Promises Made
I’m the only one who can hear the tap-tap-tapping on the window pane. My momma told me it was the branches from the bushes outside. But I looked, and there ain’t no branches close enough to do that. And my dad told me it was just the rain, but I hear it when the sun’s out and no drip-drip-dripping runs down the glass.
But I’m the only one who hears it, the only one who lies awake when the moon is high and listens to that rap-rap-rapping. We read a poem in school bout some guy who heard a knocking at his door, and I wonder if there’s a beast waiting out there for me just the same.
I get out of bed and it goes quiet. Like always. Like it knows I might catch it. As silence stretches around me; all of a sudden the sound starts. It knows I’m not coming.
“Whaddya want?” I bark, too loud. Momma and dad will be stomp-stomp-stompin down the hallway any minute now, coming to tell me to keep it down. People are trying to sleep, ya’know.
It just keeps up its click-click-clacking against the glass, and I feel my heart a thump-thump-thumping.
“I’ve had enough of you.” My voice is brave, but I am not.
The tap becomes a scratch, raking down the glass. Nails on the chalkboard, like dad described the music on the radio whenever I turned the dial.
“Out with it,” I growl. There’s a brewing irritation, a fear that my guest might not be playin’ fair. A worry that I’m losing my mind like Old Grovy down by the river.
Then there’s a laughing that rattles the whole window frame. A clang-clang-clanging glass on wood that sounds like it’s all about to break. And I imagine trying to explain how my window just shattered, spraying tiny slivers across the room.
“Quit it!” It’s supposed to be forceful, but I sound like the little kids crying on the playground.
I breathe, the air shake-shake-shaking down my throat. “What do you want?” This time each word is steady, commanding. I channel my exasperated mother and irritated father into the words.
“To get what has been promised,” hisses a voice from the window. From the corner of my eye, I see golden eyes round in the moonlight, pointed teeth arched in a smile. They float in the space, like window clings left up after Halloween.
I wish I believed they were decorations.
“And what’s that?” I cross my arms, hoping to draw comfort from the pose. I can feel goosebumps prickling on my arms.
“A firstborn child. Promises have been made. Promises must be kept.”
And the goosebumps are a whole gooseskin, squeezing every drop of warmth from my blood and bones.
“I–I didn’t make no promises.” Shaky words in the night, loud enough I hope someone comes to tell me to quiet down. I strain for the creak-creak-creaking of the wooden stairs, but all I hear is the air conditioning kicking on. Don’t they know it’s ice in here already.
“But you were promised.” It laughs again, and I can see the teeth split into an open maw, shaking with the force of the sound.
I am brave.
I’m no baby.
I call out. “Mommy!”
Now there’s a flurry outside, steps racing up the hall. The creature silences and watches. My door swings open, bang-bang-banging against the wall. Mom’s in her nightgown, hair all askew, eyes foggy with sleep. She sees me standing still in the room.
“What’s wrong?”
“The thing at the window.” I raise a shaking arm to point, but the light from my now-bright room floods the glass. She looks at it, looks past it, turns and takes my hand.
“There’s nothing there, sweetie.”
“But it said it was here to take me away. Because I’m the firstborn.”
Her face changes. The comforting smile replaced by one I’ve never seen before. Worried. Unsettled. I liked it better when she was calm and confident. “I see.” She turns back to the window, looking into the darkness. “I had hoped today would never come,” she says with a sigh.
“Mommy?” The word comes sob-sob-sobbing out of me. Parents aren’t supposed to be scared of monsters in the dark. Monsters aren’t supposed to be real.
“Promises must be kept,” she says with her hands on the latch. The tap-tap-tapping raises to a fever pitch now, eagerness spilling from the other side of the glass in time with my trembling limbs.
“I’m sorry.” The window opens.
Terse Tales: Blue as Sky
Theme: Blues
Emily lay on the porch swing, carefully considering the haint blue ceiling. It was no good at keeping spirits away, she knew that for a fact, but it was pleasant to look at on a day like this one where the sky was filled to the brim with grey, threatening clouds. Wind howled across the openings in the bottle tree, playing a mournful tune fitting for the dreary setting.
The swing chains creaked in steady rhythm as she used one foot to propel herself forward and back. The paint was chipping, peeling. This house was old—it had been passed from generation to generation long enough she had lost count of the residents. But the swing was still her favorite spot on the property, no matter what other changes might come.
Dark hair coiled on the white painted bench slats, and she caught peeks of the overhanging trees as the swing rocked back. There was peace found in the predictability. Other places on the property filled her with unease or dread. And she certainly avoided that dark patch in the front yard with all her might. Memories grew there she had no desire to harvest. But this place was calm. It was hers.
There was the sound of the blinds indoors shuffling back into place, and Emily felt her solitude disrupted.
“Hannah, come quick,” came the words through the window pane as the resident turned back. That would be Mitch, based on the voice. He was always hovering about, absolutely certain the place was haunted. He wasn’t wrong. “She’s back. The girl on the swing is back!”
Before the new footsteps could draw near, Emily breathed out a sigh and let the wind carry her away to another place. Perhaps her respite was waiting for her there.
Mondays
“So did you click the link in the email?” Jeanine asked, hands already massaging that troublesome spot on her temple. The day was just beginning, but it was off to a great start.
“It said it was important information about my iSouls account, so—“
“And then your cubicle walls started bleeding, correct?”
George stood in her office door, head bobbing up and down aggressively, as if that would unpossess the cell phone in his hand. It continued to chant something in backward Latin that Jeanine figured would lead her down some rabbit holes in translation.
She gave a hearty sigh. If those walls could talk, they would mostly sigh, too. “Did you read the email that went around last week about spear-summoning? This is a very common tactic.”
George looked to the floor, not willing to answer or meet her eyes. She reached out a hand and he placed the phone there. “Will it take long?”
Jeanine opened a drawer and an echo of chanting and screaming began to seep into the room. Protective wards glowed on the side as she spilled one more addition into the maw. “Just go see Mick for a replacement. I’ll see if I can at least back up your data.”
George turned to leave, then paused and shuffled anxiously between the hall and door. Finally he developed the courage to speak. “Uh, they also said that they, um, they had gotten my soul because of some, er, some activities—“
Jeanine raised her hand sharply, She had been down this road one too many times. “What you do in your own time is yours, George. But unless you remember verifying a contract, it’s just another scam. They want some indulgences sent to them or else they’d sell to the highest bidder, yeah?”
His head flapped again like a flag in the breeze.
“Just be more careful.” She shoved the door closed and watched his shadow retreat from her door.
More coffee. That was what today called for, and she had yet to finish her first cup. And she hadn’t opened her email yet. Ever since the devil had modernized, IT Support had become, well, more hellish than usual.
Coffee in hand, she dared to open her email and begin the dive. Mondays. She had a few offers about upcoming training for enhanced summoning defense and unauthorized soul acquisition. She clicked a reminder to return to that later.
Another string of messages detailed the weekend’s upgrade. She had not gotten any SOS calls, so it appeared to have gone as smooth as they ever do. But at least it applied the most recent patch and would help secure financials. One less backdoor.
Meetings, agendas, emails that should have been a basic Google search. She sorted and sifted through enough to earn a break and walked down to the break room.
Trevor and Monica were already in there. Jeanine summed up the situation in a blink. Monica held her cup in one hand, a polite smile on her face. Every few seconds, her head wiggled in a simple nod and her eyes glanced toward the door. Trevor prattled on, leaning against the counter and blocking Monica’s escape.
Jeanine considered offering a distraction, but realized Monica was the sacrifice she needed right then. Without making too much of a fuss, she crept toward the coffee pot.
“Ah, Jeanie, you’d know about this!” Trevor crowed as he caught sight of her.
Damn. “Sorry, Trevor, can’t stay long. Got a lot working—“
“Yeah, I was just telling Monica here about soulchains. You know about that, right?”
“I don’t really get into that too much. I really should—“
“Oh, I think it’s the next big thing. Takes soul trading out of the hands of the big guys and makes it accessible to everyone. Not only can you invest, but people can find someone out there who can meet their needs. It’s a real win-win.”
Monica just nodded and scooted closer to the doorway while Trevor’s attention was elsewhere.
“I see. Very interesting,” Jeanine poured the coffee and took a sip. “Well, back to—“
“I’m getting an account set up. Figure in a few months I’ll be out of here and on my way. People are making millions.”
“I’m sure they are.”
Monica had stopped to pull something from the fridge, effectively blocking Jeanine in. Her eyes peered over the fridge door in a quick apology, then she ducked down again to continue her rummaging.
“Come on, you know all this tech stuff. Surely you’re getting in on it, right?”
Jeanine weighed the options. Office politics or the honest truth? It had not been the best morning and her customer-service smile was already starting to ache. “Y’know, I get a little suspicious. I mean, how can you even know if you own a soul?”
Trevor’s mouth opened once, the smile dimming a little. “Well, you get a certificate. It says you’re the owner.”
Monica was deeper in the fridge now and Jeanine’s eyes bored through the door. Had her breakfast fallen through to Narnia? “I guess you just hope the devils keep their word, huh?”
“Well, yeah, it’s all verified and…” Trevor waved his hand, evoking some tech god that would explain the confusion. “Lots of people are doing it.”
The door closed, Monica victorious with a cup of yogurt. Both she and Jeanine broke out the door, taking different paths down the hall. She almost collided with George, who was walking toward the break room. Before she made it to her office, she heard Trevor start up again.
“Hey, George! Have you heard—“
Jeanine closed her door. Her screen showed a number of new emails, all marked varying levels of urgent. Taking a seat, she opened the first filled with capital letters and exclamation points. Only halfway through, she rested her head on the desk and sighed.
The CEO had run an excel master summoning script, and the top floor was currently amok with a few minor demons and gate guardians. As if on cue, the lights overhead flickered in time with a rumble.
Jeanine opened the other drawer in her desk and drew out her go-bag. Crosses, holy water, a number of incantations, silver and iron tools, and some garlic for good measure. It never hurt to be prepared.
She walked to the elevator and something roared again through the building, and then opted instead for the stairs. The smell of sulfur had already filtered down. Jeanine pulled a cloth mask scented with lavender over her nose and held tight to her prayer book in the other, taking the steps two at a time as the cinderblock walls began to ooze and drip with substances she’d rather not consider.
Oh, Mondays.
Terse Tales: The Housing Market is Killer
Theme: “The signs had always been there.”
No one says foresight is 20/20. It’s obvious now, but I was rational. Had I been given to flights of fancy, well…the signs had always been there.
When I moved in, the neighbors peered out at the moving van with the subtlety of toddlers. Their curiosity did not abate as I started work on the house. It was a bargain, but that meant it had needs. Top of the list was new paint. As I worked in the hot sun, I tried to shake the feeling of eyes on my back. After a week, I met the first family one gloomy evening.
“We live across the street,” the woman said with an effervescent smile and an accent I couldn’t place. The man beside her nodded, hand on his presumed son’s shoulder.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries. They worked late and slept during the day. But if I ever needed something, just knock.
“What stinks?” The boy wrinkled his nose.
“Oh, just making some spaghetti,” I responded. “I have extra, if—“
The father shook his head sharply, and they excused themselves back home.
That opened the flood gates, and a parade of strange inhabitants followed. One woman was overly interested in the weeds growing by my front porch; a shaggy haired-man scratched incessantly at his ears and asked if I was sure I did not have a cat. I saw them gather at night, chatting and eyeing me as the outsider I was.
Being neighborly, I sent out invites for a barbecue. Everyone arrived late, ate little, and left early.
The first full moon came shortly after, and the road transformed. There were howls and growls, creatures running in the street. Despite my rationality, now I understood.
A neighborhood full of monsters, and I had invited them all in.
Family Curse
Glinda leaned into the family curse, because fighting against it had only ever made her miserable. Maybe willing acceptance would ultimately loosen its hold. Doubtful, but she was out of better ideas.
The Sight had its advantages, to be sure. She had avoided more than one unfortunate accident thanks to premonition and perception. But her family legacy was dying in the line of duty, and she was ready for that to change.
Glinda felt the smooth handled daggers in her grip, the more tangible side of her family boon. They had been for protection. Perhaps they still were, but now with a more preventative bent. She took a slow breath and looked around the corner again at the crowd.
They waited beneath the flickering neon and holographic haze. Jump-bikes and motorcycles were lined in disorganized chaos around the bar. It was a dive in the best terms, but Glinda knew more. If she looked askance, their human faces remained perfectly poised. But when she focused, all of that melted like wax from a candle, showing the horror of what lay beneath. Something from another plane, fingers poking through the material of the world and using skin puppets to do their bidding.
Maybe once it had been enough to live side-by-side and pick off those who stepped out of line. But with a genealogy drenched in innocent blood, Glinda was not going to wait for slaughter.
With time, the crowd thinned down to a manageable number. Glinda left her concealment with a smile on her face. She was out of place, a young woman with no affiliation approaching a place like this in the middle of the night?
They took the bait. “Hey little lady,” crooned one. “You lost?”
Glinda plastered a smile on her face. “Maybe. Is this The Veil?”
“Yeah, you’ve got the right place.” He glanced around at his companions, eyes saying plenty, even if Glinda had been unable to eavesdrop on their thoughts. Soon, they’d start to notice the brush of something unfamiliar sharing that intimate space. She’d need to be fast.
Three remained, which were odds she could manage. She closed the distance, studying them. These were unfamiliar monsters, but monsters nonetheless.
As they leaned in, closing around the supposed prey, she lashed out. The daggers flashed with a kaleidoscope of light from the artificial fixtures above. One in the eye of the monster leaning on the bike, another in the chest of the one on her right. There was shock, silver blades burning a hole through whatever tethered them here, and the empty puppets dropped to the ground.
The third had mouth open, eyes wide. He almost looked afraid, but the true face still snarled at her. Pulling the blades free, she launched forward and buried them again.
Then back to the shadows, just as always. She knew the newspapers would make a fuss, reporting on the latest slayings in the city. But she had to protect them, even if they did not know it yet.
Terse Tales: Blossom
Theme: Medusa by Kailee Morgue
Being a forest witch in the city was never easy, and so Sheri sank gladly into the refuge of her apartment. It hummed with life from creeping vines and growing plants. There was barely room to walk, but it was home in more ways than one. The walls wrapped around her, pulling her into respite.
Outside the door, the world still raced on. Metal, steel, concrete, and glass held society together, draining every ounce of life it could. Sterile. Cold. Dead.
As she walked toward the kitchen, the leaves twisted toward her, tugging on her mind. There were no words or language, but an instinctive sense of welcome.
And something else. An edge of worry slithered behind the limited consciousness of her botanical friends.
Once Sheri turned the corner into the kitchen, the source of the fear was obvious. A woman was seated calmly at the table, sipping a piping mug of tea and looking perfectly at home.
“These are yours?” the woman asked with a casual wave at the plants crawling along every surface.
“Who are you?” Sheri demanded, rooted to the spot.
The woman turned, eyes studying Sheri with the kind of scrutiny that laid everything bare. Sheri ignored the urge to hide her perceived nakedness behind the large monstera leaf beside her.
“Don’t worry. I’m here to help.”
When Sheri did not move or relax, the woman beckoned a leaf toward her. It unfurled, soaking up the shared magic in the air.
“You can’t think you could hide an oasis like this—power like yours.”
Sheri looked around the room, seeing anew her incomprehensible forest crammed within the apartment. It was remarkable. “You’re here to help?”
“We witches have to stick together,” said the woman with a smile. Behind her, the wall shattered into thousands of waving blooms.
Terse Tales: A Once-in-a-Lifetime Event
Theme: Image: Circus
Priscilla leaned her bike against the dilapidated wooden fence that surrounded the fairground, peering around for any sign of her friends. Their bikes were here, a jumbled heap beside the loose board the high schoolers had been gossiping about.
“Did you guys already go in?” she texted. No response.
Of course they had. Camden was irritated enough they had to wait until she got done with dinner, so they would have charged right in. Priscilla sighed and pulled the board back.
Inside, she scoured the area for any signs of her friends. The message was still unread, sitting plaintively in the group chat.
Camden would have dived straight into the first thing that looked interesting. Priscilla tried to channel that audaciousness as she made for a tent. The bottom hem was already disturbed, she noted with satisfaction.
Inside smelled dusty and damp, and darkness reclaimed its domain as the heavy fabric fell back to the ground. It left the space feeling claustrophobically quiet.
“Guys,” she hissed. The brief light from outside had shown her a path, and so she took hesitant steps forward. “Camden? Jess?”
There was a murmur of conversation ahead, a greyening in the darkness. Priscilla slid her feet along the ground, hands outstretched. As she neared the suggestion of light, her hands met fabric again. Another tent within the tent.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. This was ridiculous. But, determined, she lifted the fabric and ducked through.
The light was blinding now, and she noticed the sound stopped around her. When her eyes adjusted, a ring of painted faces was looking at her. Their smiles stretched the gaudily painted ones to their limits, sharp teeth glistening with an unsettling red of their own.
“Look, friends,” said one smiling face. “Our dinner came with dessert.”
Curiosity Killed the Cat
This was submitted for an online writing contest with the prompt: A caretaker, a journal, and a conservatory. It placed first in its round and allowed me to move on to round two. I’ll share the round two story next week!
Winston leaned against the rake, taking a moment to catch his breath. Used to, he’d have the whole property crisp and cleaned within a day. Now it took a week of attention, and then it was time to start back at the beginning. Damned leaves kept falling, grass kept growing, and clutter kept accumulating. Winter would be here soon with its endless fight against snow and mud.
It was seasonably warm. Sure, the newcomers and tourists would gripe about the heat in autumn, but Winston had lived long enough to know summer never gave up without a fight. The heat would break, and people would beg for a little warmth soon.
At least his afternoon’s work would take him to the conservatory. It was warm and humid for the benefit of the plants, but it was controlled heat. And there were plenty of benches and stone edges where he could rest his tired bones as he worked.
He meandered down the hallways to the conservatory, appreciating the cool interior. While his house was technically the one out on the edge of the property, these walls felt like home, too. Opening the heavy doors, he was momentarily dazed by the bright sunlight. Winston quickly retreated beneath the dappled shadows of overhanging growth.
There was a squeal to the left of him, and he caught sight of Juniper, one of the current owners, sitting at a metal table in a pool of sunlight. She took a deep breath and forced a shaky smile, pushing sweaty bangs from in front of her eyes.
“Sorry, Winston, you startled me.”
He offered an apologetic tilt of his head. “Sorry, ma’am. Just coming in to tend the beds.”
“Oh, of course. I planted some of the new exotics around the fountain.” She held up dirt-kissed hands as evidence.
“I appreciate that,” he replied while inwardly making a note to ensure she had done so in a way that at least a few might survive.
Juniper stood stiffly and abruptly, folding hands in front of her. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work.” She marched past him and out of the room, ducking her head as if that would hide her frightened eyes. Winston was left shaking his head. It seemed the odd ones always chose this place. Given her high-strung nature and the worn appearance of the home’s furnishings, he suspected it would not be long before the house was again for sale.
He turned toward the workbench, scouting around for his preferred hand trowel. It was not where he left it. But, of course, Juniper had been playing in the gardens, so he made his way over to her table. There was the trowel, still muddy. That sent a wrinkle of irritation through him.
As he drew close, he noticed she had left her journal open on the table, ink scratching across the crisp white pages. He was not trying to look, but he had to reach across it to pick up his property.
“Help me.”
The words had been written and rewritten in thick black ink, nearly tearing through the page. Dozens of iterations danced on the page. It was impossible not to read, and Winston felt a chill.
But he knew better than to get involved in the homeowner’s squabbles. Being nosy had never worked, usually ending in an abrupt dismissal and a black mark on one’s reputation. He was too old to find another career.
Besides, houses like this attracted the troubled sort.
Winston tried to forget the image as he walked toward the largest bed in the conservatory. In the middle, a stone fountain splashed. He saw the area around it had been extensively disturbed. There was dirt on the ground, on the base of the fountain, everywhere. And a lumpy mound in the middle bore a handful of wilting botanicals that had not been properly planted or watered in. He dropped to his knees beside them to begin his work.
The trowel did not sink far into the earth before meeting resistance. Winston pulled back and tried again with the same results. He gave the ground a hearty stare, then reached in to uncover whatever was causing the problem. An irrigation line? A stone?
Whatever it was, it was large, his fingers fumbling in the dirt to find an edge. He brushed away the soil and found himself staring at a neatly buttoned shirt, white fabric turning dingy.
It took a moment for his mind to understand what sat there in front of him, and then shaky hands shoved more of the dirt away. Eventually, he reached a face, the wide, pale blue eyes of Cyril, the home’s other owner, staring sightless at the glass of the conservatory roof.
Winston scrambled backward, eyes locked on the face in front of him. One part of his mind scrambled. She had to intend for him to find this. And that surely meant something, though he did not know what.
Meanwhile, the rest of him was caught in a wordless scream, like an emergency broadcast’s unending drone.
The police. That was what one did when they uncovered a body. Phone the police right away and let them handle it. And stay away from killers, came a helpful corollary.
Unfortunately, the nearest phone was in the house. Winston picked himself up from the ground and brushed away what dirt he could, trying to assemble himself into someone that appeared calm. After a few steadying breaths, he walked toward the conservatory doors. Winston was never one for smiling, but he attempted one as he walked down the hall toward the kitchen and house phone.
Seeing Cyril sitting in the study came as a thorough shock. He was decidedly un-dead, humming to himself as he leafed through the newspaper.
“Do you need something, Winston? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Cyril’s voice was calm, warm, and friendly. But there was something in his eyes.
“I—“ Winston stammered. He could feel his heart starting to hiccup in rhythm, the prickle of sweat on his brow. “I thought I saw…”
Cyril rose from his seat, prowling forward with curiosity. “Oh, a ghost or something better? Step in and tell—“
“You!” Juniper was in the hallway now, pointing at Winston with a vindicated grin. “You saw him, didn’t you? I’m not imagining it?”
Winston looked back and forth between the two, finding nothing that made any sense of the moment. His mouth had dried out, tongue lying thick and loose. The room was not quite spinning, but it was less stable than before.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve gone and drawn him into our game, honey. That was supposed to be our thing.” Cyril leaned out into the hallway, fixing her with a petulant frown. Then his face flipped again into a monstrous grin as he considered Winston. “So where’d she hide me this time? The dried well? The cellar? Hidden in the boathouse under some old tarps?”
“The conservatory gardens,” Winston whispered through stiff lips. Now his heart was fluttering unchained about his ribcage, picking and choosing whatever beat suited the moment.
“The gardens?” he crowed. “And what, my dear, did you try this time? Poison, wasn’t it?”
By now, Juniper had reached the two in the doorway, and Winston felt trapped between the warring couple. “I’ve killed him six times,” she said between gritted teeth. “And he won’t stay dead!” Her voice rose in volume with each word until she roared.
Winston wilted between them, wanting nothing more than to escape. He had known nothing good would come of meddling in the owner’s affairs, and here was the proof.
Cyril laughed as if this was a fine joke. Then, his mouth snapped shut and the sound died. There was a dark glimmer in his eyes as he looked at the two of them. “Of course I won’t stay dead. That’s the whole point of an immortality spell.”
Winston was still placing the pieces. “Six times,” he repeated to himself. But Juniper heard.
Her posture became defensive, squaring up as if ready for confrontation. “Well, he killed me first. Pushed me down the stairs and sunk my body in the lake.”
Now Winston’s wavering gaze swam back to Cyril, hoping anyone would start making sense.
“How else was I supposed to know if it worked? But you’re fine. I don’t see why you’re still carrying such a chip on your shoulder about it. I gave you immortality.” His tone was the same as if he was describing a decision to buy stocks, laid out with simple logic and undeniable reason. Winston wanted to ignore the words and just rest in that tone.
In fact, he noticed he was feeling very tired. There was an ache radiating from his chest now, his heart exhausted from flailing against his ribs. And the room was definitely spinning, whirling about on an axis that flashed Cyril’s leering face and Juniper’s enraged one in an unholy carousel. They still yelled, but the words were distant.
“I never wanted this,” Juniper hissed. Cyril laughed again as the room spun on.
Winston needed to rest. All he wanted was to sit on one of the soft couches in the study, but there wasn’t time. He was too tired. The floor would have to do. And then there was sweet, quiet darkness.
Winston woke the next morning in his bed in the caretaker’s cottage. He rolled over, trying to shake off the vestiges of the terrible dream barely remembered in the morning light. The feelings lingered: panic, confusion, fear. It was bitter on his tongue.
Nothing a day’s solid work wouldn’t fix, he reasoned as he readied himself. There was always work to do, and he knew the house would need something, Shutters needed paint if nothing else. He had knocked off early yesterday, for a reason that escaped him…
He did not expect to see Cyril waiting on the steps for him to arrive. He expected even less the broad grin that broke across the man’s face.
“Winston, my friend. I guess this means you’re one of the family now!” he said by way of greeting. Winston tried to nod and move along. He had an uneasy feeling being near the man that he could not quite place.
“Oh, come on, don’t be that way. Juniper and I feel awful about yesterday. We buried you out by the orchard, thought you’d like that.”
Winston reeled, feeling memories trickle back, impossible things that defied logic. He forced his mind back to the day’s chores, pushing past Cyril without any more regard.
“Winston, we’re going to be together forever. Don’t start us out on the wrong foot.”
But Winston kept walking, ignoring the risen man who beckoned him. He had forgotten one key rule.
Never meddle.
Family Secrets
I smacked the tape recorder down on the table harder than I intended and the ancient device clanked in protest. “All right,” I said to the emptiness around me, “we’re settling this once and for all. Come on out.”
I looked around the sheet-covered furniture, waiting for something to stir. Dust drifted in hazy sunbeams around me, irritated at my disruption to the long-abandoned home. The family home, as I had grown up knowing it. I peered through the flickering shadows and light for any sign of what I knew lurked within.
“You know I know you’re here, right? No need to hide!” I yelled toward the ceiling. Above I could hear footsteps, some tittering laughter. And then a smoky white form descended down to the living room below.
“Of course we know,” spoke a feminine voice. Carmen. I jotted that down on the piece of paper beside me. Hopefully some names and the internet would help me put these pieces together. She settled on the couch across from me, vague features moving as if she were smoking something.
Someone else blustered in from the hallway, harrumphing and grousing as usual. George had made his appearance, carrying with him a general air of disorganization and frenzy. And down the way, I could hear giggling. That would be Charity, demonic imp of a girl she was.
“It’s been some time since we’ve had guests,” huffed George as he stirred about the room in agitation.
“Yeah, you may have noticed the rest of the family abandoned the house when Gramps died. No one wanted to keep up the orchard.” There was an uneasy pause in the room, then Carmen spoke.
“A true shame. My Stevie planted that orchard when we first got the land. He spent weeks—“
“I know the history,” I jumped in. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Well, by all means, do enlighten us as to how we might help you,” said Carmen, turning away.
“I’m going to prove to the rest of the family that you all are real. That it was not me who broke the third floor window or started the house fire. That I did not pester the maids until they quit, Charity. One of the sheets rustled and then burst into a fit of giggles. There were a few different laughs in attendance, so we had the entire gaggle here to watch. More names to add to my list.
“But the pranks were too wonderful. You should have seen their faces.”
“So, I have you all on tape now. I want you to explain to me and my family why I was the only one who could see you.”
It was hard not to let my mind wander, let the bitterness billow up. I remembered so many ruined family dinners as I watched ghostly figures sweep around the room. The sharp glances as I was blamed for spit wads, for dropping the potatoes, for leaving the doors open. My protestations had always been dismissed. The taste of soap filled my mouth as I thought of all the punishments for lying, over and over.
They’d have to apologize now.
“So, out with it. Were you all just my personal hell on earth?”
“Such language,” bristled George. “Keep that up and I’ll have Ma Chandler down here to give you a talking to.”
“Please, invite the whole family. I would absolutely love for each of you to take account of your actions here.”
The temperature dropped in the room, pressure building. I could see more and more wispy shapes filtering in, hear the rising bubble of conversation.
“Calm down, everyone,” I heard Dwayne’s authoritative voice rise above others, watched as his shade shifted through the room toward the front. “Now, what’s all this, Trixie?”
“I’m here for a few answers, Dwayne. I want to prove to my family you all exist. I’m recording, and I want you to admit that you were all here and explain why I’m the only one who can see you.”
There was a chorus of response, multiple agreements that the participants were, in fact, real. Dwayne cleared his throat, and the sound died down to make way.
“Of course we’re all here, Trixie. This is still our house. Always will be. As for why you can see us, well…”
I would have had to be blind to not notice the fleeing figures from the room. Carmen stood and pranced straight through the kitchen wall. George mumbled an apology and drifted toward the attic.
Dwayne turned to a far corner. “Kids, I think you should go outside and play.” A thunder of steps tripped one over another, scattering from their hiding spot behind the chair and out onto the veranda. “Now, Trixie, I can answer your questions. But are you sure you want to know? You can’t take back knowledge.”
“Yes, Dwayne, I’m sure. I’ve been sure. Enough of the vagaries and riddles. Just out with it.”
He sat down across from me, close enough that the cool spot around him made the hair on my arm stand on end. I watched as he lifted a hand and tried to place it on mind, but fell through to the table. He cleared his throat again.
“The answer is very simple, actually. You’re the only one who can see us because you’re the only living member of the family who died in the house.”
“Excuse me, what?” I tried to make any part of that make sense, but it all dissolved into nonsense the more I grappled with it.
“Yes, I know this is tough, but you died here. When you were four. It was a game of hide-and-seek with your cousins where you got trapped in the attic. In July. Not a pretty picture.”
“That’s ridiculous, mostly because I am alive. I’m here. I can walk right out of here and not come back.”
“That’s true,” Dwayne conceded.
“So I can’t have died. Besides, I’d remember—“
And as if his words had unlocked something, the images began to filter in. I did remember that corner, dusty and dark. My skin prickled with the feel of sweat on my brow, trailing down into my eyes. Of the dry, scalding heat of the tiny space with no windows and no air. I remembered hammering the door with feeble strength.
“But then how—what—I mean, I’m alive.”
Dwayne nodded slowly. “Mostly, yes.”
“Mostly?” I did not think I could get more unsettled after the initial revelation, but Dwayne was proving full of surprises.
“Well yes. None of us quite know what will happen when you die…again.”
“But how am I alive at all?”
“Uh, well, I’m not sure…”
Carmen intruded again, pushing past Dwayne until she was directly in my face. As usual, the aroma of tobacco wafted after her in a cloud. “Let me handle this. You were never good at the delicate stuff.”
Dwayne stood, stomping away with familiar steps I had heard trod up and downstairs every night I spent here in my youth. Try sleeping through that.
“You see, dear, you were quite young at the time. I mean, very few memories in general. And there was little Maggie. She was about your age when she died, too. But do you know how challenging it can be taking care of a toddler ghost?”
I felt my facing falling into a more and more puzzled expression the longer the pause stretched. Carmen sighed.
“A toddler that can float through walls and ceilings? Who never takes a nap? We saw an opportunity and, well, that was that.”
“What was what? I don’t understand.”
“Well, Trixie died, and Maggie stepped in.”
I pushed away from the table, feeling the room reeling around me. “You’re not saying that—You mean?” I grabbed the back of the chair to steady myself. The dust prickled my eyes and I felt like someone had wrapped a pillow around my head. The world swam. “I’m Maggie? I possessed me.”
“I’m not sure all the ins and outs of it,” interrupted Dwayne, crowding toward the table, “but that seems a succinct encapsulation, yes.”
“But what happened to me? Am I trapped here?”
“Trixie dear,” said Carmen, “you are you. Of course you’re not trapped. You said so yourself, you can leave this place whenever.” Her words were saccharine, as if explaining the obvious to a child.
“No, the real Trixie. Is she—“
Dwayne let out a deep, guttural laugh. “God no. We’d just have traded one problem for another. Since…the original Trixie was not buried here, no spirit.”
“Precisely,” said Carmen in satisfaction.
“Just don’t let them bury you in the orchard when, you know, you die. Again,” added Dwayne as an afterthought.
This was too much, and I felt lunch beginning to squirm upward in my stomach. The house was too hot and too cold, too big and too small. The walls closed in around me while they swallowed me into their emptiness. I reached for the tape recorder.
“Well at least this—“ I froze. The tape in the window was stubbornly still. No whisper of a motor or whine of spooling tape.
“Yes, I had wondered if you meant to have that on,” added Carmen, standing stiffly. “But I do need to be going myself.” Without waiting for a farewell, she dashed from the room. When I looked up, Dwayne was gone to. I could hear the whole crowd bustling around in the other rooms, whispering about what had just happened.
“Of course,” I said to myself. It would always had to have been this way. My lot in life was to be ever unjustified, ever unvindicated.
The last time I saw the house, the door swung shut behind me with a stuffy, “Don’t forget the thing about the orchard.”
Good riddance.
The Queen’s Secret
There was a frozen moment as the men rushed toward the throne, swords raised. The guards would never react in time, not from their lazing positions in the wings. In slow motion, I could see the king’s eyes widen, his back straighten, his mouth begin to open in some sort of call.
And then the court was awash in flames. The roars of the would-be attackers dwindled to helpless cries of pain, but even those were cut short. I covered my face, feeling the warmth buffet my cheeks. Yet it was restrained, targeted. When I looked back up, the room was quiet.
King Dorne was in his usual posture, slouched back in the throne with his head balancing perilously on his hand. The guards stared fixedly ahead, hands loose on spears, eyes unfocused. There was nothing of what had happened save a small scattering of ash that, even as I noticed it, was swept up by an errant breeze and scattered.
I glanced around the room. Had I fallen asleep on my feet? The summer air was heavy, the day long. I would not be the first.
And then the Queen made her entrance from the doorway, smiling broadly. She trailed behind her glorious wings in reds that faded to black. As she gestured warmly to the King, I saw soot running along her hands and the delicate fabric of her gown.
The king sat up with a start, wide smile on his face. Even the guards straightened a bit. No one seemed to say anything about the wings. I had been in the court for many years, far more than I like to consider. And I knew for a fact that we had never had a winged queen.
My mouth was on the floor and I felt my heart struggling to escape through it. Her smiling eyes turned toward me and closed to a sliver.
“Ah, so you do have the sight,” her voice whispered in my head as she repositioned a political smile on her lips. As she spoke, I watched her reach and embrace the King, say some kind word. And yet I also knew her gaze had never left mine. Nothing but her voice reached me, trapped in an eddy while the world spun around us.
“Come now,” she said with a veneer of comfort in her voice, “let’s keep this between us. Meet me tonight at midnight in the gardens and I will be happy to explain.”
Like that, the moment snapped and everything settled back into place. She was in her seat, chatting happily with Dorne. The halls bustled with the usual mix of servants and leaders moving to and fro. I smelled dinner cooking, but it mingled with a smell of char I could not shake. Still those wings loomed over everything. And only I looked on in horror.
It was simple to excuse myself with some ill feeling, dash away to my quarters to panic in private. I barely made it into the room before my chest was heaving with breaths I could not expel quickly enough. The room spun and my lunch jostled in my stomach. I collapsed into a chair, holding onto it like an anchor.
As I hiccupped and gasped my way back to lucidity, a thousand possibilities crowded in my mind. I had grown up with the legends like all children. Dragons that gave up much of their power to blend in with mortals. Lingering vestiges of ancient power. In the stories, it was always a band of ne’er-do-wells who happened upon a seemingly hapless traveler and discovered their mistake. A morality tale, meant to discourage violence against those who may appear weaker, I had always thought.
But now?
Or, and I felt a reassuring peace from this thought, I was going mad. My mind had come untethered from this realm and prone to flights of fancy. I fell asleep and the dream bled over. I had been poisoned, perhaps, and would soon fall further victim to its ill effects.
I almost convinced myself not to go out to the gardens in the middle of the night. It was foolish and there would be nothing to show for it. And yet, a doubt writhed through my mind. If I did not go, and if it were true, that might signal my defiance. If I went and there was no one—as of course there would be—I’d know the answer lay somewhere in the mundane.
And so, the tolling bells of midnight found me standing at the entrance to the gardens. Late night smells of rose and jasmine drifted in the evening breezes. I could hear the guards calling and marching, but even they seemed far away.
The sound of soft-soled shoes on the cobblestone path turned me toward the Queen. She stood as a silhouette against the night, returned now to her usual image. I felt my heart rate slow. I had imagined it. Here she was, flesh and bone, no wings to show.
“Have you always known you had the sight?” She examined a rose as she spoke, words carrying to me on the breeze.
“I—“ My mouth was dry and tongue felt as if it filled my entire mouth. “I don’t know what you mean, milady.”
Her mouth curled into a smile and she met my gaze. I saw a flash in her eyes, something reptilian that took over the pupils, and then the wings returned.
My heart stopped. My breath stopped. The world stopped.
Then she spoke. “Come now. We both know what happened. I have been hidden for so long, though I suspected you. Never once did you give away you could see beyond the Veil.”
“I don’t know that I can. I mean, I’ve always had a gut feeling about things. Maybe a good hunch—“ Words tumbled over one another in a race out of my lips.
“Which is why you’ve been such a helpful advisor all these years.” She walked forward, cool smile on her face.
“I suppose. I only want what is best for the king. For the kingdom.”
The Queen stopped and nodded her head. “Aye, I can see that in you. Loyal and honest.”
I nodded in return. Those seemed like good things, but her voice had the air of a judge reading off a sentence.
“Do you know who those men were today?” she asked.
“They said they were envoys from a mining village.”
“Yes, they did. But we both know that was a lie, don’t we? They were assassins from the Southwest Isles. They would have disrupted everything.”
“And you killed them. You protected the King?”
She considered this for a moment. “I suppose so. We have the same goals, you and me.”
“We do?”
This was the first genuine smile I had seen from her since it began. “Of course. You are so suspicious. “ Her hand touched my arm and I felt a ripple of primitive terror race through me. If my feet weren’t rooted to the spot, I would have fled straight to the ocean myself. “I only want what is best for the kingdom. Do you know why?”
My head shook on my neck, bobbling side to side as if flapping in a windstorm.
“Every dragon needs its treasure. Your little kingdom is mine.” She stepped closer, now only inches away. I could smell smoke and sulfur on her breath, see a warm light glowing from within her. “And I will destroy anyone who tries to take it from me.”
Her eyes were mesmerizing. Again, they shifted from human to something foreign. I felt those eyes plunge deep inside me, searching out all my secrets and darknesses. Every moment of me was laid bare in that garden. Then she resurfaced with a satisfied nod.
“I believe,” the word stretched out as an offering and a threat, “we can come to an arrangement. You keep my secret, I let you live, and you rest comfortable in the fact I will destroy anyone who tries to harm the prosperity we are building here. “
I nodded, then stammered out an answer beneath her demanding look. “Understood, milady. I won’t tell a soul.” They’d think me mad anyway, I thought but did not say.
She turned on her heel and started back down the path. Before she ducked below the archway of the palace walls, she paused. “It is good to have an ally with such…perspective. I may have need of you in the future.”
Her wings dipped to enter the walkway, and then she was just another shadow moving along the palace in the late hours. I fell to my knees and sat there until the morning sun broke me from my reverie.
We were safe, of course. Weren’t we?
Terse Tales: Purpose
Theme: This place was more prison than paradise.
Death came…predictably. Cypsoo had felt the end approaching through her body. After a week in bed with only failing strength to show for it, she had made peace with the facts.
And now she opened her eyes in paradise. There was warmth on the breeze, the distant sound of birdsong. She sat up, elated by the ease of the motion. It had been decades since she had moved so freely.
While she beamed with joy, something was off. Around her, others trudged onward, faces drawn and gray. No one paid her any mind.
“Hello,” she called out; no response. Cypsoo got to her feet, reveling in the springy earth beneath her. Continued greetings were met by her fellow dead with a glance, then retreat. And so she made her way to a makeshift structure nestled beneath leafy trees. There, people congregated about a fire, not making eye contact.
She approached a woman crouched to tend the flames.
“Hello.”
The woman looked up and sneered. “You look happy. New here?”
“I just arrived.”
The woman raised her eyebrows, but remained transfixed by her task.
“What’s going on?” Cypsoo tried again. “Is this not paradise?”
“It is, I guess,” the woman replied with a sigh. “I’ve been here so long. It never ends.”
“Isn’t that good?” Cypsoo could not keep the quaver of fear from her voice. But this was her reward, fear was not supposed to intrude. She scavenged deep within to find promised peace.
“You would think, yes. Years of perfection. Always sunny. Not a thing needed.” Bitterness dripped from the words.
Cypsoo looked anew at the others, how their directionless steps wore paths in the lush grass.
“Perfection is madness,” said the woman with finality, and turned her back.
Cypsoo suddenly felt cold despite the ever present warmth above.
Animal, Mineral, or Vegetable?
College campuses had been bloodbaths in the beginning. Take a bunch of “adults” who are struggling to survive on their own, cram them together, unleash a deadly zombie virus. If you’ve ever seen a stomach bug sweep through a dorm, you can imagine the carnage. While rich with resources, it was a death sentence.
Only now, months after the beginning, did I feel confident to walk past the bloodied sign and try to scavenge something useful. They had a pharmacy on campus. Might as well be a literal goldmine.
Still, the campus was not abandoned. Nowhere was. Now that the swarming was over, it was as if someone had lifted the entire population of the world, shaken them, and distributed the remains across the globe. When shelter was not a consideration, population density had a strange way of evening out.
I limped between buildings, nursing an injury from the last close call. Zombies were easy to outrun and outsmart, as long as you paid attention. Humans, on the other hand.
I shook my head and tried to stay focused. I could hear some shuffling and groaning from near the quad, so ducked behind an assortment of classrooms. It opened onto another green space, more enclosed than the rest of campus, but lit happily with a beam of afternoon light. A tattered sign, once laminated and crisp, proclaimed it the community garden.
Overgrown grasses, rustling leaves. A haven for snakes and other pests. I went to go around.
“You may want to go another way. Linebacker’s been hanging by the admin building for a few days, and I think I heard him bellowing this morning.”
I looked around for someone who could respond, senses on high alert. My hand had flown to the machete at my side without a thought.
“Thanks for that. Where are you, friend?” I asked as my eyes scanned the tops of the surrounding buildings. There were a number of good vantage points. I felt my skin start to crawl with the imagined feeling of eyes on me.
“Oh, I’m down here. Just under the tomatoes.”
The voice carried a calm, copacetic tone that I recalled from smoky rooms and late nights. I pushed forward into the garden, using the machete to sweep away the tallest of the growths.
“Hey, careful with that. I’m trying to help and you’re here slicing my arms off.”
Finally, the stranger appeared. It was a muddled form mostly buried in the dirt. There was a head and a neck, and I could start to follow the torso, but after a few inches it was hard to tell what was ground and what was pallid body. A few paces over, there was a leg, and my eyes traveled the same path into vegetation.
“What the hell?” I said. I had seen a lot, but this…
“Nice to meet you, too. Gee, they said my generation was the one without manners.” It chuckled, eyes blinking slowly in the warmth.
“Are you…what are you?”
I watched the top of the shoulders rise and fall in what might have been a shrug. “They used to call me Jay. But then I got bit, then hacked into pieces, and then when spring came…” He waggled his head toward the blooming plants and vegetation, “I grew back with them.”
“So you’re a zombie.” I shifted in my hand, firming my grip and setting my jaw. I hated this part, but life depended on it.
“I mean, maybe. But none of those zombies can talk. And none of them can grow all of this. And none of them are vegetarian,” Another strange wiggle that might have been a shrug. “Animal, mineral, or vegetable? Maybe I’m all three.” He giggled again at this and watched me, waiting for a response. When I remained stone-faced, he composed himself.
“So you don’t eat people?”
“Nah, girl, I was a veggie-bro before all of this. Had a little lapse there for a bit, but we’re good now.”
There was a commotion from around the building, something colliding with what sounded like garbage cans. The world’s most state of the art alarms nowadays. I ducked as Jay shushed me.
“Ah, shit. That’s probably linebacker listening to me yap. He always comes around to investigate when I start talking.”
True to the prediction, a hulking figure stumbled from between the shadowy building, lumbering into the sunlight with a look of confusion. He sniffed the air and then started toward my hiding spot.
“Bro, I told you to keep out. You start stomping all my vines and it takes me days to recover.” As Jay spoke, I watched the vines begin to wiggle along the ground and snake toward the approaching zombie. They reached his feet, looping around a few times, and then snapped with a flick. I watched as the trespasser rose into the air and then flew back out of the protected space.
A thud, hollow and rotten sounding, followed by a groan.
“Maybe I broke his leg this time. Keep him from wandering,” muttered Jay. The vines that had dealt with the zombie continued along toward the wall, racing up and weaving back and forth across the opening to form a temporary wall. “There,” he said with a satisfied sigh.
“Thank you,” I said as I stood from my hiding spot. Jay smiled with the one half of his face that worked properly.
“Don’t mention it. I haven’t had visitors in a while.”
“But you said Linebacker comes around when you talk.” My suspicions shot up, immediately suspecting betrayal. Everyone lies.
Jay laughed, a sound that doubled and tripled on itself as the echo bounced around the small space. It went on longer than it should have, but his joy seemed genuine. “Oh yeah,” he finally said as the laughter subsided, “I’ve been talking to myself for months. I named that tree over there Chuck, and we talk about the weather. Today’s sunny, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“How long have you been alone?”
“You know, I can’t really write down the days or anything. Long enough for all of this to grow. I’ve only seen one season, though, so no more than a few months. But y’know, solitary is inhumane punishment.”
I nodded and eyed the other open exit. I knew he could snag me if he wanted, so it was going to require some quick thinking on my part. The soil beneath me shifted a little, rumbling back toward Jay’s head.
“But I’m sure you weren’t here for me.” There was a sad, wistful look in his eyes as he smiled. “Can I give you directions?”
“Pharmacy?”
I watched as vines and stems coalesced into an image, an aerial map of the school. A pale yellow squash flower bloomed before me. “We’re here,” Jay said with resignation. Another blossom appeared across the image. “Pharmacy’s there. You’ll want to avoid the main quad, but I think Kellman’s been pretty empty for the past few weeks. No food to be had, so the shuffling horde moved on. It’s here,” a third blossom, “and might make a good shortcut.”
I looked between Jay and the exit. On the one hand, this was a deadly zombie who might appear reasonable, but who would almost certainly eat me. On the other hand, he had also protected me. And given me directions. And he said he was vegetarian. Though, that might make him a cannibal, and the thought of the taboo gave me pause. I was pretty sure eating people was worse than veggie-cannibalism, but that was a thought that would have to wait for more peaceful time.
“Do you mind if I come back here? After the pharmacy?”
His face brightened and the greenery around me seemed to stand a little taller. “Really? You’d come back?”
“Sure, maybe chat. You can give me the intel on the area?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I watched runners shoot along the ground and toward the openings, diving under buildings and twisting around obstacles.
“Yeah, definitely. I’ll keep an ear to the ground—“ he broke into a brief chuckle, the composed himself again, “—and get all the lowdown.”
“Deal,” I said, and walked out of the sheltered space, back into the open world. But it was hard not to see the new growth springing up around me as I went, flowers watching my progress along the campus.
Allies were hard to come by. You often end up having to kill them. But maybe, though it was foolish to hope, this was a place I could take root.
Terse Tales: Another Saturday Night
Theme: Song: Warrior by Atreyu ft. Travis Barker
The punch connected with Chuck’s face, and he made a convincing fall to the floor. The concrete was sticky, but cool. He lay there, hoping they would accept their win and move on.
Nope.
Instead, a boot swung in to meet his stomach. He curled inward and let out a practiced “urgh.” Another came, and he repeated the act.
Standing up was an option, but that brought questions. Why aren’t you still bleeding? Where’s the broken nose? How’d you do that?
He’d rather the brawlers wear themselves out and leave. Not like they were actually hurting anyone.
But then he heard a voice raise toward someone else, the slap of another body hitting the floor.
Chuck grabbed the boot before it could land again, smoothly transitioning his attacker from standing to the floor. The man lay in a stunned puddle.
In a few strides, Chuck crossed the bar and peeled off the other goon, flinging him toward the door. It swung wide to aid in his involuntary escape.
Pests cleared, Chuck righted a table and pulled over a chair. He scooped up the unfortunate and woozy patron and deposited him in the seat.
“Lucy, he’s going to need a drink.”
There was a clink of glass behind the bar, followed by the glug of something strong. Chuck found another chair in reasonable condition, pulling it up for himself.
“Make that two.”
She brought the drinks over, eyeing him with a mix of appreciation and irritation. “I ought to start charging you for repairs,” she said with a long exhale.
“Hey, I never start it.” He emptied the glass in a gulp as his seated companion stared in shock.
“But you could end them before they destroy the place.”
Chuck shrugged, emptying the other glass to avoid waste. “Too many questions.”
Terse Tales: The Last Quiet Moments
Theme: Jungle
You feel the unfamiliarity crawl over you before your eyes open. This is wrong. This is not a place you know. The air here is heavy, burgeoning with a storm on the horizon. Even now, you can feel that twitch of cool in the air, a hint on the breeze signifying something is coming. Fear and pain race through your skull in turn.
Your eyes open to darkness.
This isn’t the darkness of camp, lit by firelight and torches. This is pure, where only the moon could hope to pierce. Only she has disappeared behind a horde of clouds, their silver edges the sole reminder that light still exists.
The smell of soil and heavy vegetation confirm your suspicions. But how? Your mind races, playing over any scrap of information you can recall. You know you set camp, tents sprawling out like a plague infesting the jungle. Cabot had promised you were close to the goal, probably an easy trek by nightfall. And he had turned in early while you sat by the fire…
Then someone raised the alarm. He was missing, along with the talisman.
Panic, yells, a flurry of activity. You raced off into the darkness. You had to stop him before—
What exactly? Something had clicked into place in the firelight that now danced hazily away. Your head pounds, and the matted stickiness reveals the rest of the story.
Only a fool sprints through unfamiliar jungle at night.
Unless there was no other choice. Unless everything hung in the balance.
In the distance, something splits the darkness, a sickly light that tugs at your bones. There is a chorus of unnatural howls, soon drowned out by the panicked squeals of the sleeping jungle now woken.
You don’t have to know the creatures to know the message.
Run.
Terse Tales: Plunging the Depths
Theme: “We were stepping into the unknown.”
Assembled at the cave opening, we were children ignorant of true horrors. We had no idea we were stepping into the unknown and welcoming knowledge long-buried.
The trek in was easy; we were amateurs looking for fun during the heat of the summer. Caving offered shade, cooler temperatures, and an excuse to spend time with friends. The underground network was vast, but we had no intention of plunging the depths. Our eager flashlights painted with shadow and light as we followed the tunnels, leaving chalk marks on the wall to lead us home.
Kelsey screamed first, and the sound cut off before we could turn to see what had happened. All that remained were a set of dark footprints were she had been standing. We called for her, but only our echoes replied.
James was next, gone the same way. The struggle was long enough for me to see shadows dissipate from where he had been. His name joined our calls as the reality of something terrible settled over us all.
And steadily the number of voices dwindled until there were more names than callers. Tim and I were the last two. Our frantic conversations reached one conclusion: we had to get out. We turned to the arrows.
Only there were more arrows on the wall, pointing us back and forth one direction and the next. They looped on themselves, leading us down corridors we had never seen. I made the mistake of looking away from Tim.
When I looked back, the shadows were swarming him. He opened his mouth to scream, and the darkness flooded in. As I watched, the ground swallowed him, leaving the ink of his footprints.
My light moved along the floor, its rocky surface a twisting patchwork of hundreds of neat footprints etched in black.
Last Chance
Halah stood in front of the tear in reality, catching her breath before the final moment. She knew what she had to do, and she had known for weeks now. It was always going to come down to this. Sparks crackled from the breach, snarling at the walls and leaving a burning stench in the air. She could not see what lay beyond. Certain death, no doubt. But this had to be. Her death would mean life for the world. It was a simple choice.
Breathe.
When she opened her eyes, everything had stopped. She could trace the arc of electricity with her eyes, see where it touched the wall. The vortex before her was frozen like a painting. The only thing moving was a man who had not been there before.
He was dressed in an embroidered cloak, eyes like galaxies smiling back at her. She could feel power radiating off of him, but he seemed to hide within its shadow.
“Hello,” he said with a gentle nod of his head.
“Hello.” None of this made sense. Even the torches in the sconces did not flicker but glowed steadily.
“You’re probably wondering what is happening,” he began. Of course, he did not need to be a mind reader to know that. “I’m Fate. It’s kind of my fault that you’re in this mess. Sorry about that.” He looked apologetic, sad smile lingering on his lips.
“Have you come to save me?” The words were out before she had a chance to consider them.
He winced as though struck. “No, sadly not. This is what will happen.” He gestured toward the portal. “What has to happen. But I hate this part.”
Halah sighed in resignation. It was a foolish hope anyway. “I cannot say I appreciate it either.”
“But I am here to make you an offer. I can keep this moment frozen as long as you wish. You can leave, experience new parts of the world. See the sights. You can walk into the King’s banquet hall and devour the entire feast.” He smiled, but Halah’s dour look quickly extinguished it.
“And then die.”
“Yes.” At least his unspoken apology sounded sincere.
Halah studied the portal again, the impossibilities that lay beyond. She knew it was death now, that mystery had been solved, but she had an opportunity. If there was another answer out there, she might even have the time to find it. “And you’ll wait for my return?”
He made a few noncommittal noises, head shaking back and forth uncertainly. “It’s a little more complicated than that, being an all-powerful entity beyond the scope of time. But in essence, yes.”
“Right then.” Without another word, Halah stepped back from the portal and strode out the wooden door. She did not spare a glance at the bodies of the keep’s guard; she had one purpose. If there were answers, the Library of Temunthion would hold them.
And if not, she would search elsewhere. She would find her salvation.
Three Wishes
Another summons from the lamp. The genie burst forth, grand display at full force. Smoke swirled and sparks exploded around the room as the air rent with the rumble of thunder caged for millennia. Let them know his power. Let them question their foolhardy quest.
Yet instead of the typical grizzled adventurer or slimy thief, there was a young girl. Her eyes were wide, watching the disruption bounce around her small room. More embarrassed than he wanted to admit, Genie toned down the display to a gentle roar, disappating as much of the smoke as possible.
Yet a falter off the starting block was not going to slow him. There was protocol, after all. “Who has awakened the Genie of the Lamp?” His voice boomed and the little girl’s hair blew back with each syllable.
She raised her hand, settling back onto her knees at staring up at him with wonder. But she said nothing, lips pursed as she watched him and waited.
“And you are?” The voice still echoed, but his uncertainty made it less convincing.
“I’m Judy Clark and I’m in the first grade. I go to Miss Cavender’s class. And I have a puppy named Scooter.”
“Judy, you have awakened—“
“How do you do that?” she interrupted, looking around the room.
“Do what?”
“Make your voice sound like that. That. That.” She decreased her voice at each repetition, a poor imitation of the Genie’s grand words.
“Um.” He paused. This was off-script. “I don’t know, it’s what I do. People expect it, usually. I can change it.” He dropped the effects, and his voice fell into the room with his normal cadence.
“Can you do other voices?” she asked. He watched as the excitement bubbled through her, barely restrained as she sat on the carpet. She was coiled like a spring about to explode.
“Of course. I am an all-powerful Genie, I can—“
“Can you sound like a duck?” She giggled at her own joke.
Genie quacked twice to prove a point, sending the little one into a rolling fit of laughter. As she recovered, she looked up at him. “Ask me to be a bear.”
He complied with the request, then raised an eyebrow at the meager growl and snarl she produced.
He had a job to do, he reminded himself, shaking off the frivolity and adopting a serious mask again. “Judy Clark, I have been summoned to grant you—“
“How did you get into my room?” There was sudden suspicion, as if she had only now realized giant genies had not always lived in her small room.
“You rubbed the lamp,” the Genie said and waved toward the dented and dusty brass lamp lying to the side in a pink and blue blanket.
She followed his motion. “You mean my teapot? Do you live in there?”
“When I’m not granting wishes,” he replied with an edge of bitterness to his voice.
“Can I see?” Before he could consider her words, she was on her feet and scooping up the lamp. She opened the lid and peered inside, seeing only more dust and a few rust stains inside. There was shock and hurt on her face as she turned back to him. “You’re not supposed to lie.”
He felt a blush of shame at the gentle rebuke. “No, it’s magic, see.” With a wave of his hand, he transported them to his dwelling. It was archaic, plump cushions and ornate drapery that hearkened back to the time of his imprisonment ages ago. A prison gilded in decadence was still a prison.
For a moment, the child was still. She looked around, head swinging from one end of the room to the other as her eyes tried to absorb everything. “Woah,” came the soft exhale, followed quickly by a rushed, “Do you jump on them?” She pointed to a pile of pillows lumped in one corner, shoved aside to make room for his daily pacing.
The question left Genie unbalanced, trying to orient his perspective with this innocent, vibrant one. No, the simple answer was he had never considered jumping on the pillows. That seemed ridiculous. Jus the image was absurd, nonetheless actually doing so. But her eyes were so hopeful.
“No, but do you want to try with me?” Her head bobbed as if it would fall off, and she was already running across the space to dive into the pile. She flung herself into the fray, and Genie followed behind. He took a more measured, calm approach. But her laughter was infectious. Soon, even he was smiling. Her hair flurried about her in wild tangles, gap-toothed grin flashing at him as she continued up and down.
He tired first, sitting down against the wall while she forged on ahead. Not long after, even she gave up. Her breath came in heavy pants, but the smile never wavered.
“This is awesome. You have the best bedroom.”
Genie gave a thin smile. Sure, it was fine if you could leave whenever you wanted to. But after time to memorize every crack in the wall, it was harder and harder to appreciate the “fun.” Still, that smile broke down a few eons worth of grimace etched into his face, so he had to give her some credit.
“But you don’t have any toys,” she said after a thoughtful pause.
“You speak true, Judy Clark. Let us return to your home now.” The walls disintegrated around them, returning them to a child’s bedroom littered with stuffed animals, crayons, and picture books.
Judy hurried over to a shelf crowded with toys and began to look for something, tongue peeking from between her lips with the force of her concentration. Finally, her face brightened and she pulled a floppy-eared bunny from the collection.
“You can have Boopsy to keep in your room so you don’t get lonely.” There was a confident finality to her voice that Genie did not dare argue with. Instead, he gently cupped the toy into his large hands, holding it tight.
The moment was broken by a call from the hallway outside. ‘Wash up,” it heeded.
Judy startled like a flock of doves. “Uh-oh,” she said with gravity beyond her years. “It’s dinner time. You have to go home.” She lunged toward the lamp and shoved it into his hands, nearly displacing treasured Boopsy.
“But your wishes!”
She paid little heed to him, instead glancing over her shoulder toward the sound of footsteps. “I don’t need any wishes,” she responded. “I just wanted someone to play with. Can you come back tomorrow?”
Genie looked into her eyes, round and hopeful. “Of course,” he said softly, “your wish is my command.”
Terse Tales: Homecoming
Theme: Song Prompt – “No Place Like Home” by Todrick Hall
Jessica wept over the sundered bodies of the two priests. They were echoing sobs that reached into the deep parts of the world and rebounded back. “You said you could help.” The words crept out of her, painting desperation across the walls.
And then someone else was in the room. Jessica scrambled away, throwing her arms up as if they could stop the power she had inside her. “Stay back,” she cried. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The stranger took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of blood and death. Then a long exhale to assess the scene. “Do not fear, child. Help has arrived.”
She shook her head wordlessly.
“It’s true. No more of their lies.”
“They said it would work,” she said in the gaps between tears.
His face twisted into something far from kindness, but heavy with sincerity. For the first time in years, Jessica felt as if someone was truly seeing her. “They could never help something like you.”
“What?”
He stood and walked toward her, extending a hand. “Follow me. It’s time you come home.”
Trembling, she reached for the offered hand, then recoiled; she might destroy him, too. He smirked and pulled her effortlessly to her feet.
“But the possession—“
A crackling laugh splintered the air before he responded. “You were never possessed. It just took time for you to come into your powers. But you’ve learned all you can here.”
“What do you mean—learned all I can?”
He adopted the tone you would use to explain the world to a child. “You can’t torture humans if you’ve never walked in their skin. But the nightmare’s over.” With a snap of his finger, a portal appeared. It hummed with a song she had known since her first breath. Comfort soothed tattered nerves.
Home.
Foxglove Fair
Jeffrey could not remember exactly how he came to the fair, but he knew he had been walking between the tents for what seemed like hours. Before that, he had been driving, following dutifully along his phone’s directions. And then they diverged, leading him down a forgotten dirt road between fallow fields. Until on the horizon, there it was, a cacophony of fabric, color, and tents.
Now he looked at his phone, the compass roving across the map like a lost dog. The only thing he could depend on it for was to be faulty. At least the battery hadn’t died. It hadn’t even moved in all the time he’d been walking.
The ticket seller had greeted him upon his arrival. “Welcome to Foxglove Fair,” he said with excitement. “Because a little will heal ya’, and a lot will kill ya’,” he cackled.
Free admission had won him over. A place to stretch his legs, find some of that tantalizing food he could smell wafting from within its confines. He pressed onward, diving into the maze of tents and lights. They swirled around him, drawing him in. He began to fear the fermenting disorientation brewing in his mind, but he followed his ears and his nose. The smell was just over there. The lilt of voices just beyond that tent.
That had been at first, before his shoes had worn blisters and his legs ached with the constant motion forward. Now the air burdened him, laden with the flavor of grease and sugar. The shadows of people merry in frivolity taunted him.
As the tents continued to close in, there was the ticket seller. He stood in the path, grin wide and teeth reflecting back moonlight. “Ah, there you are, Jeff.” Jeffrey watched as limbs unfolded from the smiling man’s back, lifting him into the air on tremulous spider legs.
Jeffrey tried to move, but the ground was sticky. He looked down, seeing telltale wisps of spun sugar. Fairy floss flowed freely from the looming figure, weaving toward its hapless prey.
As the spider stalked nearer and the sugar cocoon tightened, Jeffrey felt a spark of relief. At least he could stop walking.
Terse Tales: Open and Shut
Theme: Whodunnit
Charles was relieved the innkeeper did the reasonable thing upon finding a body and called for the village medium. Marik’s name was listed in his daily schedule, still open on the desk. An open and shut case. The dastardly crook would hang for his crimes.
“Speak, Spirit,” the psychic intoned. “Show me your killer.” She flapped about the room like a trapped bird seeking freedom. Charles mustered his strength and tipped over the water glass on the desk, spilling a trail straight to the book.
“Water,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Perhaps poison?” She looked to the innkeeper for confirmation, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
“There’s an awful lot of blood for poison,” the innkeeper answered.
The medium took in the body for the first time, then rolled her eyes toward the ceiling again. Charles waved his invisible hands in front of her face.
“Spirit, another sign. Have your vengeance.”
Charles sighed and focused on the cup of writing implements on the desk. They toppled, quills spilling directly onto the book itself. The mystic dove toward the desk and lifted a letter opener, triumphant.
“The murder weapon.” She stole a glance toward the innkeeper, who would not meet her gaze. When she looked at the body again, she noticed the large cavern on the side of its head, significantly larger than the letter opener.
“Spirit, I implore—“
Charles waved the pages of the book, letting a few flutter open. There was no mistaking this.
She seized the diary. “A journal—and it’s open to the twelfth of harvest. You know what this means?” Not waiting for the response, she sashayed from the room. “The killer’s birthday. We’ll have them soon.”
Charles groaned and sank into the chair. It seemed he would have to wait a while for justice.
The Devil You Know
The final echoes of the incantation faded from around her, giving way to a pop and puff of smoke. Lorelei squinted through the murk to see what awaited her, heart pounding as she held her breath.
It cleared to reveal…nothing?
That was a shock to her system, the sudden dissipation of the adrenaline that had kept her going. She felt deflated, staring into the black room and seeing nothing.
“Sorry to disappoint,” croaked something from the shadows. She leaned over the chalk lines to peer in closer, but no form materialized.
“Down here,” she heard. Lorelei looked down to the wood floor scored by white lines and runes. Something was there, a form almost human. Its eyes bulged a bit too much. And even without light, the skin managed to glisten with a sickly luster.
“I must have made a mistake,” she said to herself, immediately returning to her notes to find the misstep.
“Real nice, toots. Summon me here like this, then call me a ‘mistake.’ Real professional.”
Lorelei dropped the sheaf of notes and stared at the creature fuming in the center of her ritual. “I’m sorry. I meant to summon a demon, but—“
“Well, lucky you. I’m Jimmy. Been a demon as long as I’ve been…well, whatever I’ve been.”
“But I—you—“ The words faltered in the air as the moisture dried from her mouth.
“Oh, forgive me. You were probably envisioning some giant horned thing. Maybe all muscle? Seductive smile? Are you always this racist, or is it only toward demons?”
“I—I mean, I’m not racist, I just—“
“You just swallow whatever nonsense Hollywood’s peddling these days. Ya’ know most of those losers owe me for their success, but can’t even get my good side in frame.” He began to pick at his nails, flinging the detritus around the room.
“You can make a bargain?”
Jimmy fixed her with a flat stare, disgust etched in every line of his face. “First, you drag me into this rundown dump. Then you insult me. Now, you question my competence. Listen, lady, my patience is growing thin—“
“I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before.”
“It shows,” he shot back. Jimmy took a steadying breath. “Let’s try again. Whaddya want?”
“I want to be, uh, if you can—“ She withered beneath his redoubled glare. “Of course you can. I want to be president.”
“President? That all? Easy enough. And, given your general air of incompetence, I’m sure you’ll do swell.” The words balanced perfectly between sarcasm and sincerity.
“And all you need is—“
“The usual, your soul. If you’re wanting to go into politics, you won’t need one anyway.”
A pen materialized, dwarfing Jimmy’s form. He lifted it without effort, however, and shoved it towards her.
“Contract’s on the table. Sign and I’ll handle the rest.”
Lorelei placed her shaking signature on the line, watching as the contract then whirled into itself and vanished.
“I’d say it was a pleasure, but” Jimmy shrugged, “we both know that’s a lie. Be seein’ ya.”
And Lorelei was alone in the dark.
The Cat’s Meow
The sun was warm when I lay down, but had the audacity to hide behind the trees in the intervening hours. It was getting more and more difficult to find anyone with any sense of consideration in this world. I stretched, claws scraping across the leafy grass. Something moved beside me, and I hunkered down, eyes tracking and tail swishing slowly behind. Dinner? Was I really feeling fast food tonight?
There was a flash of grey among the other grey, and I could hear calm breaths. A rested mouse meant a longer chase. It was starting to get cool, and I had spent the day letting my muscles rest and recover. It would be a shame to throw that away. I relaxed. At least I was a benevolent god to my subjects.
Birds chastised me overhead, and in response I rolled onto my back, letting the pine needles and dirt massage away all the worries and stresses. Like who kept spraying by the pine tree down on McLary’s farm, or why that white cat with the gold eyes never came outside. Or worst, what ignorant dimwit had decided dogs were a good idea with their loud barks, slobbery mouths, and ferocious tails. That proved our world was run by no loving creator.
My reverie was interrupted by the jingle of food falling into a bowl down by the Johansen’s house. I had spent the day saving my energy for this moment, and now I sprinted with all my might toward the picket fence and the smiling girl in her pigtails.
“Hi, Fluffy,” she said with that garbled voice of the tiny humans. I paid her no heed, but dove into the food bowl.
Vatnor arrived after me, ears pulled back in annoyance.
“Save some for the rest of us, Agnoth,” she hissed.
“No, no, Sparkles” intoned the little one, wagging a finger. Vatnor flicked her tail, but sat quietly.
After filling my belly, I stepped away, making sure to leave a reasonable portion. More than the she-beast had left for me yesterday, at least. After all, I was a benevolent god, unlike some.
I wandered over to a nearby deck chair and settled in, washing off the remains of my prior exertion. Perhaps I could find a way to train the human to bring the food to me, so that I did not have to worry about all this running. That was an idea that deserved some further contemplation. Taking my own good advice, I closed my eyes to meditate on this possibility.
During my careful consideration, the sun fully set. It was not winter yet, but my fur bristled at the cooling temperatures. Overhead, a full moon hung heavy in the sky. Hell. That meant that robed one would be expecting some sort of answer. If he didn’t have five of my lives in his grasp, I probably would have kept sleeping. Instead, I dropped to the ground and made my way to the forest.
Could I train him to come to me, too? The thought percolated as I traipsed through the neighborhood streets, slinking from yellow streetlight to yellow streetlight. The cat from McLary’s farm was apparently wandering father now. Soon it would become my problem. I left a calling card of my own and continued.
The woods reached up around me, as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. This was much nicer, now. Why did humans have to ruin everything with their “lights” and “sounds” and “houses”? Life used to be good before they got here.
At least they fed me. A small recompense for their disruptions.
The woods housed their own denizens, skunks, raccoons, and opossums that crept along in the shadows or crawled along branches. They chattered and snarled at me, but I was on the Master’s bidding. Just to reinforce their impotence, I paused briefly beneath a tall oak to clean my hind legs. It was good to be the king.
The man stood tall, but smelled like no man. There was just an absence, an emptiness in my nose as I grew near. His long robes draped on the ground around him, scratchy and thin. I tried to sleep on them once before, but it was absolutely impossible to get comfortable. Typical human nonsense—all the form, none of the function.
“What news do you bring me, Agnoth?” he asked in that raspy voice.
I stretched and found a comfortable spot on a patch of moss, moonlight falling on my fur. At least the sun had the decency to be warm—what good was this pesky moon, after all?
“I have continued to watch the humans as you asked. The elder Thompson boy threw a rock at me last week. And his sister laughed.”
The man sighed, motioning with his hand for me to continue. “And the Johansen’s switched to a far inferior brand of cat food. I know their dad lost his job, but seriously, you can’t cut corners like that.”
“Maybe more significant activity?”
I paused to think. “Oh, I can’t believe I did not lead with this. Trixie Smith, you know, the new woman on the block?”
The man nodded his head eagerly, leaning in. “Well, you won’t believe this, not from kind Trixie but she,” the words stung, “she got a dog.”
There was a sharp exhale from the man as he sat back suddenly. Shocked, I knew it. His words when they next came out were through gritted teeth. I had not intended to upset him so. “Yes, but anything more…serious?”
“I’m not sure there is much worse,” I responded. I’m not sure my mind could have accepted that. “Well,” a thought. Momentary, but perhaps important. “Old Mr. Dickson was acting funny.”
“The retired mob hitman?”
“Hey, your words, not mine. I just know he has the best trash around. Throws out whole plates of food sometimes. You just have to watch for the broken glass, cause he also throws out an awful lot—“
“What was he doing that was odd?”
“I mean, maybe he was just lazy or bored. But he buried—yes, buried—his latest kill without playing with it or eating it.”
“Tell me more,” the man said, leaning in again.
“I don’t know. He had this big something, but he wrapped it up in a carpet. Waste of a perfectly good napping spot, if you ask me.” I stretched again. All of this walking and talking was really a lot to ask for. “Then he dug a big hole and buried it in the back. That’s such a dog thing. And Mr. Dickson has always struck me as a cat man, myself, so I never expected—“
“He buried a body? Where?”
“Down on McLary’s farm. McLary helped him with the backhoe, too. I mean, I get it, sometimes you get bored and you’ve just got to kill something. But at least have the decency to be entertained for a bit? Or to nibble off an ear or something.”
Even from within the blackness of the hood, the man’s smile was evident. Crooked fingers pulled a piece of parchment from his robe, using a black quill to ink something to paper.
“Humans, am I right? No sense of decorum.” I felt a spot on my side and bent down to lick it clean. When I looked up, the paper and quill were gone.
“Well done, Agnoth. You have earned your reward.”
The man dropped the fish in the clearing, and I pounced. Delicious. I suppose the man left at some point, and I ambled back down to find a comfortable bush or chair to spend the night in. He’d expect more excitement next month, I was sure.
How inconsiderate.
An Application of Knowledge
Dear Mr. Stevenson,
I am writing to inform you of our receipt of your application to Lowndry’s School of Magic and Wizardry. Your application was truly impressive, including academic and social accolades which predict a bright future. However, we must regretfully decline your admittance at this time as you indicated you do not posses any magical ability. If this was in error, please amend your application.
Respectfully,
Edwin Figgleslee, Headmaster of LSMW
Dear. Mr. Stevenson,
I was thrilled to see your most recent application. However, as indicated in my prior correspondence, your lack of magical ability precludes your attendance. Unfortunately, magic is a skill that is innate, and no amount of practice or dedication will develop the skill. We would not be able to provide you an applicable education, and so cannot ethically accept your donation or request for admission. I do wish you all the best in the future.
Kindly,
Edwin Figgleslee, Headmaster of LSMW
Dear Mr. Stevenson,
I am truly humbled by your admiration of our program and your resilience. As I mentioned, your application is impressive, and you will be an asset to wherever you decide to train in your exceptional, albeit mundane, skills. I would confirm that, have your powers not manifested by this late age, you will not be developing them. No amount of expert tutelage can remedy this. If you would like me to make a recommendation for you to another institute of learning, it would be my pleasure.
Edwin Figgleslee, Headmaster of LSMW
Mr. Stevenson,
Per our previous correspondence, I do not believe there is anything further our institution can offer. While your skill in sleight of hand is admirable, we are both aware it is not consistent with magical skills. We will refund your application fee for this final time, but please do not submit again.
Edwin Figgleslee, Headmaster of LSMW
Mr. Stevenson,
Please consider this my final correspondence on the matter. I do not know of any means by which you can attain magical ability, nor would I recommend such should they exist. Laws of nature are in place for a reason. Let us end our relationship on a respectable note. Goodbye, sir, and good luck.
Edwin Figgleslee, Headmaster of LSMW
Dear gods, man, what have you done? What foul art did you call upon to evoke such an abomination? Our school will have no part in your dark ability. I do not know how you conjured such skills, but may the gods have mercy on your soul.
Edwin Figgleslee, Headmaster of LSMW
Supreme Sorcerer Stevenson,
I write to you on behalf of our late headmaster. We are impressed by your application. However, we have no reason to believe our school could add anything to your already fearsomely developed abilities. We asked to only be left in peace to continue training of our students, who may one day hope to attain your greatness. Please accept our kind regards. We do not wish for further trouble.
Kendra Sheffield, Acting Headmaster of LSMW
Keep Your Friends Close…
The loose gravel of the path crunched beneath my feet as I paused to enjoy the hints of warmth that filtered down between the branches. The air was crisp and chill, portend of a bitter winter on the horizon. But the sun felt soothing on my face and I took in that moment of calm.
“Dave! There you are!”
The sound sent splintering cracks through the moment, and I felt myself wince. At the top of the hill, I could see a figure in a bright yellow coat making its way down to meet me, arms briefly raised in greeting before dropping to help maintain balance on the slight grade from hill to woods. Two more figures, not looking up, hands in their pockets, followed behind. I raised an arm in response, waiting.
The three reached me shortly, slightly out of breath but smiling. They nodded in greeting as we stood, waiting on some signal to start the next phase. As if to scold us for our dawdling, the wind picked up to a brisk snap.
“Guess we can’t always get perfect weather, eh?” said a man I did not know, breaking the inertia that had settled over our small group.
“Oh, right, Dave, this is my cousin Alex. I texted you and Jaime about him a few weeks back? Alex, Dave.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex,” I responded, taking his outstretched and gloved hand.
“Same. Lewis didn’t tell me I’d be coming out to freeze to death on this adventure.”
“It’s September still; the weather should be perfect. Just did not bank on having our first cold snap of the season so early.” Lewis grumbled and pulled a map from his back pocket to study it as he pouted.
“Oh come on, once we get moving everything will warm up just fine. And if not, it’s nothing a couple of drinks won’t help.” Jaime tapped the side of his pack with a sturdy pop.
“Are you all ready to begin?” I asked, flexing my hands in my gloves and looking toward the path ahead of us. The others peered toward the overhanging branches, their smiles fading slightly. Things looked particularly drab further into the wilds, despite the bright sun. The saving grace was that, farther in, the pines picked up and the wind cover improved significantly.
“I guess we best get moving. Dark will fall fast!” Lewis surged forward, clearly hoping his enthusiasm would reinfect those from whom the cold had stolen it. The others followed at a less eager pace, shifting their packs and trying to maintain the smiles on their faces. It would be fun— it always was—but we had to take those first steps.
As we walked, I felt tension sliding off me, comfort replacing that pressure with each step away from the border and into the forest. It closed in around us, welcoming me into the place I belonged. I bristled at that assumption, as if I were unable to make it out in the broader world. Still, in my current state, I was grateful for the gesture of acceptance. At least here I felt at home.
“Did you all see the warning at the trailhead?” I asked lightly as we marched through the dry leaves. Behind us, a speck now, you could still just see the sign made of cheap pine, scratched plexiglass, and graffiti.
Lewis tried to stay calm, but I could hear the edge of anxiety in his voice. “No. Is the trail out? A freeze warning? I swear checked online before we left and there was nothing.”
“No, just some crazy story. It wasn’t online?” I laughed to myself, hoping that would help them feel at ease about the old wives’ tale I was about to spin. “It was just some nonsense about monsters in the woods. Said we had to be sure to stick together or it would get us.” Alex rolled his eyes and Jaime shifted his pack, glancing around with concealed superstition. “I’m guessing some kids put it up as a prank or something,” I added as an afterthought, still doing my best to put them all back at ease.
I could almost see the stress fall off of Lewis as I spoke. “Oh, that,” he said dismissively. “Yeah, I read something about that online. Apparently, some hikers even got turned around by the park rangers once about it.”
“Really?” asked an incredulous Jamie. “What’s the story?”
Lewis sighed. “Some old legend around here about a body snatcher or something. Dave, you read the sign, what did it say?”
“It was talking about some old creature that stalks the woods. The warning said to make sure you stay with your party, because it preys upon lonely travelers. The legend says it will steal their form, so if your friend disappears and reappears…”
I let their minds wander with that thought a bit, stretching the tension before laughing. “But, honestly, what place does not have its urban legend?”
Lewis jumped back in. “They said that a long time ago, back when this forest was just a few scraggly trees, something evil hunted the indigenous people. They’d never go into the woods alone, because they would not be the ones to return. Once inside the camp, with everyone at peace, it would tear into them and slaughter a whole village. You couldn’t trust anyone.”
“Well, that’s grim,” muttered Alex.
I shrugged. “You know those stories were always there to keep people in line. Don’t want your villagers wandering off and getting eaten by some animal? Invent a boogeyman.”
“Yeah, but the rangers around here apparently take it very serious. They’ll escort you out if you’re alone,” Lewis added with an air of a protective parent. You could almost hear the ‘So, stay close now, ya’ hear?’ in the end of his comment.
“So, we’re here hiking with a monster that wants to kill us and take our faces?” asked Jaime as he continued along the path.
I shrugged. “If you believe the sign, it said the villagers trapped the beast in this forest using powerful wards. But who knows,” I added with a flourish, “perhaps those wards are weak. Perhaps the monster is strong.” I laughed, but no one joined me.
“It is a full moon tonight,” said Alex. He pulled the straps of his pack around a bit tighter. We turned to study him for a moment.
“It’s an unnamed, ancient evil,” said Lewis with dripping sarcasm, “not a werewolf, Al.”
“You know what they say,” added Jaime with a crooked smile,” keep your friends close!”
With that, everyone seemed to understand it was time to drop the topic, conversation struggling back toward mundane topics. How were the kids? The job? What was for dinner? I was hungry, but it was not the time, and so I listened and walked. I let it wash over me, taking in what I could glean and leaving the flow of conversation to trickle through my mind like wind through the trees.
As we walked, the shadows pulled in closer. We traveled from the sparse trees near the trailhead to deep, dark conifers swaying in the high breezes. I could hear the trees creaking and groaning with the force of wind, whispering in the language of pine needles high above our heads. But the wind barely reached us below, leaving it still under the protective cover of the trees. Unfortunately, they also blocked the meager warmth offered by the sun as well. I had been through worse, I reasoned.
Lewis and Jaime chattered ahead of me about the path, camping plans, and other minutiae that I was happy to leave to them. Alex walked a few paces behind me, his steps an echo to my own. I fell back until we were walking side-by-side.
“So, you’re Lewis’ cousin?”
“Not that I claim him, but yeah. He and I grew up together. Been trying to get me out here for years now, and I am really hoping this shuts him up.”
“I’m not sure there is much that will,” I said with a smile I intended to be friendly. Alex eyed me, then broke into a grin of his own.
“I’d say you two must really go back, but I think that’s the first thing most people pick up about Lew.”
I shrugged. Alex picked up the trail of conversation I left hanging. “So, what do you do when you aren’t trekking through the woods?”
“A little of this, a little of that. I come out here mostly to stop talking about it.” That was not a topic I was prepared to share with a stranger, and I did my best to keep it light. However, Alex’s smile faltered at the perceived offense
“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to bring up—“
“It’s fine,” I returned, doubling my smile. “Just here to enjoy right now. What about you?”
“Sales,” Alex said awkwardly. “And chasing after my kids. Lew said you had a couple yourself?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “They definitely keep me busy. Nice to finally have some quiet.”
Alex laughed along with me in a polite gesture. “I hear that,” he returned, nodding. “They want to go to Disney World next spring. So first I’m burning vacation to follow Lew through the woods, then I’ll be losing my mind in the happiest place on earth.” He shook his head. “Family, right?”
We came up short as Lewis and Jaime settled onto a small outcropping of rocks, swinging their backpacks to the ground.
“Water break,” said Jaime as he unscrewed the lid off his canteen.
“Trail mix?” offered Lewis and extended a plastic bag.
I took a small handful and chewed. It was mealy and overly sweet, but I smiled. “Thanks, Lew.”
He paused, giving me a dramatic look. “Of course, Alex would revive that family classic, huh?” I gave him a puzzled look, which he did not seem to notice, focusing instead on his cousin. “You call me Lew, I get to call you Al, got it?”
Alex smiled mischievously. “Sorry, forgot you preferred Lewis now.” Lewis simply rolled his eyes and gave him a shove, which Alex recovered from easily. “And it is Lewis, right? Not Lord Lewis Pennyforth the Third, Esquire?”
Rather than replying, Lewis simply bent over his pack and stowed the trail mix. When he stood up, I saw a good-humored smile on his face before he announced the resumption of our trek.
_____
As the sun dimmed, we settled into a small clearing to camp. It was barely even deserving of the term clearing, but space between the trees did leave us room to set up tents and a pit for the fire.
The tent supplies were a puzzle to me, but I was always observant. I did my best to follow along the steps of the others, mimicking to the best of my ability. I always felt my ability to adapt and learn was one of my greatest strengths, and yet this chaos of fabric and poles was easily besting me. Lewis finally caught sight of my struggle.
“I know it has been a while, but I didn’t think you’d be that rusty,” he chided, coming alongside and helping organize the mess I had created.
I laughed, doing my best to shrug off the comment. “Not all of us can have such a perfect memory.”
“Yeah, but you were telling me about camping out back with your kids. You get them to put up the tent? At the rate you’re going, you’d all be sleeping under the stars.”
“They’re smart kids,” I shot back with a short laugh. Lewis returned the sound, his eyes never leaving the soon-to-be tent in his hand.
Under his careful guidance, my tent soon joined the others beneath the trees, secured and ready for a good night’s rest. I stood back with him to look at it, both nodding in satisfaction.
“You’re on your own tomorrow, though,” he said and moved to help with other parts of the nightly setup. I felt confident that was one challenge I could certainly meet.
_____
The fire crackled and snapped between us as we sat and let the evening fade into full night. We ate, we drank, and conversation bubbled up and down into the night. Lewis’s boss was a dick. Jaime wanted to sleep with the neighbor down the hall. Alex wanted to fit in. I took it all in, letting their stories and their lives surround me for that moment. There was so much of the world that I had never experienced, and so I floated vicariously along the waves of their stories.
When it came time for me to join in, I offered my boring additions. Kids, family, the uneventful life that they knew I inhabited. Maybe my boss was a dick, too, and maybe there was someone else I’d rather sleep with, but all I knew right then was one sliver of life. They smiled and nodded, then turned to more exciting fare. All the better, I told myself.
Conversation dwindled as the fire grew lower, stoked time and again with the supply of timber haphazardly stacked just on the edge of shadow. The canteens had been refilled almost as many times as well, but even then the laughter was giving way to longer pauses of silence. Jaime was the first to head into his tent while Lewis drifted in and out of sleep where he sat, back against a tree. It was probably polite to wake him and help him to his tent. But I sat, breath highlighted in the dark air, and let the quiet music of the forest settle on my shoulders with a familiar calm.
“Wolves,” said Alex beside me.
I pulled my eyes away from the fire. It had been far too long since I had sat and appreciated the flames, and I found its hypnotic powers still held hold over me. Power, danger, life. Everything I wanted in those flickering flames. But I looked instead at Alex.
His eyes were distant, looking toward the fire, but not taking in anything at all. He took another sip from his canteen–it had been hours since it held any water, and I could see the impact on him.
“Wolves,” he said again with a sage nod. “It was wolves, wasn’t it? In that story about the monster and the village?”
“You mean from the sign? That story?”
He nodded, eyes never moving, and then took another drink. “I bet they were really worried about wolves. Some big wolves got in and caused chaos. Ate some hunters. And then someone made up a monster in the woods to scare all the kids.”
“I guess that could be,” I said, hoping that would settle whatever was bothering him about the tale. I wished he would just forget at this stage. Would be easier for everyone.
But he seemed fixed. “There’s no such thing as monsters, Dave. No such thing.”
I was not sure who he was trying to convince, but it seemed fruitless either way. “Of course there’s no such thing as monsters. Just a campfire story.”He chuckled, the same somber expression on his face. “Just a story,” he repeated, lapsing into silence. After that, I finally decided it would be best to take myself to my tent, just on the edge of the fire’s glow. I tapped Lewis on the shoulder on my way.
“Hey, want to head to your tent?” He blinked at me, confused for a moment before smiling.
“Yeah, got a big day tomorrow.” He stood unsteady on his feet and moved toward the tent, back of his yellow coat blinking in and out of shadow with the flickering firelight. As I zipped my tent closed, I saw Alex still sitting in the protective light of the fire, mind a thousand years away from us as he contemplated ancient evil.
I heard him stumble past my tent later in the night, the firelight having dimmed considerably by then. He walked out into the dark of the trees, drunkenly weaving through the underbrush. Clearly, he was not worried about monsters in the woods despite the earlier discussion. Of course, him being out there half-drunk was unlikely to keep him any safer. I eased out of my tent and set off at a distance behind him, eyes trained on the beam of his flashlight through the trees.
Once he was out of view of the camp, the tents mere blips in the shadows, he stopped to relieve himself. There was silence in the woods, as if even the wind held its breath. Not a cricket, not a rustle of leaves. I felt a jolt run through me as the hair on my body stood. That was the only warning before the peace descended into total mayhem as the purported monster launched itself from the darkness. I saw what happened in a flash of claws, fangs, blood, and animal instinct. Everything within me blossomed into activity, but one thing rang through my mind. Silence. Silence was the key to safety, because if I was heard, then…I tried not to think about all I would lose if I could not, in this moment, stay silent. One moment Alex was in front of me and then he was on the ground at the mercy of some indescribable creature.
The sounds of flesh ripping and tearing, of animal grunting, filled my ears. Alex never had a chance to make a sound, and the whole process was surprisingly muted. Without fanfare, it was over, leaving only me and Alex’s still-warm body. The forest settled back into place in a futile attempt to hide the violence that had just happened. It was easy to see how someone could be out here alone and disappear. Nature did not care, trying only to cover the rend caused by supernatural destruction as quickly as possible. There was no mercy.
I could see steam rise in the air from where his blood spilled on the ground, knowing soon even that would vanish. It would be as if we had never even been there. Humans, at least, took time to mark such tragedy, to sanctify places. There was no sanctity in this death.
I was lucky, I thought, that nothing had caught sight of me. We could both be dead right now, but somehow I was lucky enough to walk away. I was terrified to stay there by the remains, and I knew I had to tell the others. I crept back to the tents, every branch and leaf creaking impossibly loud around me. If I was going to survive, they had to know. But I could not overlook how dangerous this was. Part of me wanted to crawl into my tent and wake in the morning as if nothing had happened. But even with my fear, I knew that plan was certain destroy any hope I had.
I stood in the middle of the camp for a few moments, eyes flipping between the tents as I tried to figure out what the course of action was here. Some part of me still whispered I should go back to sleep and try to wash this away with layer upon layer of denial. It was tempting in the way passivity always is, but certainly as deadly. I knew what I had to do, but I could not forget how important the next steps were. I unzipped Lewis’ tent, whispering his name as loud as I dared. He always seemed to be the leader, the one with a plan when no one else knew what to do. I whispered again, tugging at whatever part of his sleeping bag I could grab in the light.
He was groggy when he woke, cursing and pushing me away. I saw his shoulders surge and settle back as he rolled back over. I tried again, resolved to wake Jaime if I met resistance.
“Lewis, something’s out there. Something got Alex.”
“What are you talking about?” He snapped, sitting up and glowering at me. His hair stood in all directions, and he rubbed aggressively at his eyes. I could almost watch as my words bored through the layers of sleep and fatigue surrounding him, his face settling into the innocent fear of a child. “What happened to Alex?” he whispered, more quickly now.
I felt my mouth opening and closing as the words stuck in my throat. “He—“ came the first sound, letting the words stuck behind it tumble out—“ The monster got him. I saw it.”
For a moment, he almost appeared relieved. “Come on Dave, it’s too late for a joke like that.” He scanned my face over and over, waiting for that crack of a smile, some sign of surrender that let him know he had seen through the joke.
“Alex is dead.”
Lewis was suddenly clawing free of his sleeping bag, barreling past me in the mouth of the tent.
“Alex?” He called, looking around in the poorly lit clearing. He stormed over to the empty tent and pulled it open, revealing nothing within. “Al?” He called again.
By now, Jaime was up, blinking eyes at the commotion and trying to piece together the situation with the scraps he could surmise.
“Alex is missing?” he yawned, fully exiting his tent.
Before I could answer, Lewis was back next to me, his hands ensnared in the lapel of my coat. “You said you saw it?” Show me, show me where he is.” There was rage and tears mingling in his voice.
“Lewis, I don’t know if—“
“Show me!”
It felt unwise to return to the scene of the kill, and yet I also felt I had no choice. This could get out of hand very quickly. And so I led the two of them back through the forest, doing my best to remember the bobbing path of the flashlight until we stood in front of a tree. I found it mostly by smell, the copper tang of blood, the stench of torn flesh. It was hard to tell that the remains had once been human, but enough clothing remained to confirm the worst fears.
Lewis added the smell of vomit to the mix, and Jaime stood back nearly hyperventilating. I turned and saw his hands on his head, eyes wide in the moonlight.
“What did this?” Jaime said at a half-whisper, never looking away.
“It was that monster. The thing from the sign,” I told him frantically, glancing between him and Lewis and trying not to let my eyes linger on the blood-soaked meat on the ground.
“There’s no such thing as monsters,” said Jaime. No one seemed to listen, however, because there were clearly monsters now.
“But you were here,” snapped Lewis, wiping his mouth with his hand and standing. He fixed me with a glare. “You were here, so he should have been safe. That’s what they said. That’s the story.” His voice rose steadily ads he spoke, turning into a near scream at the end.
“I—I don’t,” my mind was racing. “I guess it didn’t see me. I…I hid.”
“You just let it do this?” yelled Lewis, taking quick steps toward me. “You let it tear him apart/”
“What was I supposed to do?”
Lewis continued toward me, and I got the strong feeling that I was instead going to have to fight my way out of here. However, Jaime stepped in. His breathing was normal, but neither his eyes of his flashlight ever came close to that forsaken spot on the ground.
“Lewis, it would have just killed them both. It’s some, I don’t know, some bear or wolf or something. We need to get out of here and get help.”
Lewis and I were speaking over each other. It was no bear. A wolf couldn’t do this. It was the monster. I’m not sure which of us was more focused on convincing Jaime more.
“Fine!” he yelled, his calm façade cracking to glimpse the panic beneath. “You’re probably right. It was some nightmare beast out here. That makes it even more true. We have to get out of here.”
“Just leave?” snapped Lewis.
“Yeah,” said Jaime as if shocked anyone had a different idea. “We’re sitting ducks for whatever did that. We can’t stay here.”
“And it’s the middle of the night. You want to try and hike out of here in the dark?”
“If there is some monster out here, you’re damn right I’m getting back to civilization as soon as possible. At least far enough out to get a signal to call 911.” Jaime’s breath came in quick, short puffs of white, quicker each passing moment.
They stood on the opposite sides of the scene, and I could feel the divide between them deepen, both staring at the other as if that would determine the victor.
“We go back to camp and wait for daylight,” said Lewis with a devastating calm in his voice. “Then we leave and bring the rangers back here for Alex.”
“You’re a fool if you think I’m sitting in those tents and wait to be killed,” shot back Jaime, hand regripping the flashlight as waves of tension coiled throughout his body.
“It can’t hurt us if we stay together,” reminded Lewis, trying his best to regain control in the moment after having lost it so completely moments ago. I was fascinated watching him reconstruct himself piece by piece in the moonlight. Jaime faltered, appearing ready to settle back in to the group’s usual routine. Lewis was the leader.
“But I was with Alex,” I added just above a whisper, trying not to look at either of them in that moment. I did not know if I could remain composed if I had to look either of them in the eye.
“We’re not safe as long as we’re in these woods,” Jaime said, turning and walking back toward the tents. Lewis followed, and I trailed behind them.
“Jaime, you can’t be serious right now. You’re going to go out there and break a leg. Or fall into a ravine. Or end up walking in circles all night.”
“And you’d have us get ripped limb from limb,” he yelled over his shoulder, continuing his determined march. Once back to the tents, he grabbed his pack and threw it on his shoulder before throwing the beam of his flashlight along the trees.
Lewis continued his please, fear and anger coming in equal measures. “Jaime, it just ate.” I could see him choke on that word, but continue in stride. “We’ve got time.”
“Nothing killing for food leaves that much behind, Lewis. It’s playing with us. Dave, you coming?” Jaime nodded his head toward the way out, the subtle path we followed to set camp. I stood at an impasse.
“You can’t leave me out here alone,” said Lewis, defeat in his voice.
“Lewis, I just don’t know. If it’s out here—“
“You don’t have to be alone, Lewis. Just come with us tonight, and we’ll get to safety.”
“No, Jaime, we’ll just die lost in the woods. I’m not leaving here until I can at least see the damned path!”
I looked back and forth between them, mind trying to play out every scenario I could think of. I was concerned not only about their fate, but my own. If Jaime left, I would have to work to find him later. If I went with Jaime, I could always find Lewis again. Both ways had their benefits and risks, and I got a sense that regardless of my choice then, they were both doomed. What gave me the best chance of survival?
“I’m not waiting, Dave,” said Jaime as he turned toward the path. My hands reflexively latched onto my bag and pulled it to my shoulders.
“Sorry, Lewis, I can’t stay here after…” He would not meet my gaze, would not look at either of us. I glanced back as we left the clearing, long enough to see him sitting and stoking the dull embers of the fire with a far-off look in his eyes.
“I don’t know if we should leave him alone,” I said to Jaime, but he did not give any indication he heard me. “They say that thing targets people alone in the woods, we—“
Jaime gave a cold, sardonic laugh. “Beasts hunt when you are vulnerable. And trust me, we all are right now.”
For a bit, the firelight behind us offered some soft illumination in the branches, but that was soon swallowed up by the pressing dark, leaving only the glow of the full moon overhead. I looked back, and the campsite was invisible, hidden by the slopes and trees, some indistinct point somewhere behind us. Jaime marched on silently, face set with his eyes forward and jaw locked. The only sound was the gentle pant of breath as he pushed himself more and more quickly away from the camp and toward escape. We were alone.
And again, the forest settled into silence around us, all of the natural world holding its breath as it hid from what was to come.
Just like before, one moment was peace and the next was terror. Only it was not as perfect as Alex, and Jaime had time to take in what was happening.
“Dave!” he cried as the claws came down, catching his shoulder instead of his throat. He rolled away, and the next swipe knocked him to the ground. Again, the smell of blood blossomed in my nose, overwhelming everything. Like before, I felt that surge of animal instinct that ricocheted through my body, every sense attuned and pushed to its limit.
“Dave, wh-” came the confused, terrified cry again, but it cut short with finality. His body stopped moving along the ground, and I could hear a self-satisfied rumble echo through the air. I could taste the iron from the eruption of blood as teeth and claws ripped apart the man who had been so certain of his course only moments before.
With Jaime dead, the monster satisfied and never sated, I did the only thing I could in that moment. I turned, fleeing back the way we came toward the assumed safety of the fire and the campsite. I knew Lewis would be there, a small confidence as the forest floor skimmed beneath my feet.
In light of everything, I felt some spark inside me spring to life. I was lucky. I was safe, even as others had succumbed, and I felt a surge of confidence that as long as I stayed careful, I was going to come out of this. I simply had to find Lewis.
I looked intently between the tree trunks for any glimmer of firelight, sniffed the air for any hint of smoke on the breeze. We had walked at a good pace away from camp, but it could not have been that far. I had to be close.
“Lewis?” I called out, panic wending through my voice. “Lewis, where are you?”
I stopped to listen, because I knew he had to hear me. Maybe he had even heard Jaime’s cries in those final moments.
Every sense was straining at to its very limit as I searched for the camp. I let them wander to their very limits, seeking any clue, but there was so much chaos in the forest tonight. So much blood.
I looked to the ground, eyes picking up the signs of our trail in the moonlight. These subtle signs were never my strength, but I had to make do.
“Lewis!” I called out again, and this time was greeted by a beam of light rising from a few degrees to the east.
“Dave?” came back through the dark.
I turned and set off toward the flashlight’s signal, loping between the trees as the other cues filled in around me. Now I could smell the blood from Alex’s body nearby, the lazy drift of smoke in the air. The moonlight slowly gave way to firelight as the flashlight went from a waving beam to a steady focus. Lewis watched me as I walked up.
“Dave?” he said. “Where’s Jaime?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. This was it.
“Oh Lewis,” I smiled. “I think you and I both know what happened.”
Now that we were truly alone, I did not have to worry, I did not have to try and hide what I was or why we were here. On some level, as I dropped the human costume and stretched to my full glory, I hoped he would run. This hunt had been fun, of course, but I had plenty of moonlight left. And I felt stronger than I had in years, the blood of three victims already coursing within me. The magics were weak tonight, and so I felt confident.
I stretched, grey-black fur rippling along arms that ended in blood-tinted claws. My jaw extended to fit the rows and rows of teeth, sharpened on bone for eons now.
The flashlight ran along my form, then faltered and dropped. Lewis was screaming, words indecipherable. He scrambled toward the fire as if that were safety, and I pounced.
This is what they meant by playing with your food, but I did not mind. I had waited so long and had so many subpar meals. Tonight, I could at least revel in my victory.
The screaming was short-lived, as it always was.
I roared with pride, my call returned from across the ranges by so many similar. We always rejoiced in the victory of another, another freedom granted. I left behind the scene, legs carrying me swiftly through the trees. I could see the path before me in the moonlight now that I could unbridle my sense from their feeble human approximations.
It was dawn as I neared the edge of my captivity and prepared for my first steps into freedom. Light filtered through the trees and burned at early morning mist as I paused beside a discarded corpse. Dave lay where I left him, just on the bounds of the forest. As expected, the animals had aided me in obscuring his body. It was mostly unrecognizable as a human, and I kicked a scattering of leaves and dirt over top of it. They might find the remains, I mused, but no one would think it could be Dave. Dave, strong survivor that he was, was the only one to walk away from that nightmare.
I walked back toward the path and away from the last evidence of what had truly happened. I pulled Dave’s phone—my phone—from my pocket and thumbed the numbers Jaime had referenced earlier. “911.”
“Help,” I cried into the receiver as soon as another voice picked up. “My friends are dead.” And I smiled, leaving behind the piney wood and its meager supply of daring campers. “You have to get me out of here.”
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