It's trite to say that your life can change in an instant, but of course, it can. I remember the day being overcast, a sky thick with clouds and with leaves that swirled around in the air, ominously forboding. I had a headache and my eyes were red-rimmed, whites cracked and webbed with red blood vessels, puffy pillows underneath them because I couldn't stop crying. It had been one of those episodes of crying that had grown uncontrollable. It began silently, then graduated to a stream of tears that seemed to fall endlessly then graduated to a great, rollicking sadness in which my shoulders shook and I was gasping for breath.

Usually, I care about hiding those emotions. We were sitting at Denny's, Mike and I, and I'd ordered some small thing that I never intended to eat. Mike looked worried. I think it was the heart, he said. She was lingering over the heart when we looked at the ultrasound. I swallowed. Just be patient, he was saying. It's almost one.

One o'clock was when the obstetrician had told us to return to the office. The nurse had left a message on the answering machine that we needed to come back in because of a finding on the ultrasound. From that time onward, I'd worried. Much as I tried to starve it, my worry went to seed. It had sprouted and grown until it finally burgeoned beyond my capacity to deal with it, beyond Mike's capacity for comfort, and we'd shown up at the doctor's office. I was a stewed-tomato face, and I no longer cared if the nurses or other patients found my emotional state upsetting.

We'd been sent away and told to return at one, so that the doctor could talk to us. My foraging mind continued to forage, under every rock and crevice, every nook and cranny, leaving no inch of unexamined. Was it the heart? What if the baby wasn't even alive at all? What if the baby had a condition in which it aged prematurely, in which we loved for several years and then had our hearts broken with such deep and pervading sorrow that we couldn't recover, ever? I didn't dare think of the possiblity that things would be OK. Too scary, too much room for disappointment to think that. The mind protects itself from pain in such moments, and I'd become like a wild animal, daring anyone to tell me that something was wrong with the baby.

The hour at Denny's seemed to stretch on, but The Uknown was not done with us yet. Doctor Leo told us that there was a deformity found on the ultrasound. It could be nothing, or. Or? I asked. We'd have to "deliver the baby early."

I was not stupid.

We weren't far along enough for the baby to survive outside the womb.

In the intervening weeks, The Unknown and I became acquaintances. At times I wanted to cry, but then found myself consoled by The Unknown. Stillbirth was not inevitable, and that was a source of comfort. At other times The Unknown was a scary dog chained outside a mobile home. He growled deeply and I felt sure that if I got closer, he would rip and tear me apart, until there was nothing left. There was nothing I could do to speed up time, so I walked with The Unknown, sometimes hand in hand, other times running away, wishing that I could outrun it.

I'm older now.

Would you like to know how it turned out? The findings were nothing. We have a healthy fifteen year old boy, and a younger daughter, as well.

But fifteen years later I sometimes recall the power of The Unknown. It is yin and yang, light and dark, despair, but also hope.

A small girl sat staring at a lonesome flower beyond her reach. Her longing eyes burned with a desire to touch it, explore it, smell its sticky sweetness. But a thicket isolated her with its clawing hand, pushing her away from the flower’s beauty. Only between the taunting branches could she catch glimpses of it. In the windy night, she watched the flower sway, like the soothing rhythm of waves in an ocean. The pulling motions drifted her to sleep, her dreams filled with thoughts of escaping the darkness. It closed in on her, making it harder and harder to breathe. She could feel her lungs tighten. Her mind was clouded with demons. Demons who hid within the shadows of the trees around her.

The flower distracted her.

She craved its innocence, its purity. The thought of exploring its delicate simplicity kept her from insanity. As the unforgiving, wintry air arrived, she feared for the little flower in the field. Lonely. Cold. She yearned to hold and comfort it, warm its frozen petals. But the thicket held her back.

She was lost. Alone in a world of darkness. No one was with her. Her family was gone. She should have been gone too. But she was still here, somehow. She longed to join them. So she waited.

After a while, she turned away and began walking down the damp, abandoned trail. Her feet dragged across the loose pebbles, emitting a faint scuffing sound. Her little rain boots wandered across the muddy soil.

She stopped suddenly, hearing footsteps from behind in the distance. A man revealed himself, coming around the corner. He hesitated when he saw her. He stopped, concerned for the lonely girl in the woods.

“Are you alright?” He asked. She didn’t say a word. A look of fear came across her face. He found this to be perfectly natural, as a stranger had just appeared to her. He took a step toward her, wondering if she was lost.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said. Her voice was soft and light. Looking at her closer, the man realized she must’ve been much younger than what he thought originally. Maybe eight or nine. But her eyes hinted at a terribleness he could never imagine.

“Wouldn’t do what?” He asked.

“You shouldn’t come any closer.”

He questioned her again.

“These woods aren’t safe. This town isn’t safe.” She drew in a quick breath. “It is always listening. It’s always here,” she whispered. “Can’t you feel it? It never lets you leave.”

He felt the crisp air moving along the trail, encouraging him to draw closer to the girl and her secrets. He felt an ominous presence from where the girl had been walking. He looked behind her. The woods continued on, darker and more mysterious. She turned around and left the man standing there. She continued back to the forest where she had been. Back to her flower.

The man, with a chill coursing through his body, felt overwhelming curiosity in the cold, dark night. He looked down the long road. He couldn’t see the end.

“It never lets you leave.” The girl’s words echoed in his head.

He started walking.

He walked for only a minute or two before he came across a quaint little town in a clearing of the woods. Doors barely hung on their rusted hinges, groaning in pain when each gust of wind blew. Ancient houses stood in agony of their betrayal. Through all of the destruction, it seemed as though this town used to be loved. An old playground lay in the center. He could envision an abundance of children, running through the small town, laughing, playing. Why had it been abandoned?

He walked along the cracked road, searching for an explanation. As he got closer to the houses, he noticed that they had all been boarded up. He moved closer to a small house whose boards were not as secure. It only took three strong kicks for them to collapse. He opened the door slowly. A wave of nausea hit him hard. The smell was unbearable. But the sight was worse. Bodies lay on the ground, stained a deep shade of crimson. Their flesh had been ripped to shreds. Only their eyes stared back at him. Amidst this horror, flowers had been placed inside the entire house. The multitude of colors did nothing to make the scene less horrible. Shattered glass from the vases covered the floor. The brightness of the petals created a disturbing image next to the mutilated bodies. He felt his stomach tighten. He couldn’t imagine the horror that befell this innocent town. It couldn’t have happened long ago. The flowers hadn’t even wilted.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps. It was coming from above him. The sounds were very faint. Something climbed across the roof. The calmness of the steps was the worst part. He swallowed hard, somehow knowing this was what had destroyed this town, these families. He couldn’t explain it. He felt this unknown presence throughout his body. It urged him to stay.

The footsteps continued.

The creature must not have known that the door was wide open. The man followed the sounds above him until he heard it scraping inside the chimney. It came down. Down. He heard a faint rattle. It struggled to come toward him. It was desperate. The creature came closer, pushing through the narrow tunnel. It wouldn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate to run. He raced out of the house, hearing a blinding shriek from the thing in the chimney. It knew he was there. He turned back mid-sprint and saw it.

And knew he stood no chance.

The girl still sat in the woods. She heard the shrieking. She knew what had happened. It was what took her family. Her entire life. She tried not to hear the crunching of bones, the obliteration of a body, another life taken. A tear escaped her eyes. She had tried to warn him. She looked back at the flower. Her mom had loved flowers. Their home was full of them. Full of happiness and warmth. But that happiness was gone. Now she remained, somehow having escaped these horrors. It had only happened days ago. She wished she was with her family. But she was stuck here. Stuck without her mom, without even this flower to hold. So she waited, too scared to face the creature. She waited and waited in the woods.

She waited to die.

“Mommy, where do we go when we die?”

And there it was, the question Emeline has been dreading to answer aside from the birds and the bees.

How does an atheist answer this question? Does she tell her child there is nothing after death, that we all just turn to dust six feet under and that’s that? Emeline takes a deep pause. She clears her throat repeatedly and mumbles “um” as she scrambles for an answer.

She eyes the door, maybe she could make a run for it. She pushes the thought from her mind, puts on her best fake smile and begins.

“Well honey, you see-” she says as she brushes the hair from the little one’s face, “we don’t really go anywhere.”

The little boy’s face scrunches at the response.

“You mean we just stay here?”

Emeline realizes she’s been vague, but maybe vague was the answer to her problems. Maybe she could “vague” her way out of this question.

“Yeah, kind of.”

The little boy’s eyes light up as he sits up straight in his bed.

“Does that mean daddy is still here?”

Emeline’s breath ceases momentarily. Suddenly the purpose for the question makes more sense. Her husband had died two years prior in an accident. He was in critical condition at the hospital before he passed. It was the first and last time Emeline prayed.

Emeline’s tone becomes more stern.

“No sweetie. Daddy’s not here anymore, you know that.”

Oddly, the light in the boy’s eyes grows brighter.

“But I’ve seen him, and you just said we stay here when we die. So, I know I’m not seeing things.”

A rumbling begins in Emeline’s stomach. She takes a deep breath, tightly clenches her teeth and says, “Sweetie, you know that’s impossible. Daddy is gone, and he’s never coming back.”

The boy is deflated. Emeline realizes she may have come off a bit too harsh.

“Honey-”

“No,” he screams, “you’re lying. Daddy is still here. I’ve seen him!”

“Honey, I need you to calm down. Don’t you speak to me like that-”

“You’re lying, you’re lying,” he says over and over again.

“Sweetie-” Emeline tries to hold him, but he pushes her off.

“He’s still here,” he shouts.

Emeline sighs defeatedly. “Fine!” she screams, “Fine, fine I believe you, just please settle down.”

The little boy stops, breathing heavily. “You do?”

“Yes” Emeline says, “yes, I believe you.” Emeline realizes she has to let him keep his imagination. He’s far too young for her truth, and if “seeing” his dad gives him comfort and let’s him cope, then what kind of mother is she to take that away?

“Good because daddy said you had to believe so I could tell you.”

Emeline’s face is befuddled, but she plays along.

“Tell me what?”

The little boy yawns. “He told me to tell you to open the top drawer of the corner cabinet in his study. He said you’ll find a box in there with a note attached. He said he’d been meaning to give it to you, but never got the chance.”

Emeline’s once blush cheeks fade into a shade of white paler than a ghost. Her throat clogs as she is at a loss for words.

“I-” she begins to say, but the little boy is fast asleep.

Emeline regains her composure. Confused, she turns off the lights in the bedroom, closes the door behind her and takes a moment outside of her son’s room. “He’s confused,” she says, “it’s just his imagination.”

Emeline attempts to brush off the bizarre conversation with her son as she walks away only to pass the study. She pauses and stands in front of the door. She hasn’t entered since her husband’s death. Emeline’s pulse is racing, her palms sweating profusely, she takes a deep breath and reaches for the handle. Her hand rests on the handle for a beat as she musters up the courage to open the door. “This is ridiculous,” she finally says, “it’s all in his head and this will prove it.” With one turn she enters.

The study is dusty but everything is as her husband left it. Emeline storms towards the cabinet in the corner and opens the top drawer as instructed. Other than a few envelopes there was nothing. Emeline is somewhat dejected, but reassured that it is all in her son’s head.

As she is about to close the drawer, she notices the board in the drawer is lopsided. Emeline removes the envelopes from the drawer and pushes further on the lopsided end. The board pops open and reveals a false bottom with a single box within it.

Emeline gulps at the reveal. Suddenly the room is spinning and the walls are closing in.

“Breathe,” she tells herself, “he must have seen David putting the box in the drawer. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Emeline deeply sighs and slowly reaches for the box and sees a note attached.

“To my dear Emeline, I am a man of my word. I’m only sorry it took so long and wish I could give you even more. I love you forever. David.”

Emeline brushes her fingers across the ink on the paper as though for a brief moment she has her husband back.

A single tear strolls down Emeline’s face as she opens the box. Emeline begins sobbing uncontrollably as she stares at an emerald cut diamond ring, the ring David had promised Emeline when he first proposed with a ten dollar silver band. She takes the ring from the box and places it atop the rusty silver band on her ring finger. She laughs nervously, not knowing what to believe.

“Mommy?” she hears her son’s voice behind her, “are you crying?”

She quickly wipes her tears and turns to face her son. “No baby, mommy’s okay,” she says.

He sees the box in her hand. “You found it!” he shouts excitedly, “see, I told you.”

Emeline smiles. “You were right. Come on let’s go back to bed.”

Emeline takes her son’s hand as they head back to the bedroom, and she tucks him in.

“Mommy, does heaven exist?” he asks.

Emeline looks down on her son’s pure face. “You know what sweetie, I don’t know, but I know you exist, and if there is a heaven, you’re it for me.”

The little boy smiles, temporarily satisfied by his mother’s answer.

Whether heaven exists, or there’s life after death, or if Emeline’s husband really did show himself to their son doesn’t matter to Emeline because in this moment she has everything she needs right on earth.

She kisses her son’s forehead and closes the door behind her. She looks at the rings on her finger and smiles as she makes her way to her bedroom.

Some things are better left unknown.

It was 6 P.M. The lake had closed 30 minutes ago, but the poor, desperate fisherman still sat beside his small boat, line in the water. The sun had just started to set, setting the mood for a relaxing evening by the salt-scented water. A few illegal hours spent here would be worth the extra meal it might’ve brought him.

As he tossed another thin line into the water, his eyes focused on something small in the distance. Barely visible was a minuscule, frail hand as if one of a small child’s. Without hesitation, the man kicked his boat away from its dock and into the water. To his surprise, the lake did not swallow it with its ripples as it usually did; the gentle waves stilled eerily quickly, allowing the man to paddle towards the small hand with absolute freedom.

He prodded at the hand with his paddle. The hand jerked and squirmed, suddenly waving helplessly in the water. He dove for it, nearly throwing himself into the water. Reacting to him, the fingers steadied, stopped. They clasped gently against his. Just as the man was prepared to yank, he felt a pull. Gentle at first, it served no threat. Suddenly, he was wrenched from the edge of his boat with the force of a demon, screams muted by water bombarding his nostrils.

Beneath the water, a pale, beige giant awaited him. It had large, slanted, black eyes with a small hand as an antenna, it’s body stretching into a thick, long snake-like rope going for seemingly miles beneath them. It grinned at him with its wide mouth and Charybdis teeth, dragging him through the water as it’s jaw opened slowly, teeth circling, tail curling. It sucked in with the force of a hundred whales, pulling his legs aggressively into his mouth, preparing to swallow him whole. The man gaped at the depth of the creature’s mouth, it’s eyes beading at him.

Around his head, however, he began to feel something else. Thin hairs began to encircle his torso, pulling him away from the large creature’s full control. His head was tilted upwards, and at the other end of the long, smooth hairs, he saw a woman. She moved gracefully through the water, her appearance flawless. A sense of bliss flooded his heart as the monstrous creature faded further into the distance, the darkness of the lake washed out by the light streaming into the shallow end of the water. The woman gently towed him closer to her, but the closer he got, the more the joy dispersed. The closer he got, the more he noticed her horribly bloodshot eyes. Her hair turned dry and itchy around his face, the bright blonde transforming into a tar-like black as it coiled violently against his skin. Her long, beautifully patterned tail morphed into a beading line of pulsing red flesh, matching her eyes. Her skin grew pale, teeth transforming into hairs that pulled him harder, faster towards the enlarging hole in her face that barely passed as a mouth-- until her string of hairs was sliced by the needle-like teeth of a much larger being.

The water finally penetrated his lungs. The larger creature had dark purple, slimy skin that moved quickly in the water in a cable shape. It darted across him with remarkable speed, it’s body never-ending. Finally, it changed its course, using its speed to wrap it’s entire lower half around the helpless fisherman. Slowly, it’s grip on him got more forceful, squeezing his body to the point of bursting. The last thing the man saw was the fish’s Joker-like grin across its wide, triangular face.

On the surface, the lake was still. The dead man’s boat floated calmly atop the still water. A small shark swallowed it whole, barely disturbing the liquid ripples, as the man’s exploded bones silently joined the layers beneath.