365.25 Days Past

It takes the planet Earth 365.25 days (or rotations along its axis, which is currently tilted at 23.44 degrees) to make one complete revolution around the sun. On the Gregorian calendar, we begin counting day 1 on what was on average the coldest day of the year (warmest if you're on the Southern Hemisphere). Of course, it would be silly to have a 6 hour day. After all, it wouldn't be as fun to count down to 6:00 AM then it is midnight. So how do we make up for this discrepancy? We stick it on to the last month that was added to the 12-month calendar, February, every 4 years. Hence the leap year. That tidies things up both culturally and astronomically so that we can celebrate every 31st of December and countdown until midnight.

We make promises to ourselves before the new year comes in, and never follow through. We become our own politicians and forget the regrets of yesterday. Even if it is just for one night of the year, it's nice to see everyone so optimistic about the future. I have had one hell of a terrific year, if I do say so myself.

I ended my internship at the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California with a bang, headed off to Hawaii to make concrete float, graduated with a B.S. degree in civil engineering, bumped into Stan "The Man" Lee at Comic-Con, managed to unwittingly and unintentionally offend Jorge Garcia, get Jorge Garcia to send me back my poster with his autograph on it, wrote 31 stories in 31 days in celebration of Halloween, and not to mention that I can actually say I got out of Vegas with more money than I had going in.

For those of you keeping score, I did manage to get Hurley crossed off my makeshift Jacob's list. I had been nervous to send the poster seeing as how, I screwed things up royally, but I guess Karma's letting me know I can go on with my list (that was a totally unintended "Earl" reference).

Some might wonder who the old guy in the picture above is. He, along with Richard Matheson, have been the most influential writers in my creative endeavors. That is, Ray Bradbury, the most prolific writer in the United States since... well, forever, with Mark Twain a coming in a close second. You see, my project for Halloween was inspired by the great Ray Bradbury.

For those who have read the man's work, it should be no surprise that Halloween holds a special place in his heart. I've had the pleasure of meeting him many times, and every time his advice is the same: "Do what you love and love what you do... And to hell with everything else." He gave a lecture a few years ago (that I posted below) in which he was asked how he has been so prolific a writer. He started writing in his early twenties and does not show any signs of letting up as a spry, fiery 89-year-old (not too mention that he promised to live to at least 100 and have his ashes scattered on Mars). Bradbury's answer was simple.

There was no trick. Just read one short story every day for a year and write one short story a week. By year's end, that's 365 stories that you have read and 52 that you have written. Some of them may not be great and some of them may be downright horrible, but he guarantees that no writer worth his salt can write 52 bad stories. I tried to write 31 stories in 31 days, which left me exhausted. So I intend to spend the following year doing just that. And who knows? Maybe I'll actually finish a novel I start. I hope everyone haves a fantastic New Year's and in the words of John Lennon, "Let's make it a good one."

Warehouse

I.

The engine’s roar hushed to a purr before the car sputtered to a stop just outside a warehouse. It was three in the morning so, technically, it was already Halloween. The couple inside the car was young, naïve, and far from sober. Dim orange light emanated from the street lamps. A sickly blue light buzzed from the halogen bulbs sticking out from the warehouse they parked behind.

Their hands were all over each other as the windows steamed as a direct result of their uncontrollable hormones. Unfortunate, since it prevented them from seeing the masked figure approaching the car. There was a gentle rapping on the driver’s window. The young man, confused and irritated, wiped it down and saw the mask staring at him.

“What the hell are you looking at?” the young man asked. No response.

“Who is it?” the girl asked.

“Just some pervert,” his voice was dripping with arrogance, “I’ll take care of him.” He stepped out of the car. The figure was at least a foot taller than he was. “I don’t know who you think you are but--” The figure raised his hand and cut him off, pointing to something towards the rear of the car. He had a flat tire.

“Did you do this?” the young man yelled demanding an answer. The young girl was frightened; all she saw was the figure’s body. She was too scared to crawl over to see whom her date was arguing with. The boyfriend had knelt at the flat tire. The figure raised his other hand, which held a crowbar. With one swift swing to the young man’s head, there was a wet cracking sound and he was out cold.

The girl wanted to scream but couldn’t even breathe after seeing the blood splatter on the window. Secretly, she had hoped that the figure had no idea that she was there. The figure walked away from the man’s limp, lifeless body. They girl crawled over to see the body. Breath struggled to get in and out of the man’s lungs but he was still alive… barely. It scared her back inside the car. She covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming out. “At least that thing’s gone,” she told herself.

A shadow crept up behind her. She saw it crawling over her as her eyes widened in realization that there was someone behind her. The tears began to stream down her face, her mouth agape in a silent cry for help. The glass of the window behind her shattered, raining shards into the girl’s blonde hair. Two arms grabbed her from behind and by the time she managed to let a scream out, it was too late.

II.

It was morning. Jim drove to the warehouse to work a few extra hours only to find the entire place covered in police tape. Jim had to park in the other lot. He began to walk towards one of the uniformed officer when he was approached by a man in a nice suit covered by bulky a bulky overcoat. The man had a gun holstered to his hip that was exposed when the breeze flapped his coat open. A shiny badge was hanging around his neck from a loose chain.

“Do you work here, sir?” the man in the suit asked.

“Yes. What happened?” Jim inquired.

“There was a murder here. I’m Detective Carpenter,” the man in the suit answered, “We’re just about done here. Are you and that Mike kid the only ones working here?”

“No,” Jim stuttered, “Well, yes. How do you know Mike?”

“He was the one who called us here. Which is it? Yes or no?”

“For today, it’s just us two. The manager is out of town on vacation.”

“Where were you this morning between the hours of one in the morning to 4 in the morning, sir?”

“I was at home sleeping.”

“Can you confirm that?”

“No. I live alone.”

“Here’s my card. I’ll be in touch.” Detective Carpenter held out the card to Jim who nervously plucked it from the detective’s calloused fingers.

“Thank you, officer.” Jim walked into the warehouse and found Mike coming into the office from the warehouse door.

“There’s a guy coming in later about the telephone. It’s been down all morning,” Mike greeted Jim. Mike reached into his pockets and pulled out what looked to be a photo. He scoffed at it and tossed it into the wastebasket.

“I take it your date last night with the girlfriend didn’t go so well,” Jim asked.

“I found out the bitch was cheating on me.”

“I’m sorry man. I guess I won’t be meeting her anytime soon”

“I guess not.” Mike nodded his head at the wastebasket.

“This has been one crazy Halloween so far, eh?”

“Aside from the break up, not really,” Mike commented.

“Well, I was talking about the murder scene.”

“Yeah, well if you ask me, it was the highway ghost.”

“The highway ghost?”

“You don’t know?”

“Obviously not.”

“Well about fifty years ago there was a little neighborhood just up the road. Little kids would walk up this highway, which used to be a small road, to go trick or treating. One day, these teens thought it would be funny to get high and go to the houses spooking the residents popping out of trash cans and crap like that.”

“What happened? Did they get caught?”

“They never made it to the little town. One of them got run over by an 18-wheeler. His ‘friends’ left him there to die. When they finally worked up the courage to approach his bloody corpse, they freaked out. They buried his body in a shallow grave in that field just outside the warehouse.”

“So his ghost comes by every Halloween, killing people?” Jim asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Well it was just a story to tell little kids. But then when I found out about what happened this morning and it you’ve got to admit, it makes you think.” Mike took the keys to the company truck and was headed to the door. “I’ve got deliveries to make. I’ll be back in a few hours. Try not to go into the warehouse.”

“Why not?”

“The ghost might get you,” Mike chuckled. Jim nodded at him smiling and waved him goodbye as he walked out the door. The EMT was taking a corpse into the ambulance as Mike was pulling out of the driveway. Jim saw some uniformed police officers taking down the tape.

Jim worked the office and Mike worked the warehouse. That was the order of things in the warehouse, but Jim saw a discrepancy in the database and decided to check out something for himself. He went into the warehouse and cut his hand. It was just deep enough to make it look worse than it really was. Jim ran back into the offices and patched it up with the gauze. He walked back into the warehouse to look for the work gloves. It was then he remembered seeing Mike wear them as he drove off, the only pair in the building.

In the dark corner of the warehouse, Jim thought he heard an excruciating groaning. Rather than tempt fate, he locked the warehouse door and walked back into the office. Just then, there was a rustling outside, followed by heavy footsteps. Jim tiptoed his way to the front door; he opened it, stuck his head out, and found nothing. The commotion seemed to be coming from the back of the warehouse.

Jim slowly walked around the corner. A hand grabbed him on the shoulder and he jumped. A heavyset man in overalls and a tool belt was standing behind him. It was the telephone man.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m here to fix the phone lines.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Jim was jumpier than usual, “So how bad is it?”

“Bigger of a problem than I thought it was. I don’t have all the parts so I’ll be back in about an hour.” The telephone man got back in his car and drove off. Just then another painful moaning seemed to emanate from the warehouse’s back door. Jim decided to ignore it and go back to the office.

III.

Detective Carpenter arrived to the forensics lab to see what science can reveal that his eyes could not see.

“What do we got?” he asked the forensic scientist.

“We’ve got four pieces of evidence that we didn’t have before.”

“Are they helpful?”

“I think so. The murder occurred near a warehouse, right?”

“Right behind one, actually.”

“On the corpse, it looks like the wounds were made with a box cutter. I also found fibers in the victims mouth along with some glue around her mouth.”

“Fibers and glue? How is that helpful?”

“The glue looks like the type of glue they use for duct tape or that heavy duty tape they use down in storage.”

“Sounds like everything’s pointing to the warehouse, so far.”

“There’s more. There were three sets of prints found in the car.”

“Three?”

“One was the girl’s, and then there were two others. I ran them both through the system and one of them was flagged.” The scientist handed over a piece of paper with a picture on it to Carpenter.

“I know this guy. He’s a low-level drug dealer. He’s not dumb enough to pull this off, definitely not smart enough to keep me guessing this long. Who was the third set of prints?”

“Someone without a record. Have any leads?”

“It may be Jim’s prints.”

“Who the hell is Jim?” But the forensic scientist didn’t get an answer. Detective Carpenter was already on his way to the warehouse.

IV.

There was a loud crash in the back of the warehouse. Jim thought that Mike had arrived early from deliveries. He opened the door and walked inside and as soon as the door clicked shut, Jim realized that he had locked it from the other side. He was locked in the warehouse! Another crash startled him into the corner.

He walked carefully to the back of the warehouse in the hopes of finding Mike. A shadow crept along the side of the warehouse followed by an ominous moan. Then it seemed like the creature was creeping up behind him. He turned in fear and accidentally knocked down a stack of boxes. The shadow disappeared. Jim could hear footsteps slide towards him.

Jim ran behind the large crates in the corner. He saw a figure emerging from the opposite corner. The face was covered with a mask. It walked as if it had been badly injured. It couldn’t possibly be a ghost, Jim whispered to himself. The masked figure seemed to feel Jim’s rapid heartbeat and was headed towards him. Each inch the ghoul crept closer, and sweat would drip down Jim’s back.

A horrible moan squeezed out through the mask and startled Jim. He ran to the door and saw a telephone. He picked it up. It was dead. Jim looked over his shoulder and saw that the creature had disappeared. All of a sudden the gasping moan screamed into his ear and he leapt onto the forklift. He tried to start it but had no idea how to drive it. The creature lunged at him and landed on the throttle. Jim was thrown into a pile of boxes. The forklift crashed through the locked back door of the warehouse.

The monster picked itself off and stumbled into the corner. Jim saw his chance and took off hearing the desperate howl behind him. He jumped out of the backdoor and was met with Detective Carpenter who drew out his gun. It was aimed right between Jim’s eyes.

“Where’s the other body, Jim,” Carpenter yelled, “I know you killed more than one person.”

“Please help me!” Jim pleaded.

“Where’s the other body?” Just then the creature leapt at Jim and took him to the ground. Carpenter’s instincts squeezed off three rounds killing the alleged highway ghost. “Sorry, kid. I guess you’re off the hook. Go around the front into my car and call for an ambulance. I’ll check the warehouse out.” Jim ran to the front and tried to radio for help. Meanwhile, Carpenter bent over the corpse and pulled off the mask to find his drug-dealer’s face, mouth covered up with duct tape. The killer was still at large.

Jim was about to walk back into the office when he found that Mike’s truck was parked around the other corner of the warehouse. He walked into the office looking for Mike. The wastebasket had been kicked over, and the picture of Mike’s girlfriend spilled out. Jim picked it up and saw the pretty face staring back at him not knowing it was that of the victim who had been murdered just hours before.

The door to the warehouse silently swung open. Jim did not see that Detective Carpenter’s lifeless corpse was hanging from it precariously. He heard drops of blood hitting the carpet. As he turned his head to just barely catch a glimpse of the detective’s body when two strong arms wrapped themselves around his neck. They squeezed and squeezed until all life had been wrung out of Jim’s body. In a low whispered grunt, Jim heard Mike’s voice say, “I’m sorry, Jim.”

One And True

“Oh, my gosh! You were able to make it, Lenny!” she said as Lenny came in escorting a blind, elderly lady at his arm.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought along an old friend of the family,” Lenny commented as he juggled his present with the other arm, “This is Agnes.” Teresa smiled as the two came into the house.

“I’ll take ‘old’ to mean that we’ve known each other for awhile,” Agnes commented, “as opposed to meaning that I am the one that is old.”

“She has a knack for correcting my grammar,” Lenny sarcastically remarks to Teresa. Meanwhile, Agnes sneaks off into the living room with no assistance to the amazement of Teresa.

“Is she going to be okay?” Teresa asked.

“She’s more capable than you think. In fact, she was the one who guided me here, Agnes is better than GPS,” Lenny remarked as he took his coat off.

“I guess that means no drinks for you tonight!” Teresa teased. Lenny put the present down and the two hugged each other.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married already!” Lenny exclaimed.

“Why does everybody keep saying that?” Teresa replied, “Is me getting married that unbelievable?”

“Well, everybody assumed you were going to marry--”

“I know; everybody assumed that I was going to be marrying Kyle. So did I… once upon a time. But Eric’s the one for me.”

“I’m happy for you, Teresa. So who else is here?”

“Everybody from school is here. In fact, Kyle is here,” Teresa scans the room and spots Kyle talking to Agnes.

“It looks like Agnes is a step ahead of us already.” Lenny smirked to himself.

As the two walked to greet Kyle, Agnes took Teresa by the hand and led her outside. Confused but not surprised, Lenny let Agnes take Teresa as he went over to catch up with Kyle. Teresa was frightened not only by the urgency of the elderly lady’s tug, but also by the look on Agnes’ face. Any trace of congeniality in Agnes’ smile had been drained by whatever she discovered about Kyle.

“You’re one and true love will be taken from you tonight.” Agnes finally said.

“Excuse me?” Teresa didn’t know whether to be worried or offended.

“That young man who I was speaking to will be responsible. I urge you to listen to me carefully. You have one and only one and true love.” Teresa didn’t know how to react at this point. The words were too frightened to even come to Teresa’s mind let alone the tip of her tongue.

“Let your heart speak to your one and true love, lest that young man I was speaking to does the unthinkable,” Agnes continued.

“I don’t understand.” Teresa thought the ability of speech had returned to her until Agnes uttered one last thing before going back into the house.

“Kyle will be responsible for the death of the one who loved you most.”

Agnes began to walk away from the house. She stopped and turned to Teresa who was still looking at her. “Tell, Lenny, that I decided to walk home. You’ve been a lovely hostess, I’m just a bit tired,” Agnes said in a voice that seemed to be a whisper that only Teresa could hear.

Teresa walked back into the house and could not find Kyle anywhere. She went upstairs, and still Kyle was nowhere to be found. Out of the window, she saw Eric’s truck pull into the driveway. She smiled at her from the window and raised her hand to wave at him, but before Eric could look up, Kyle met him at the walkway. Teresa raced down to talk to Kyle, but found only he husband-to-be standing at the door.

“Where was that guy you were talking to in the driveway?” she asked him.

“Oh, Kyle?” he asked, “He went into the bathroom or something. It looks like the party’s gone well so far without me.”

“Yes, of course,” Teresa replied blankly. Her face was smiling at Eric but her mind was lurking to wherever Kyle was. She wandered into the downstairs bedroom hoping to find him and talk him out of whatever it was Kyle had planned. There was no one there.

A photo of her and Kyle caught her eye. She wanted to smile at it but couldn’t bring herself to do it. How could she smile knowing that he was going to kill Eric? The question rang loudly in her head. Her neck felt cold, and she thought she felt the presence of someone else with her in the room She turned around, nobody there.

She looked into the hallway, hoping to see if it was Kyle. Nobody was there but the cold breeze coming in from an open window at the end of the hall. Teresa walked over to shut the window. The drapes danced in the wind entering the house. As the window slam shut, a hand reached over on her shoulders and she jumped with a scream.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle replied, “I just wanted to congratulate you. I realized that I never got around to wishing you and Eric good luck.”

“Thanks, Kyle,” she replied wide-eyed. “Kyle, how are you doing?”

“Good, I guess,” his answer wasn’t half as convincing as he wished it was.

“It’s just that… I don’t think we ever got the chance to clear things up properly.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re with Eric now, and you two are getting married. Who am I to stop any of that? I’m happy for you two.”

“Are you sure?” Teresa could always feel the sincerity in Kyle’s voice.

“I’m sure.” Kyle walked out of the house and got into his car. Eric came into the hallway and saw Teresa. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. They whispered to each other how much they loved the other. A tear rolled down Teresa’s cheek.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Eric asked her. Teresa explained what Agnes’ so-called prophecy to Eric. “So you were afraid of what a blind woman said about me… someone she’s never met?”

“She’s a friend of Lenny’s. According to her she has never been wrong before.”

What the loving couple didn’t realize was that their canoodling could easily be seen from the hallway window. On the other side of the window was the street from which Kyle was driving on. He saw the two exchanging kisses, and he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a loaded gun. BANG!

Teresa and Kyle looked out the window and found Kyle’s car outside. The window was stained with blood. Kyle indeed did the unthinkable. He left no note, nor any sign of what he was going to do. It was then that Teresa realized that Kyle was her one and true love.

The Stagehand

I didn’t sign up for this. Things really haven’t been the same since the old manager retired. Unfortunately there’s only so much you can do when a ghost was threatening the lives of everyone in the building. I just wished he had explained the more clearly the way things were run to the new management. Maybe he did and they’re just to naïve to believe in the ghost, but he’s there. They never listen to me, but I’m always in the shadows during all the shows, and I’ve seen him watching the chorus line.

They didn’t listen to the previous manager, they didn’t listen to the Persian, why then should I expect that they listen to me? That’s why I started working for the ghost. Just a few pennies more, but every little bit helps. He would pay me to clear the basement of rats. For what? I don’t know. And frankly, I don’t want to know. The only thing that I know for sure is that if he’s kept happy, then I am kept alive.

But here come the new management to fuddle things up. They challenged the ghost and almost dared him to do something. And it isn’t just them. There’s the insufferable Prima Donna and her sycophantic tenor friend. He was happy for a little while. I remember hearing music the night before that chorus girl took center stage. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but it was beautiful. But then her old childhood friend shows up and all this trouble ensues.

So much broken glass here to clean up, so much blood. This was supposed to be a grand night for the elite, but look at them now. This man had some sort of invention that made him millions. This couple owned hotels all over Europe. Here is a lady that needed no man to make a fortune, as she owned one of Paris’ most renowned restaurants. Oh, and look over there, on the other side of the room, that’s the rest of her. Here are the twins. I heard they never worked a day in their life nor did they have to since their grandfather did all the work for them.

I can’t say I’d miss this lot. But being crushed under a chandelier is a nasty way to go. There are those who call me foolish for spreading the story of the Opera Ghost, and believing he exists. And some of them seem to be crushed under the weight of all this glass and metal, smoldering in their own blood. I may be a fool in heeding to the demands of a ghost, but at least this fool is still alive and well.

Yellow Dress

I remember her in the sunlight. Her caramel colored hair shimmered with streaks of gold. Emerald green eyes twinkling just for me, and my knees would turn to jelly. The freckles scattered about her face did their graceful dance as her cheeks puffed and her lips curled into a soft smile. The rosy lips press up against mine and the rest of the world dissolves into nothingness. God, I miss her.

I remember the first day we met. We were in a field of grass. She had a ribbon in her hair, playful and whimsical as always. I’ll never forget the yellow dress she was wearing that day. I loved the way she looked like an angel in that yellow dress, which is why I had her buried in it.

It’s just Simon and me now. He has her eyes, which right now are wet with tears. He’s shivering in the corner. He says he’s just cold, and I let him think that for now. I know he’s scared. I’m scared too, son. When we went to sleep he would clutch my arm so tightly you would think he could rip it off. I’d watch him until he was asleep, until I saw his eyes darting back and forth blanketed comfortingly with those freckled eyelids. He has been dreaming of his mother a lot. I miss her too, son.

It’s been a month since the fallout, the disaster, the apocalypse, whatever it is people are calling it. There were heavy clouds of brown soot and dust engulfing the major cities. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It only took three days for the sickness to take over the entire planet.

The government had no idea how to handle the panic, the people, the disease itself. Crowds went insane from paranoia: wanting a cure, a sign from God, or the merciful hand of Death to take them swiftly away from this planet. But with a disease like this, where would Death come? How could Death arrive for people who have died once already?

They’re not particularly smart, not very strong or fast. But the sheer number of them is staggering. Simon and I were lucky to have been near his school, which was specially designed to keep people out. There were several of us, and now it’s just him and me. Some went crazy and had to be… disposed of. Some couldn’t stand being inside any longer and threw themselves at those things. Some left for help… Maybe they’ll be back… Maybe they’ll still have someone left to save.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Scratch! Scratch! Ssssscratch!!! All the ghouls were coming from the door down the cold, linoleum hallway. They were trying to fight against the crude barricade that we had built a week and a half ago. Their horrid moans forced its way into the sky and through the windows from their distended bellies full of human flesh. Simon wasn’t sleeping, but he was most definitely clinging to my arm just as tightly. I found a shotgun yesterday, possibly from a police officer who abandoned his post here at the school, a wise choice.

I never thought I’d have to use it, and I hoped that that wouldn’t change. But it looks like help won’t be coming anytime soon. The dead have run out of fodder and were adamant about getting to Simon and me. One of the men who went for help designed an escape route. He was a soldier for the army but his entire platoon was wiped out by the hordes of ghouls. That’s why all those creatures were funneled into that single opening; it made it easier to pick them off, one by one. That worked for a few hours.

Right now, it’s the worst-case scenario. Simon was too scared to scream. We had run out of ammunition but I found an aluminum bat in the gym for the boy to defend himself in case something happened to me. I carried the shotgun on the off chance that I would find some shells along the way. We’re stuck on the roof now. Those godforsaken things won’t be able to reach us, but how much longer can we live like this? We have nothing to eat and are exposed to the frigid air of the night.

I carry my exhausted son in my arms and bring him towards the west side of the building. My head tells me that I did this so that when the sun rose above the horizon the warmth of its rays would comfort my son and give me strength. My heart tells me that I did this for a glimmer of hope, that I did this to convince myself that everything will be okay as long as I saw the beginning of another day. I closed my eyes and felt the icy wind slam against my face.

When I opened my eyes again, I could feel the gentle touch of the sunlight penetrating my skin reaching deep into my flesh. Simon had already been up and was peering over the side of the roof. He saw the crowds of the undead trying to pile its way through into the school. They were still after us; throughout the whole night, they chased us. A trail of a single teardrop drew a clean line down his dirt-covered face. I tried my best to comfort him until I saw what he saw. He had singled out one of the creatures approaching the school.

None of these things were easily recognized as former human beings. There was very little left to identify them as their formerly living selves. Most of them were almost completely decomposed. Legs were falling off of some of them. Arms were falling off the rest. But this one that Simon had spotted had hair like wire sticking, and all her appendages in tact. There was only one thing that I saw on this particular zombie that made me cry, made my lose hope. Like I said, I will never forget that yellow dress.

The Artifact

The man looked like any other man that would have been walking down the street. He approached Eric with the stealth of a shadow. Eric didn’t even realize that the man was standing directly behind him.

“What would you say if I offered you great power?” the man asked. His eyes were hungry for an answer. Eric was amused.

“What are you talking about, old man?”

“Imagine the riches of the world at your fingertips,” the man’s voice was coarse with age. His voice was much older than the rest of him indicated.

“Whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not interested,” Eric brushed him off.

“What about powers? You can have abilities that exceed man’s imagination,” the man saw that Eric’s interest was piqued despite how much he tried to hide it. “You’ll be able to fly, tell the future; you can fly, you’ll have super strength. Whatever you can imagine, you can have it.”

“You’re crazy,” Eric began to walk away. He turned his head to look back at the mysterious stranger to find him gone. As he turned his confused face towards the direction he was walking, there he was. “That’s impossible.”

“The impossible is what I am offering you,” he smiled at Eric knowing that he had found the right person.

“How did you do that? There’s no way you could’ve ran that fast without me seeing you,” Eric tried to reason.

“That’s because I didn’t run. I teleported. Like I said, I’m offering you these abilities, and riches beyond you’re comprehension.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Everything for nothing isn’t exactly an even trade.”

“I’ve got to respect a man who respects reciprocity,” the man unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out a necklace with a decorative, ornate talisman hanging from it. “This is my secret. It was given to me in my travels around the world.” Eric reached out for hit and the stranger swiped it away from me.

“And you want all this for nothing, am I right?”

“That is correct, my good man.”

“Why? What’s the catch?”

“Why, there’s no catch. I have had this in my possession since fighting in Europe,” the man explained. Eric realized that this man did not appear to be old enough to have fought in any conflict in Europe. “I’ve simply enjoyed its powers to its maximum and grew tired of it. I’d like to know what it’s like to live life without this artifact, and offer its blessings to you.”

“Why me?”

“You seem like an upstanding young man. I think everyone deserves a chance to use the artifact, but you happen to be the first person I bumped into today. And after all, you do seem interested. You are interested, aren’t you?”

“Okay, old man, I’ll take the necklace off your hands,” Eric smiled slyly at the man, “As long as I get a chance to test it out, first.” The man smiled a sinister smile at Eric as he took the talisman from around his neck.

“But of course,” he placed the artifact around Eric’s neck. Eric smiled and took off with a shot air away from the old man. He was amazed at the power he had attained and decided to come back to the stranger to thank him. The man was staring at Eric, smiling at him. The stranger’s feet then snapped and he fell to his knees. Eric caught him and saw that the old man was laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Eric asked.

“That artifact makes you immortal. I hope you enjoy your youthful looks. You will be stuck with it for a long, long time. Fortunately, my age has caught up with me and I am able to enjoy the release of death. For nearly a century, I have seen my loved ones grow old, wither, and die. And I had to deny myself the ability to love again lest I suffer that same cycle. But now I can die, I can rest in peace,” and with that, the stranger melted into dust and was taken away by the breeze.

Frightened, Eric took off the talisman and threw it in a trash receptacle. As he walked away, his chest began to burn as if a fire had been pressed up against it. Eric lifted up his shirt and found the artifact had found its way back to its new owner. He looked at the dust blowing around in the street, and wondered how long before he would wish for death to relieve him of the mysterious artifact.

Gun For Hire

I would say I was more of a hunter for hire rather than a gun for hire simply because I don’t always use a gun. Why? Sometimes a gun doesn’t kill whatever it is I was hired to get rid of. I’m a glorified exterminator of sorts, only I’m hired to get rid of a special type of vermin, that of the paranormal and supernatural. I used to be employed by religious types: priests (of all denominations), rabbis, shamans, and even the occasional voodoo practitioners.

Business has been bad lately, what with the world religions trying to downplay their roles in mysticism. I feel compelled to remind you that I am only the first line of defense in cases like these. Thankfully, I am good at what I do and no one, so far, has been given the need to call in a second line of defense. However, if a hunter is killed in the line of duty you should call in a religious leader of some sort, preferably of the Roman Catholic Church. There’s no particular reason other than the fact that they have a systematic way of dealing with these situations, particularly exorcisms.

When it comes to my line of business, it would be a foolish thing to label a single type of ghouls as the most formidable. Each monster has their own attribute, or in some cases attributes, that make them deadly. Let’s take the armies of the undead as an example. However, whenever an outbreak occurs, they are more akin to hordes. They are unorganized and not particularly intelligent, strong, or fast. It’s their numbers that make them dangerous. Since, it has been discovered that a virus is the cause for zombies, hunters such as myself have developed vaccines that pacify the living dead before things get out of control.

That plan is simple to implement as long as the outbreak is found early and as long as we’re dealing with a simple viral infection. But zombies are not the only class of living dead to hunt. Let’s take the rare but dangerous Egyptian mummy. I have only encountered of one such case. They are undead and therefore impervious to pain as one might guess, but what makes them difficult to put away is their intelligence and knowledge of magic. Fortunately, their magic also makes them gullible. Just a little research, and their magic is easily undone. Of course, the research itself is a deadly mission all on it’s own but that’s another story entirely.

Of course, there is another monster out there that is yet more dangerous than zombies or mummies. Imagine an undead being with the knowledge of centuries, wisdom of generations, the magic of the devil himself, and is the most charming, seductive personality you’ll ever meet. I speak, of course, of the infamous vampire. I had to receive special training from several different holy men to learn how to deal with such creatures. Special weapons had to be used: a bottle of holy water, jewelry of dried garlic blossoms, a crucifix, and of course the wooden stake. It would be impossible to successfully hunt vampires if it wasn’t for their one physical weakness, daylight. Contrary to popular belief, sunlight does not kill the creatures, it just significantly weakens them, and THAT’S the time to strike.

Every hunter you meet is going to have his or her own variations of the weapons that I described. Take my stakes, for example. It’s made primarily of wood, pine. I reserve the oak stakes for leaders of vampire coven. Sure it’s sturdier, but it’s also expensive and very rare to find. I can make my own out of pinewood; there’s no need to have someone make them for you especially since that’s a red flag to any nearby vampires. These glyphs on the side are of an ancient Egyptian chant in case I run into any mummies. And see how it’s heavier on the pointed end? The point is coated with silver in case I run into any werewolves.

Werewolves are easily underestimated. In fact, of all the monsters that I’ve faced, werewolves are the ones that I avoid fighting in close quarters at all costs. They’re not undead and they don’t have magic that they control. In all honesty, hunting werewolves are a lot like hunting actual animals. The big difference is that they are great hunters as well, and more often than not, the werewolf is hunting me as well.

They are agile and strong. Fortunately they’re only at their strongest when the moon is full. Also, since they see their ability as a curse, they tend to make loners of themselves. I’ve hunted multiple wolves at one time and had to employ the help of some of my competition. Similar to their wildlife counterpart, they hunt in packs. Unlike the previous monsters I’ve mentioned, a single scratch from a wolf and you might as well have been killed. That is one life I do not envy.

Ghosts are not exactly a hunter’s specialty and are probably more in the realm of your local holy person. Typically, they do not cause any harm and are simply here on some unfinished business. When they do actually cause harm or, in some rare cases, inhabit someone’s body, you can give me a call to make sure said person is restrained properly. We want to rid you of the ghoul and not of a loved one. After that, I suggest you call the priest of whatever denomination you feel comfortable with.

I should also add that I work alone. I took on an apprentice once and he was immediately killed by a vampire who wanted to teach me a lesson. I took on a partner after my run in with the pack of werewolves and made the mistake of falling in love with her. Let’s just say I’m not looking forward to any reunions with her… especially on a full moon. There are lots of different reasons that my kind is dying off.

One theory is that we’ve simply killed off all the demons and monsters that were once rampant in the world. My own personal theory is a bit more cynical. I think we killed off all the easy ones… The only ones left are the wise ones, the smart ones; evolution at its best, or worst depending on how you look at it. There are monsters out there that survived. They’re keeping it quiet to ensure their future and who knows when they’ll strike? Rest assured, I’ll be there ready for them to ensure humanity’s future.

Nice Guys Finish Last

I’ve put on many costumes over the years. I’ve celebrated numerous Halloweens running the streets of the neighborhood under the cover of darkness. My face has hidden in the guise of ghosts, goblins, devils, scarecrows, skeletons, and the list goes on and on. Over the years, I have thrown what cumulatively must be tons of candy all packed into a plastic bag, pumpkin-shaped buckets, and pillowcases over my shoulders.

For one night out of the years 365, we were allowed to be someone else. We were allowed to take advantage of fear and stick our tongues out at it blowing a raspberry at death’s face. That’s assuming, of course, that our mouths were not busy with the colorful wax lips that kept our mouths warm in the cool air of autumn. But I wonder sometimes if we ever take full advantage of this opportunity to not be ourselves.

Ask yourself one simple question: “Who am I?” Are you the flirt? The gossip? The workaholic? The alcoholic? The good father/mother? The good husband/wife? The bad father/mother/husband/wife? I’m the nice guy. You don’t really know me, at least not personally. I’m the guy that let’s you pass on the freeway, the one that opens the door for you despite who you may be. I’m the one that allows you to step all over him for your benefit. I’m they guy that a girl throws in the wastebasket and complains that there are no more good guys in the world.

Well, Halloween is fast approaching, and I’m running out of ideas of who I want to be. Then, I thought to myself, “Why don’t I just be the total opposite of who I am?” After all, being the nice guy never pays off. The adage predicts that I end up last, and so far that’s the only end of the line that I have become familiar with. Frankly I’m tired of it. In real life, I’m the nice guy. But it’s Halloween, and I want to do something completely out of character, something a nice guy wouldn’t do.

Someone once said, “Anything done out of fear has no moral value.” I quite agree. What if I’m a nice guy because I’m afraid of being punished as a bad guy? That’s no way to live. On Halloween, I intend to commit some atrocity that could only be described as being inherently evil, just for the hell of it. Sure, the downside is that I might actually enjoy the act and become a criminal. But if I don’t, if I find the act so repulsive, then I can live out the rest of my life with integrity, I can honestly say that I am truly a nice guy at heart.

Now what possible act, may you ask will I commit this Halloween? I’ll definitely be wearing a costume that covers my face and doesn’t show any indication of my gender or ethnicity. I’d hate to be caught after going through all this trouble. It’d a deliciously malicious and sinister plan. I’ve never been to a costume party with the alcohol flowing as promiscuously as the rest of the attendants. No, that’s not my evil act, but it’s a start.

I’ll walk in and find a girl. It wouldn’t matter who I picked as this is supposed to be a random act of evil. Granted, there are some logistical issues to take care of. She has to be petite and unassuming so that when I take her to my car, there will be little resistance. She can’t be to heavy that I can’t carry her pass the threshold, of course. Chances are, I’ll gravitate to someone who’s already hammered, but I’ll bring the chloroform just in case.

The duct tape is to just to ensure that there isn’t any unwanted resistance. There is always the off chance that she’ll get away too, so I better bring an extra roll. I’ll bring her to some remote area in the wilderness. The only witness is the moonlight, and the crooked birch trees will obscure even its sight. Depending on my mood, I may have my way with her, or to make things interesting for investigators take all her clothes off and randomly have them strewn about the city. Then, of course, I’d take her life.

It wouldn’t be anything too fancy, just a slit of the throat. I’ll pick her up and have her face away from me to let the blood squirt away from me. The body would be disposed of properly but not so it’s impossible to find. My costume would be covered in blood or something so I would get rid of that (note to self: buy a cheap costume). The car would have to go to in case someone saw me in it. Then I would arrive home, go to sleep, and wake up to my everyday job and no one would be the wiser.

I’ll live out the rest of my life in peace knowing that I have been both good and evil and choosing to be good. There would be no apparent motive or reason so I would never be caught. There’s no physical connection to this girl and me, and the only witnesses would be drunken partygoers who saw her leaving with a masked person. No need to worry, I’m sure I’m a good person so I have no downward spiral to worry about getting into. This is all theoretical anyway. Who knows if I’ll even go through with any of it? As I said earlier, I really am just a nice guy… who wants to try out being someone else for only one night.

Legacy

Dear daddy,

Today at school I made a picture of you. It had macaroni and glitter, and I painted on it too. I am going to ask mommy if I can mail it to you. I miss you and I love you!

Love,
Jenny



Dear Jenny,

I hope you know that you’re daddy is very proud and loves you very much. The painting was beautiful and I can’t believe that my little girl created it. You’re such an artist. I put it on my wall and it’s so good that everyone thinks I’m looking at a mirror. Be good to your mother and never forget how much the both of us love you.

Hugs and Kisses,
Daddy



Dear Henry,

I want to believe you had nothing to do with this. But everything, all the evidence and my gut, is telling me to believe otherwise. I still love you and always will. I’ll be waiting for you. Jenny misses you too and sends her love. She’s staying at my mom’s and really wishes she could send you a letter. Of course, you know that she’s too young to understand where you are. I think it’s better for everyone if we just stop contacting each other. No matter what happens, I love you, honey.

Always yours,
Helen



My Dearest Helen,

This will be the LAST letter that I ever write to you. For your own good, DO NOT attempt any contact with me I have found the real killer. I have no time to explain the gruesome details, which I have disclosed to Utterson, who, if you remember, is my lawyer. He will take you and Jenny somewhere safe. There is a remote chance that your lives may still be in danger. The only way I can keep you and Jenny safe is to stay here, let the system do its business and fill me with that gas in that coffin they call a chamber. Tell Jenny that her daddy loves her so very much, and will always be with her. When I close my eyes, praying that the governor does not let me off the hook, the last image I’ll see when I leave this planet will be of your blue eyes welcoming me to the other side. I love you, Helen.

Your loving husband,
Henry

P.S. I don’t care what the papers say, or how well you know my handwriting, this is absolutely the LAST letter you will get from me. Let’s just say it has to do with my great-grandfather’s legacy. Again, Utterson will fill you in with the details later.



Helen,

First off, I would like to express my deepest condolences, as the current events that plaster the newspapers must be quite the burden. After all, who would have thought that your husband would escape prison the night before he was to be executed for murdering that Detective Newcomen fellow? I understand that there was no smoking gun evidence but the evidence that was present was incriminating to say the least. This must be hard on you and little Jenny.

I am an acquaintance of Mr. Utterson. You can say that we are old family friends. I would like to extend a helping hand in whatever manner you see fit. I’m sure, by now, you’ve recognized the handwriting of this letter and how uncanny it resembles that of your beloved Henry’s. You may be thinking that it is, indeed, your husband assuming a different identity trying to contact his most cherished daughter and beautiful wife.

However, Mr. Utterson may have actually done his job in which case he has told you exactly who I am and what I am attempting to do. He may have told you the exact details of Henry’s final moments on God’s blessed earth. I assure you that your husband is gone for good, for which I hold full responsibility, and with great pride I might add. He was holding me back and even took credit for the murder that I committed. Proper credit must be given for these actions.

If Utterson managed to hide you away properly you may not ever get this letter, but if you have and those sparkling topaz eyes of your are gracing these words I have but one promise I intend to keep. I will find you and Jenny and murder the two of you. It’s nothing personal. Nevertheless, it may be loads of fun hunting you two down. Give my regards to Utterson, Mrs. Jekyll.

Sincerely yours,
Edward Hyde

Nighttime Rowers

The journey was only supposed to be 14 days long. Here they are at 11 days and they have no idea where they are or where they are heading. Jonny Rikiau had navigated these waters before and cannot find a reason for losing his bearing. Other than being surrounded by nothing but water and sky, what worried him was repeating the mistake of his grandfather who was lost at sea during a storm. His crew was strong and loyal. Jonny showed no fear, therefore his crew showed no fear.

“It’s going to get dark soon,” one of the crew commented.

“Should we start getting ready to rest?” another asked.

“Soon,” Rikiau answered, “we can go three or five more nautical miles before it gets too dark.”

“I don’t like rowing in the dark, boss,” the third member remarked.

“Are you afraid of ghosts?” the first asked. The other one laughed.

“Well, I have heard the stories. We all have,” the third commented, “We have all heard about the giant squid, and not to mention the pirate spirits.”

“Here we go again with the spirits,” the second crewmember scoffed in exasperation.

“Are you going to deny the giant squid?” the third asked.

“If I don’t will you be quiet for the rest of the trip?” the first asked back.

“They’re real, brah, I’ve seen them before when I was a little kid with my own eyes,” the third insisted.

“Whatever you say,” the first one replied.

“Quiet, you two,” the second whispered to the others. He pointed to Rikiau, “Do I have to remind you that he lost a grandfather out here? Show some respect.” The other two quieted down and paddled silently. Their leader stopped paddling and tried to stand up, leaning forward to eye something in the distance. The mist was rising like a smoke from the water itself.

“What do you see, boss?” the first asked.

“I think it’s time to rest. There’s another canoe heading towards us.”

The canoe rocked in place as the crew prepared to sleep for the night. The outrigger of the canoe tilted away from the water and leaned heavily on the gunwale. Rikiau looked at the outrigger floating in the air, but his mind was toward that approaching canoe. He hoped to get an idea of where they were supposed to be headed when that other canoe arrived.

An hour had passed, and the air got warmer as the mist melted away into the sky. Jonny was starting to wonder if he had seen the other canoe at all. Their canoe was floating in a sea of night. Stars speckled the sky; the moon shone its gigantic eye on the lonely crew.

“They must have passed us during the mist,” Rikiau said to himself under his breath. And just as he was about lay his head down and close his eyes to rest for the night, he heard the distinct sound of paddles cutting through the black waters. He shot up, as did the rest of his crew and the other canoe glided right by them. The weathered rowers of the other canoe nodded their heads out of respect for their fellow seamen.

Their skin was brown and leathery; there was a wrinkle at the corner of their eyes for each year they had been rowing. Their leader was an old man, a large man whose long hair was silver and flowed across his broad shoulders like the moonlight onto the ocean surface. He smiled at Jonny and looked at their outrigger. The old man pointed to his own gunwale and showed broken bamboo where an outrigger should have been.

“If you want to hit land, son,” the old man spoke with gravel in his throat, “you’ll want to head in that direction once the sun is up.” The silver-haired leader pointed into the distance and motioned at Jonny.

“Thanks,” Jonny replied.

“What happened to your outrigger?” the first crewmember of Rikiau’s canoe asked.

“We got caught up in a storm sometime back,” the old man answered for his crew.

“And it took off your outrigger?” the second of Rikiau’s crew asked.

“We capsized and it was keeping us from turning it back up,” the old man replied with a smile on his face and the twinkle of the moon in his eyes.

“It’s a good thing you got it off in time,” Rikiau’s third man added, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here with us.” The crew of the mysterious canoe chuckled.

“We’ve got to get going,” the old man whispered. He smiled at Jonny and his crew waved at the rest of Jonny’s crew. A mist emerged in the direction the peculiar canoe was headed and swallowed them whole. As the mist cleared, they were already gone.

“That’s one great story of survival,” the second crewmember commented.

“They never survived,” replied Jonny.

“What are you talking about?” the third asked, a distinct quiver in his forcefully deep voice.

“That was my grandfather,” Jonny answered. The crew of four rowed on until morning and found land just three hours after the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. After all, they found no reason to go back to sleep.

The Carver

There’s my latest victim. She’s really perfect, now that I get a closer look at her. There she is just standing there, unsuspecting of what I have planned for her. I approach my prey stealthily and inspect her from up close. I smile at the treasure I had found. Working my charm, I grab her and lead her outside of the supermarket and gently show her to my car. She doesn’t put up a fight. Why should she?

Being the gentleman that I am, I open the door for her and take her in my arm as we walk our way up the driveway. The key slides into the lock and it clicks open. I swing the door open and try to impress her with the size of the house. Our tour was to start with the kitchen. I leave her there alone, and take the rest of the groceries out of the car. My prey sits quietly and lonely at the kitchen counter.

If she knew I was behind her, she’d be filled with terror, she may even scream. So I try and glide across the hardwood floor, trying to shift my weight on the tip of my toes. I grip the knife in my hand and stealthily approach the prey. Why hesitate? I grabbed her and stuck the knife into the top of her head.

Using a sawing motion, I feel the resistance of the outer skin. There’s a gentle, numbing sound of the actual cutting as I try my best to cut a hole in the top of her head. Some of the juice contained within squirt in my eye. This part was always messy, but it was fun. Why cut a hole in her head, you might ask? Well there’s no better way to extract the innards.

Besides, what I’m doing is an art. There’s a method to this madness, and I’ve got to make sure that she looks perfect. With a tug, I pull out the circle that I had cut out. The fibers underneath desperately try to cling to the piece that I wrench out. I reach in, wearing latex gloves of course, the hole that I had just completed and massage the wet mush from within. Perhaps I’ll make a meal of it later on. You may think I’m insane but I think it smells incredible in its raw form. Just bringing it to my face, I want to eat it right then and there, but I know I have more pressing work to do. I have to make sure the inside is perfectly clean.

There. All necessary cuts have been made. Beautiful and efficient, ever slice was economic and deliberate, not a single swipe of the blade gone to waste. She’s nearly ready. I take a candle and place it insider her now empty skull. The gourd fills with a baked pumpkin smell that exits the eyes, nose, and mouth in an invisible, warm smoke. This is going to be a great Halloween, I think to myself, the kids are going to love my pumpkin carving this year.

House H[a]unting

You are going to love this upcoming [haunted] house. It’s just fantastic [not a good sign: using vague adjectives], and not to mention it’s a handyman’s dream [The place tends to fall apart]. There’s a lot of history behind this house and the very land it was built on [The house is built on the tombs of murdered Native Americans, Cherokee, I think]. You might even say there is a degree of celebrity that comes with buying a house like this [Everyone in the neighborhood knows that this house is evil].

Let’s walk into the living room, shall we? As you can see, the history just echoes through the walls [Voices have been heard in this room]. The paintings on this wall come with the house, it’s almost as if the art refuses to leave the grounds [You’ll regret it, leave the paintings alone]. I feel it adds life to the room. Just try and remove the pictures from the walls; you’ll never get the vibrancy that you would with them hanging up there [The paintings keep the demons at bay, seriously don’t touch the paintings].

Now the walls are an interesting story. See this paint? It’s never needed a touch up in over a century. It’s almost as if it paints itself every so often [It’s blood red for a reason, the walls bleed]. And with a room this large, you’d be saving a lot of money. You can just set a couch over here by the fireplace and relax your stress away. Have it melt away as the embers warm your skin [The portal to hell is in that fireplace]. And see these stone figures here that make up the fireplace? They are inspired by some ancient religion [devil worshipping cult], really goes well with the rest of the décor and history of this place.

Let’s walk over to the kitchen. Everything here is brand new [everything was demolished from the last poltergeist encounter]. The oven, the refrigerator, the dishwasher, all of this is brand new and all yours if you buy the house. Consider it a wedding present from the previous tenants [They were more interested in saving their own lives than their money]. Unlike the living room, the walls here are already freshly painted [Let’s just say it matched the living room walls]. Don’t mind the unsightly blemish in the corner [lightning struck the latest victim here, hence the burn marks]. After all, we can work out something to get the kitchen completely retiled. And I know exactly where I can find this pattern if you like it [This isn’t the first time this house has been up for sale].

Let’s go upstairs. You can see to your left, the bathroom. There’s nothing special about that. It’s just your run of the mill bathroom. Though I should point out that the tub and mirror are slightly damaged [the spirits of the dead Cherokee communicate strongly in the bathroom]. Now, let’s come along to the master bedroom. I would not be exaggerating when I say that [numerous] previous tenants find this room to be the most relaxing. They would walk in and be out before they lie down [murdered in the bedroom, attacked from behind].

Out here, just beyond the bathroom door is the guest bedroom, or dare I say future children’s bedroom? It wouldn’t be the first time that children have inhabited these walls [sacrifices for the aforementioned cult]. In fact, some children in this very bedroom have gone on to bigger things that put this quiet, little street on the map [possessed child kills family… great headline].

Follow me back down. Don’t go in through that door. It’s the cellar, and it’s not exactly presentable to buyers just yet [the bodies of the Cherokee were never properly buried and cannot be moved without another poltergeist attack], but I was just so excited to show you this property. Trust me though; once it’s ready it’ll be ready to host the most extravagant parties. It’s just a bit dusty, nothing a fixer upper couldn’t fix.

Ah, I can see you’ve found your way to the backyard. You see how expansive it is? It hasn’t been confirmed yet, but the rumor is that much of what made this plot of land a part of this country happened right on this field [Innocent men and women of the Cherokee were murdered here, no war, just massacre]. In fact, I’ve heard that this very house played a hand in everything that took place a long time ago [The cavalry built this house in the hopes that no one would find the makeshift graves].

So as you can see, there’s no reason for you not to move in [other than the ghost that won’t let you rest until they do]. It’s perfect for a newlywed [gullible] couple such as you two. And especially great for those expecting to grow their family or just throw lavish parties. It would be a great buy, and I hope you seriously consider taking this property [off her greedy, hands].

Age of Eloi

All readings were in the green. The experiment was set to go. She was always checking, double-checking, triple-checking to make sure there were no mistakes. There was absolutely no room for error. She took a seat by her computer making some last minute calculations before throwing the switch. Everything was going according to plan.

She breathed heavily and rhythmically, nervous about all the unknowns. One last time, she entered the readings on the indicators of the machine into the computer. A few clicks of the keyboard and she would be ready. Every thing was ready. She was nervous. One more deep breath and she walked towards the red button.

“Here goes nothing,” she whispers to herself as she pushes the button. A tornado of electricity and wind swept the magnetic pad in the middle of the room. A storm of science is contained in this makeshift laboratory. Bright flashes emanated from all corners of the contraption. A silent explosion concluded the experiment. Smoke rose from the pad, now heated from the miniature thunderstorm.

As the smoke diffused into the air, a man could be seen standing where there was only thin air just a few seconds earlier. The clothes he wore were brown, practical, and were of fashion at the turn of the twentieth century though they did not look worn by time at all. By no means would anyone say he was short, but he wasn’t a tall man either. He seemed quiet and pensive. His hair was neatly combed and his face hid behind a bushy mustache. The man was disoriented as if arriving from a long distance.

“Professor Wells?” the young lady asked emerging from behind her computer, “H.G. Wells, I presume?”

“Why, yes,” he replied, “What in heavens just happened?”

“I transported you through space and time in my invention here. It’s an homage of sorts to your classic, ‘The Time Machine.’”

“So when and where am I now?”

“You’re now in the twenty-first century.”

“That’s just fantastic! But why would you bring me here from such a great distance? What purpose would my odyssey serve? ”

“I thought I’d show you our progress so far so you could see how far humanity has come. And how, thankfully, far away from the apocalyptic downfall we are from the Morlocks and Eloi.”

“Is this technology, the ability to travel through time, a marketable commodity. That is to say, does everyone have access to this machinery?”

“I’m afraid this is the first of its kind… for now.”

“Incredible. May we take a look around at how mankind has evolved as you say it has?”

“Of course! It would be my pleasure!”

She walked him to the university library and showed him the advances we had made in printing. Forests worth of paper were filled about every possible subject matter, most of which had not been imagined in Wells’ own time. From science to the arts, music and mathematics, poetry and engineering, it gladdened the author to know the legacy of man would expand beyond the boundaries it had set for itself.

He saw computers every few feet apart, strewn about the halls like candlelight. She taught him of the dawn of the personal computer and the big bang of the internet. He marveled at the invention that was able to shrink the world and connect people across oceans in flashes of light. It was able to do hundreds of thousands of millions of calculations in a single instant by the push of a button. The universe of human knowledge was continuously expanding and was ignorant of any boundaries.

“And everyone on this internet is an intellectual?” Wells asked.

“Well they would like to think so,” the scientist explained, “In a world as large as the digital one, you’re bound to run into some unruly characters.” Wells scoffed at the idea that a wealth of information would somehow let such characters have room to breathe. They came across an old transistor radio being displayed in front of the communications department office.

“Now, this was a great invention,” Wells commented, “I’m so glad to discover that it’s nowhere near the peak of our technology. And even gladder that we haven’t destroyed ourselves.”

“We have come so close too many times. For a period it seemed the only thing we were able to do was find new ways of destroying and dominating over one another. Technology and arts aside, I think humanity’s greatest triumph is surviving from itself.”

“Was there no transition between the radio and the computer?”

“There was the television,” she replied, “it helped shape our modern-day culture.”

“It’s a magic mirror of sorts,” Wells commented.

“I’m afraid it sullies the reflection of what life and society is truly like. It uses commercialism to tell us how to think, what to wear, what to eat, and how to be happy. There’s misinformation on every channel being presented as absolute truth. Reality has been altered to maximize profits, which means it is devoid of any creative soul.”

“And when did humanity grow out of such a juvenile invention.”

“We haven’t.”

“So who benefits from the breakdown of the world’s soul?”

“A select few who dress in business suits.”

“And why would they do this?”

“Profits.”

“I see,” Wells put his hand over his mouth, “I think it’s time for me to go back to my own time, to the year 1900.”

“Why? Did I say something to offend you?”

“Quite the contrary. You’ve shown me the ultimate human highs and the potential for it to skyrocket even further. All that I’ve seen has shown me that there is no limit to how far we, as a species, can go. Unfortunately, it seems that we have discovered that ‘skyrocketing’ has a speed limit.

“The culture is shaped and designed to maximize comfort and style over advancement and innovation so that the few may prey on the disadvantages of the many.” Wells stepped into the laboratory and took his place on the pad in the middle of the room.

“We’ve come a long way from what I see, but we’re willing to throw it all away because we’ve been spoiled by how much we’ve accomplished. But I assure you, the future of the Eloi and Morlocks loom much closer than you might think.” As she pushed the red button, Mr. Wells waved goodbye and he disappeared in a flash of smoke and crackle of electricity.

Thump

Thump! Thump! Fear shrouded his body like a cold wind trying to lift his bones up into the air. Darkness caressed is ears and teased his eyes. Thump! Thump! He felt the sensation of being lifted and dropped. His legs were still. His arms wanted to flail about in terror but his will would not comply. The air he breathed was stagnant and warm, and moist with his own rotten saliva. He managed to fold his hands back on his wrists. Pushing up, he could not get out of this predicament.

Streams of light fought their way to his face as rays of false hope. Thump! Thump! The light was shrinking away from his face. His lips began to tingle and numb. This prickly numbness started to spread throughout his head, then down his neck, crawling down his body. Then the cold seemed to soothe him. Thump! Thump! It was entirely dark now. He was calm and almost weightless. The fear dissolved with the light. Soothing cold supplanted the pinpricks of numbness all over his body.

Thump! A sudden rumble followed shortly afterwards by a gigantic rumble, then yet another rumble.

“This isn’t so bad,” he thought, “The thumping of the nails was the scariest part.” It wouldn’t be long until he ran out of oxygen. Air is a rare commodity to be found eight feet beneath the earth.

Sleight of Hand

He performed under the name Lord Mystical and was hailed as the greatest magician since his teacher, The Great Haunter, performed decades ago. What people didn’t know was how Lord Mystical became such an incredible performer. His former teacher and mentor urged for innovation in the world of magic. Being an impatient man, Lord Mystical decided to steal it from his master, and kill him shortly afterwards. Sure, he had the charm and the showmanship, but he never had the know-how to push the boundaries of his art beyond everyone’s expectations. But he couldn’t care less.

He didn’t care so much for the limelight as he did the hundreds of eyes that looked over him on the stage. The ooh’s and ah’s were not so much the goal of his performance as it was to have fooled the audience. His perks were not the looks of wonderment and the applause; it was the fame and money. But his master has at one more lesson to teach his smug, young ingénue.

Every night Lord Mystical would take a bow, then another, then yet another after the curtains close. Normally, he would walk into a local bar and take full advantage of his celebrity and stumble back out with a dimwitted young lady beneath his arm. But something drew him backstage. The equipment from The Great Haunter seemed to whisper. Its hums were silent to everyone but Lord Mystical and lingered on the air like the smoke after a grand performance.

“There’s nothing mystical about this common lord,” a booming whisper surrounded the backstage.

“Who is that? You’re not allowed here!” Mystical demanded to know.

“Surely you remember me,” the voice insisted, “This is quite a neat trick, isn’t it?”

“Is that-” Mystical could not bring himself to say it, let alone believe it.

“I’m afraid my moniker is a bit literal in my current state,” the voice was amused,

“The Great Haunter, indeed!”

“How- How could this be happening?” Mystical asked.

“I’m afraid this is magic that can’t be taught, my former pupil.”

“What do you want? An apology? Why should I apologize? You kept the secrets to your tricks to yourself, you selfish old man!”

“I did it to force you to become better at your craft. I would have given to you eventually.”

“Lies!”

“True. I am lying. I figured, I could draw out some sympathy from that black heart of yours. You’re hardly deserving of a spot on the stage let alone my tricks.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Lord Mystical shivered as the possibility of all this being a practical joke was rapidly dwindling.

“Why, I’m here to show you one last trick.”

The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. It was all at once in front of Lord Mystical, and behind him, on the left side, and on the right.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Behold the saddest sight of all!” The voice seemed to be coming from behind The Insubstantial Looking Glass, formerly a trick of The Great Haunter. Lord Mystical ran to it, hoping to find some prankster cowering behind it. Instead there was only air. He saw his own reflection and noticed bags beneath his eyes begin to grow. The bottoms of his cheeks began to succumb to gravity. His hair thinned into awful wire and grew whiter than snow.

“What is this, old man? Change me back!”

“If you were such a great magician, you needn’t rely on good looks alone. I definitely remember you having the charm to make a bad trick seem decent. This is just one less thing to worry about. Looks, after all, are fleeting.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to show you what a great magician is capable of doing. Here I am. You made me disappear from the face of the earth and I found a way to make my own self reappear. Houdini never needed his looks or his strength. All he needed was a crowd and the brain in his skull and he would make you believe the magic he did was real.”

“Leave me alone!” Mystical ran to the exits only to find that they had been somehow locked.

“I present to you actual magic from worlds beyond that your feeble mind couldn’t possibly comprehend and I don’t even detect a hint of fear, just arrogance.”

“Is this your trick?”

“We’re nearly done, don’t worry.” Lord Mystical began to realize that his aging was not just for appearance’s sake as the energy was being sapped straight from his bones. He tried to walk back to the middle of the room, but he stumbled upon a flat wooden table. He couldn’t remember which trick it was, he didn’t care. A wooden partition snapped into place before the aging magician could react. Above his head he could see a shimmering.

“Ladies and gentleman, I will now attempt to make Lord Mystical disappear!” The Great Haunter began to laugh a deep belly laugh. Before Lord Mystical could realize what was shimmering above his head, the guillotine had snapped clean through his now fragile neck. When the police found the decapitated corpse of an elderly man backstage, they never could figure out where Lord Mystical had gone.

Girl In The Well

Her dress was wet, covered with mud and algae. Lines ran down her face where the jagged rocks scraped her face. Her large blue eyes hid behind a thin veil of perpetual tears. Her hair was wet with the stagnant well water. But there were only two things that the little girl was concerned about. The first is her left leg, which she injured… badly. The bone felt stiff and numb. The muscles around it felt like fire. Her skin was wet and cold and wrapped tight around what was most likely a broken leg. Her second and much larger concern seemed to literally be a mile away as she looked up. How was she going to get out of this well?

The jagged masonry circled her like ugly stone vultures. The darkness towered over her. If the night had a stomach, this young girl was stranded in its symmetrical esophagus. The light teased her from overhead. She thought she could climb up the sides of the well. She grabbed at the walls and slid down taking bits of green algae and mud under her tiny fingernails. She looked up and saw the silhouette of a young boy staring down at her.

“Help!” she screamed feebly. There was no more energy in her little body to get the words all the way to the boy’s ears. She sighed in frustration, but she was glad that there was someone to keep her company. She smiled weakly and lifted her small hand towards the shadow staring at her. The little girl waved not even knowing what her would-be hero looked like. She prayed that he could see her clearly, see her at all. Dimly, she saw the boy wave back. Her smile grew larger and she melted into the air like the morning mist at first daylight.

“Honey! Come look at this,” the young boy’s mother called to him. “This says that this land belonged to a very rich family 200 years ago. The owner sold it all off when his daughter went missing. They never found her body. They say she still haunts these grounds. I wonder where she went.”

“She fell in the well, mommy,” the boy answered.

“That’s an interesting guess,” his mom said in a patronizing tone. “How did you come up with that?”

“I saw her and she waved at me,” he replied, “She just wanted someone to know where she was.”

Skeleton Rant

Times have changed, haven’t they? I remember there was a time where the very thought of my presence would send grown men screaming. But now? I’d be lucky if I could frighten a defenseless, jittery stray cat. Monsters now have to be fleshed out more and more as if they have something to prove. Did I need any of that? Of course not. But then again, I wouldn’t be much of a skeleton if I constantly fleshed out.

Millennia ago, I was the figure that spawned hundreds of horror stories. My figure alone guided the dead and wandering souls into the underworld. My face was the face of death. I didn’t need any gimmicks or masks or modern technology to strike terror into the hearts of people. All I needed was a black robe and my scythe. There was no need to walk through walls or howl at the moon. I didn’t even need the cloak of darkness to set the mood.

I suppose it’s just age catching up with me. Words! Writers would simply write about my yellowed, cracking bones and the words alone would be the cause of thousands’ loss of sleep. But now, the only people I could hope to scare are a few nervous students in a human anatomy class. It’s insulting.

For generations, I didn’t need a large frame for I was the frame. I didn’t need the organs, or the muscles, or many times even a voice to summon the most guttural of screams. I was quite literally the bare boned, bare essential, quintessential symbol of fear. Here I am, in the twenty first century simmered down to a commercial symbol for Halloween. I have been the face of death and somehow found myself scaring up laughs for Abbott and Costello.

But I’m not worried. Because deep down, the legends and lore of eons ago, passed from generation to generation to generation have burrowed deep into your subconscious. So consider this a warning. I may be an educational tool for medical students… for now. I may be hung on a window sill to welcome the ghouls of a commercialized holiday for now… for now. I may be the butt of everyone’s jokes… for now.

But that may very well soon change for if you were to run into the sun bleached, petrified bones of a skeleton I guarantee that frigid pinpricks will slide up your spine. For you know that no matter how amicable you dress up these bones, deep down I am still the indisputable face of death. And I still don’t need any scary music to set the mood; night is an ally but no more necessary than the rattling of my ribs.

If you were to feel my bony, pardon the pun, hands grab your shoulder… I know you will jump out of your seat. Because I am inside of you no matter how much you would like to deny it. I am under your skin and your sinewy muscles, grabbing hold of your feeble vital organs grinning deviously under your quivering lips. You don’t have to see me to fear me, for it is only when death’s icy voice calls your name that I come out to play.

One Last Ride

“Just one more time,” ten-year-old Ray beckoned to his parents.

“Ray, you’ve already been on the ride five times today already,” his father answered.

“And besides,” his mother added, “we have to get home early. We’re going to see your Aunt Esther in the morning.”

Ray didn’t care much for visits to Aunt Esther. He loved her as much as any ten-year-old boy could love his aunt, but it was no carnival.

“But I haven’t been on it after dark before,” Ray tried reasoning as he dug his heels into the dirt. His father, without looking back at Ray, dragged the boy along leaving two small trenches to literally carve out their path.

As soon as Ray’s mother saw the dust cloud being kicked up by Ray’s stubborn rebellion she grabbed him by the collar. Ray stood up off of his heels and walked, reluctantly, between his mother and father. His jeans were covered in dust, his cheeks sticky with cotton candy and his breath stinking of soda pop and corn dogs.

The adventurous boy looked behind him as he was being led by the wrists from the landmark of Halloween, the only reason to come to the carnival, the famous Hall of Haunts. He preferred the smell of the axel grease on the ride’s rails, the aroma of gunpowder from the fireworks wafting in the air to the mothball and plastic smells of Aunt Esther’s house.

Sure, the house was creepy, but it was far from haunted. It scared children in a different way that goblins and ghosts do, for it reminded them that growing old was inevitable. The creaking of the shutters and peeling paint of the banisters somehow convinced Ray that growing up meant giving up having fun at the carnival. And he was far from ready to make such a great sacrifice.

In his pajamas, Ray sat on his bed the moonlight dancing on his face. His elbows were sore from leaning them against the window sill straining his eyes towards the lights in the distance that were the carnival. He stared hard hoping that if he stared long enough he would wish himself back there. Alas, his last ride would not come tonight as he saw the lights of the carnival shut off. The afterglow burned in the distance like the embers of a dying flame.

“It would’ve been so great at night,” Ray sighed and put his head on his pillow. He closed his eyes and he could see the faces of the specters and ogres in the Hall of Haunts. He had memorized all the faces, all the glowing eyes, the loose green skin and the tight yellow skins. The large goblins and trolls in their places on the ride, the small imps and demons gnawing away at the mechanics of the rides, all appeared in the last ride Ray was taking in his head.

Ray awoke all of a sudden. His eyes were wide open and drawn to the window. Just then, a flash of light brought the carnival back to life. It was as if the lights turned on just for Ray. The lights on the Ferris wheel waved him over from his house. Ray’s jaw dropped as his eyes widened.

“It’s calling for me, I know it!” Ray said to himself as he ran downstairs. He tiptoed and the house creaked behind his ten-year-old footsteps. He looked up at the clock in his dad’s office and saw that the hands of the clock had met at the top of the face. Midnight.

“What kind of carnival is open at midnight?” Ray asked himself. He shrugged it off too eager to have one last ride on the Hall of Haunts. He put on his sneakers and the caps of the shoelaces kicked about eagerly behind him. Ray must’ve grabbed his father’s jacket on the way out. The sleeves were gigantic sliding out farther than his longest fingers could reach, but he didn’t care. How could he care? He was going to have a chance for one last ride.

He came to the entrance of the carnival and was greeted by a tall man in a dark suit that came over him like a cloak made out of the night sky itself. He smiled mischievously at Ray.

“You’re in luck, young man,” the tall man hissed, “Rides are free at midnight for all young boys and girls.” He took off his top hat and gestured towards the carnival. Perhaps hundreds of other children scurried the grounds. Ray’s eyes went to the Hall of Haunts and saw that there was no line. There was no magic more mystifying to a boy like Ray than that of his favorite carnival ride and no line to wait in.

He ran so fast to the Hall of Haunts, it was as if the soles of his feet never touched the ground. He jumped into the cart and eagerly pulled down the safety bar. Ray’s eyes wandered around to the operating booth to find that no one was pulling the levers and pushing the buttons necessary for the ride to work. But before he could search for whoever was in charge of the Hall of Haunts, the cart jolted violently, the doors with a demon face painted on it swung open and the ride began.

With the darkness of night shrouding all the worn canvas, the lights flashed brighter, and the darkness of the Hall of Haunts was somehow darker. This made all the creatures and oddballs that haunted the ride seem more alive. But something, Ray recognized, was entirely different, the trolls had a twinkle in their feline eyes, the snarls of goblins resembled smiles, and the wails of ghosts were more like the welcome laughter of children. It was scarier than usual, but still more welcoming than Aunt Esther’s house.

Midway through the ride, the cart stopped. This wasn’t part of the ride, Ray remarked under his breath. The safety bar flung open and the cart turned towards a dark wall. The ghouls and ghosts seemed to beckon him to get off the ride. Without any fear, the young boy got to his feet; the sleeves of his father’s jacket hung down to his knees. There was a dark entrance to a cave that Ray didn’t remember ever seeing before.

“Is that where they took the carts when they close the ride down?” the boy asked himself. But it couldn’t be. He saw them one time taking the cars out another back door. He definitely never saw this on the ride before. Curiosity drew him into the darkness, and he saw a world of possibility that no one had ever taught him about just beyond the frightening parts, the dark into the darkness, and he saw a world of possibility that no one had ever taught him about just beyond the frightening parts, the darkness of the cave.

“This is much better than Aunt Esther’s!” he exclaimed. And he wandered deep into the darkness, not afraid of the unknown. In fact, he welcomed a world of surprises that lay before him. In this darkness, scary parts were fun parts, and he knew that growing old didn’t have to mean growing dull.

The next morning, Ray was found asleep in his bed. The boy would have no memory of how he got back in bed, or if he ever got out of it in the first place. His father went to wake him and was welcomed with a mystery.

“Honey,” he called his wife to Ray’s room, “Take a look at this.”

“I don’t understand,” she answered.

“Neither do I,” the father agreed. They were never able to fully understand why Ray had gone to bed wearing his shoes and his father’s jacket. But then again, they never understood what was so special about the Hall of Haunts.

Abduction

It was supposed to be a simple rescue mission. Private Gale was captured during a routine maintenance check in the desert. His entire platoon was caught off guard by some unseen assailant. A distress call was sent out and received by a Sergeant Leary driving through the desert on an unrelated mission. The matter-of-factly Lieutenant Serling was put in charge of the group of shoulders chosen to lead. His superiors insisted that Leary be brought along for the mission.

“There were screams. Well, there was a single scream,” Leary explained, “Assuming he’s the only survivor as this tape indicates, I think it’s a safe bet to say that it’s Gale screaming.”

“The screaming isn’t on these tapes,” Serling pointed out.

“Yes, I know. I heard the screams over the radio, and that’s what prompted me to start recording.”

“Do we know what we’re looking for, exactly?” asked Serling.

“Just Gale, and whoever captured him.”

“Well seeing as how all we have to go on are some bloodcurdling screams and mentions of a cryptic light on a recording, that doesn’t give us much of a lead.”

It was a small band of soldiers. Serling would have liked a larger group given what little is known about the enemy. They were searching for an invisible enemy and praying that their fallen colleague was still alive.

“If you ask me,” Leary added, “it sounds a lot like aliens abducted him.”

“Are you kidding me?” Serling scoffed.

“Well stranger things have happened in the desert. I wouldn’t put it beyond the realm of possibility.”

Before Serling could reply with another scoff, a bright light silently burst in the sky instantly killing all soldiers except Serling and Gale in a maelstrom of fire. They looked at each other, saturated in terror and another bright light exploded above them.

Serling woke up, bound by a humming light. He was in some sort of cell adjacent to Leary’s who for some reason was not tied down. A man in the cell across from him looked familiar. It was Gale. He may have been immobilized as the same light shone on him. But he was unconscious, so it was difficult to tell. He was still breathing. Serling could see his chest rising and falling softly. There were no apparent bruises on Gale’s body from what Serling could see.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Leary whispered to Serling, “That’s not Gale.”

“What?” Serling asked, shocked. “Then who is it?”

“It has to be aliens. We’re in their ship. We don’t have anything close to this kind of technology, and we’re the military.” Serling was still skeptical.

“Why are you free, Leary?”

“Who knows? It could be some awful experiment. I saw strange creatures emerge from that door over there,” Leary pointed to an ominous metal door that seemed to lead to thin air. “They placed Gale there, like a dummy or something. Almost as if he’s bait.”

“You saw the aliens?”

“I didn’t see their faces. But they were tall and lanky. They spoke some strange, awful language. For all we know, that could be a Gale robot, or a Gale clone or something. We have to kill him.”

“Kill him? We spent all this time trying to rescue him. I’ll be damned if we kill him instead.”

“It’s not really him, sir. The real Gale might be dead, might have been dead this whole time. Whatever that is over there, was obviously used to lure us to that particular spot in the desert where they abducted us.”

“Why go through the trouble of making another Gale?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. But all I know is that if they went through the trouble of baiting us into the middle of nowhere, who know what will happen if we try and rescue that impostor.”

“Calm down, sergeant, let me think,” Serling was dead silent for a full minute. “Leary, you’re going to have to figure out a way to get me free from this contraption before we can do anything. We’re going to get out of this spaceship one way or another.”

Leary attempted to wriggle his way out of his cell just as Serling struggled to break free. No alarm was set off but an eerie hiss filled the room with a thick, choking gas. Leary managed to break free but a tall, lanky figure appeared from nowhere to drag him away. Serling attempted to break free to help, but the gas sapped his strength with lightning quickness. Eventually, Serling didn’t have enough strength to keep his eyes open.

Just before he was completely out, he saw Gale awaken. Gale stepped down effortlessly from the humming light. Leary can be heard screaming in pain. It was a continuous scream that seized Serling by the gut. He could not see what was being down Leary, but he could most definitely hear it being reflected in the man’s scream. Even more horrifying than the scream was how abruptly it ended.

Serling awoke, not knowing how much time had passed between bouts of consciousness. His body ached as he tried to move. It was almost as if his muscles had forgotten how to operate. The room shook furiously in the Lieutenant’s vertigo. The aliens had caught Leary trying to escape, but paid no attention to Gale.

“Gale’s an imposter,” Serling reasoned to himself, “I can’t trust him.”

The humming light around him abruptly turned off dropping Serling to the cold, unfeeling floor. Slowly, Serling got to his feet and saw a pipe on the floor. He grabbed it and felt the weight in his hands. It would make a good weapon.

A hole carved itself into the partition of the cell, forming a geometrically perfect door. Gale walked through it and Serling did not hesitate when swinging the heavy pipe at his head. A dull, sickening crack vibrated the pipe as Gale’s body collapsed onto the floor. Serling walked out of the cell and saw the large, ominous door was open.

The light that was shining through it was the familiar warmth of the sunlight. He walked out the door and breathed the pure desert air. His eyes were closed to feel the warmth of the sun, but he couldn’t see his attacker approach him. All it took was one shot to the back of the head and Serling was eliminated. The soldier that carried out the dirty deed walked back into the “ship.” He went into the back room where tall, lanky costumes stood in the closet.

Sergeant Leary sat at a monitor watching the events unfold on a recording. He took copious notes on a clipboard and entered them into a computer.

“Serling is taken cared of, sir” the soldier informed Leary.

“Good, the study was a complete success.”

“I’m not sure I agree with the way you test out our new equipment, sergeant.”

“We weren’t testing the equipment,” Leary replied, “We were testing the resolve of these fellow soldiers.”

“But we killed them.”

“We only killed Serling. He killed Gale. We set them both free. Had they left together, we would have no choice but to let them go.”

“He was trying to secure his own survival. You can’t blame a man for doing that.”

“As Benjamin Franklin once said, ‘Those who are willing to sacrifice their freedoms for security, deserve neither.’” And with that, Leary turned off the monitor and declared the experiment officially over.

Made For Each Other

My heart’s racing like it’s never raced before. She was made for me. Those eyes, large and dark, make me putty in her hands. The glossy stare could be for just anybody, but it isn’t. Those eyes hone in on me. Like two black coals studded with a microscopic diamond, those eyes scan me up and down. Her skin is smooth and a cool mix of grays and greens. Those lips, made to receive my kisses, are like two sickly worms longing to be on my cheek.

Her hair is beautifully ragged like bundles of wire and burnt hay. Like the unwelcoming night, her hair is deathly black. I can just get lost and sleep in her hair forever. I love to run my calloused, cold hands through it, gliding my fingers along the white streak that runs along the side of her head. A simple, white gown is all she needs. She’s too beautiful for any frock, but that gown plays its role well and just accentuates her loveliness.

“It’s alive!!!!” my father exclaims as he throws the switch. As the sky crackles with electricity, her hands twitch as do her cheeks. Her eyelids snap open as smoke rises from her body. She sits up and with those large eyes she looks upon me… and screams.

“Welcome home, my bride,” I whisper to myself, “Welcome home.”

The Experience

The darkness is devouring me. It’s cold all around and haunts me. What once was fear has become a comforting embrace. I can hear voices in the distance. They’re familiar, but I can’t recognize them. All sounds are muted in this void that I find myself floating in. Old friends fade into existence and smile at me.

They reach their hands out to me. A light explodes and beckons to me in the distance. The light bathes me in its warmth. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how I got here, but I don’t think I belong here.

The muted voices become clear. And the light is now much harsher. A jolt runs through my body. I anticipate an impact, but I don’t know from where it’s coming from.

“Clear!” the doctor yelled. The cold paddles pierce me with sudden heat. Beeps are now more prominent.

“He’s back,” one of the nurses said, “You gave us quite a scare. Don’t worry, you’re neighbor pulled you out of the pool just in time. You’re very lucky.”

I nodded to the nurse, exhausted, and tried to smile. I don’t know if a smile is what shown on my face. Air is drawn into the lungs like a million needles both painful and welcome. They wheel me away to another room. And I see my family in the distance.

“He’s had a very harrowing experience,” I hear the doctor say to them. I couldn’t disagree more. I tried to smile again as I let my heavy eyelids shut and I went to sleep.

The Light Shedding Note

“Do we know what happened?” asked Mr. Ambrose, the man with the nicest suit.

“The press is calling it another act of random violence, but they don’t have the details,” replied Mr. King, “and the bad news is: neither do we.”

“They’re calling it random violence?” Mr. Ambrose asked rhetorically, “I don’t know if we can call it that if no one was actually hurt.” Just then a young man in his twenties wearing a uniform walked into the office. It was Officer Rice.

“We found this on the guy. I think it sheds some light on the subject,” Rice said as he handed a crumpled up envelope to Mr. Ambrose. “It’s a suicide note”

“But the guy isn’t dead,” King commented, confused.

“I think it will make more sense if you read the whole thing, sir,” Rice replied. Ambrose unfolded the piece of paper in the envelope and read it aloud. The contents of the note were as follows:

One would think that being 400 years old would make the pain of loneliness disappear into numbness. I have done everything to the best of my ability to make the dread of being me as bearable as possible. Everything was going well until that girl came into my life. In a world that’s filled with so many demons, she was the singular angel that made living worthwhile.

She reminded me so much of Kayla: her shimmering emerald green eyes and long brown hair that cascaded ever so gently over her shoulders. When she smiled, she made me forget about the evil that resides inside of me. It’s as if all the pain of being this bloodthirsty monster disappears. I’m no longer a vampire; I’m miraculously healed by her mere presence.

But it all fell apart when she fell for another. She never gave me a chance. I was brushed aside as some insignificant speck in her eye. If I weren’t a stronger person, a better person, I would blame all this misery on her. That wouldn’t be fair. She deserves much better than the man she chose, but it’s not my place to tell her what to do. There’s only one way to resolve this. I’m going to end my life the only way a vampire can. Goodbye.

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on around here?” Principal Anderson demanded as he walked in through the door.

“Suicide attempt,” Mr. King answered, “by one of the students disrupted the class.”

“Well, it’s only sort of a suicide attempt,” added Mr. Ambrose. “The kid thinks he’s a vampire. That would explain why he ran out into the lawn and screamed in agony only to pass out.”

“So nobody’s dead?” Principal Anderson asked.

“No, sir. But everyone on campus is a bit shaken up by the whole ordeal. That’s why we called the assembly in the school gym,” added Officer Rice.

“I thought you knew your kids, gentleman,” Principal Anderson scoffed at King and Ambrose.

“We’ve seen him reading all those vampire books,” Mr. King commented.

“But we would have never imagined that he thought he was an actual undead,” Mr. Ambrose added.

“What ever happened to the days of comic books?” And with that, Principal Anderson went to address the student body.