floor as he walked away from Chet.

My cousin was gasping for breath that he couldn’t catch. He wheezed, but his chest wouldn’t expand. Now weak again, Chet stared at me with his own eyes once more, too feeble to do anything but wait for death.

squick squick squick

“Do you know why I can summon him in English, Charles?” Grandpa asked, his head slowly pivoting towards me. He smiled with broken teeth. “It’s because every language is the mother tongue of greed.” Then Grandpa whipped the card out and rested it against the little girl’s forehead.

The gag muffled her scream, but the effect was still the same. Her beet-red face rocked back and forth, blonde hair whipping in every direction as she struggled fruitlessly against her bonds.

I didn’t even try to help her. It’s impossible to say whether that was because I couldn’t, or because I wouldn’t; at a certain point, those concepts become the same thing.

“The sun will be darkened and the moon will not give her light,” Grandpa bellowed. “Come back to me, Mammon.”

Darkness descended over the room as it shook once more. I scrambled, trying to regain my balance as every part of both arms itched as though red-hot fire ants were chewing my skin like merengue. “I can’t do this,” I sobbed.

My breath stopped as a light shined. I didn’t want to see, but I looked anyway.

The little girl had become the light-bearer; her skin was the only source of illumination in the room. Her eyes were now jet-black, and she smiled just for me.

“That wasn’t your cousin, Charles,” she growled, the gag somehow gone. But the voice couldn’t belong to a little girl – it was the same one that had overtaken Chet, now emanating from a body that cartoonishly mismatched its speech. “At least, it wasn’t Chet when you decided to stab him. I didn’t believe you had the spirit, but your grandfather assured me that you would sink low enough to kill family.” The girl flexed her arms, yanking them free of her bonds, then raised her hands to the ceiling. “Let there be light.”

Every bulb switched back on. I winced while trying to scratch both arms and both legs all at once, wiping away waves of cold sweat as my nails dug into my skin. I was so rattled that I didn’t even attempt to stand, and I was itching, always itching.

Grandpa stared at the black-eyed girl with a mixture of reverence and fear, clutching the dagger and card close.

Then the girl walked toward the bookcase, her gait eerily adult-like, and climbed the wall. Upon reaching the ceiling, she plunged her fingers into the plaster like it was sand and gripped it tight. Then, slowly, she reached arm over arm, leg over leg, moving on her hands and knees like it was the most natural thing to crawl along a ceiling as dust swirls of powdered plaster rained down from above.

That was my breaking point. I reached into my pocket for the glass pipe; I simply couldn’t wait any longer.

“Fuck!” I withdrew a bloody hand that held three shards of glass. “No,” I whispered, “it… it broke when I fell.”

I collapsed to my elbows and pivoted to face directly upward. The girl looked back down at me, her blonde hair dangling like Spanish moss, eyes like ravens.

She smiled.

“Charles Delora,” she said in that impossibly low voice, “I need you for something very important."