Some things are not worth money.

When I first entered my grandfather’s estate, I was almost shocked. He was, by all accounts and definitions, a hoarder. Naturally, nobody in the family wanted to take care of his estate for this very reason. So it fell upon me to do it, although he still had living children of his own. They said that I could have an equal share of the profits from the sale of the house and the land if I did, otherwise they were going to have to pay someone else to do it anyway. I guess they felt I would be cheaper, or perhaps they felt the need to do a good deed. I was in need of money to pay back my student loans, and the job market wasn’t exactly blowing up right now, so I took them up on it.

It was a small house out in the hot, dry middle of nowhere. It was miles from the nearest town, and even that was almost just a gas station and a Sheriff. When I arrived there was a dumpster already sitting outside waiting for me. I’d stopped at the gas station earlier to fill up and grab some food, so I trudged to the front door with my luggage in one hand and a couple of bags of staples in the other. By the time I got to the door I was dripping sweat, and the A/C unit in the house’s only front window didn’t bode well for the rest of my stay here. The inside had to be cooler than under the Summer’s noon Sun though, so I quickly unlocked the door and made my way inside. I was right - it was cooler, but not by enough. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness I walked into, but once they did I could see why no one wanted this job.

The house was full to the brim with papers and various objects. It seemed it was made up of hallways created by the debris, and as I navigated them to the kitchen I began to smell something foul. When I got there I opened the fridge and was met with an odor that made me wretch. There was food in there that had gone bad most likely months ago given the advanced progression of the mold on it. I had found my first job.

So I set my things out of the way and broke out the gloves I had bought to do this. I made several trips to the dumpster emptying the fridge, and once everything was out I set to scrubbing it down with some cleaners and a brush that I had found under the sink. Thank God for small miracles. After about thirty minutes my arms were screaming at me - I hadn’t done anything this physical in a long time - but eventually, I managed to get the refrigerator to an acceptable state. Once I did I put the food I had brought inside and sat down in a chair in the dining area to rest. I felt much better, having adjusted to the temperature a little, but I was still sweating like a pig - my clothes were soaked. After a brief respite, I decided to go assess the bedroom. It was Hell getting to it as the hallways of garbage were meant to accommodate my grandfather’s much smaller frame, but get to it I did, and was pleasantly surprised at the state it was in. Somehow, he’d kept it relatively tidy, with only a stack of books near the foot of the bed. And the bathroom was fairly clean as well - it was somewhere I could actually see myself taking a shower in, thank God. Coming out of the bathroom I saw a nightstand that I hadn’t noticed before. Inside it, I thought I might find some of his more intimate and personal belongings, but instead, I was met with two things: a singular handle and its screws, and a screwdriver. Perplexed, I shut the drawer and continued my tour.

After determining that I wouldn’t need to go back into town to stay the night, not that I could really afford to, I began cleaning the house. I started in the front where the majority of the mess was large pieces of metal, various wooden boards, and what appeared to be an antique toilet. The toilet was faced at and in front of the sole window - I had no idea why he would’ve had it so, and I doubted that I wanted to know. So out everything went, into the dumpster. I didn’t take any special care with the floors, instead dragging things through the house because I figured that anyone that bought this property would tear the house down anyway, or at the very least renovate it.

After a few hours, I managed to get the living room mostly cleared out, mainly by removing the towering columns of papers and books. Quite a few of them were newspapers, sometimes with multiple copies of the same one. Many of them had random words circled in them throughout, some with articles and pictures and pages missing. It looked like my grandfather had gotten them from every corner of the country. As for the books, they were almost entirely self-help books. I found it rather odd, as I’d only met my grandfather a few times, but I didn’t remember him being plagued by any demons or inner turmoil. In fact, I remembered him being quite happy. Apparently, something had changed.

It was getting dark and I was exhausted, so I decided to retire for the evening. I made myself a simple dinner, eating it in the small dining area off the kitchen. I had no service out here, so I was limited to reading my grandfather’s books for entertainment. He had some other than the hoard of DIY fix-yourself-type books; some of them were even classics. I settled on Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and went to the bedroom to read it. As I lay in bed, I grew very tired very quickly, and soon set down the book. As I began to drift off to sleep, all I could hear was the humming of the window unit and the insects outside. The darkness began to take me.

Then it all stopped.

The sounds of the night ceased, and at first, I thought I had fallen asleep. But then I heard them. The whispers.

They were soft, traveling upon currents of air as audible feathers. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but I could feel a sinisterness in them. I opened my eyes and looked around, frightened by the possibilities. Turning on the lamp on the nightstand I called out into the night, inquiring as to who might be disturbing my slumber. But there was no response. The whispers continued, filling the room with their hollow energy. I was terrified, so much so that I reverted to a childhood defense against monsters and pulled the covers tighter to my body.

“Help.”

I heard it. One of the whispers had gained form, giving me a glimpse of its origins. It sounded like a little boy, and he sounded as frightened as I was. Immediately I called out again, asking as to his whereabouts.

“Help me.”

Now I was growing concerned. The clarity of his pleas was muddied at best, sounding as if in a different room, locked behind a door. I got up from the bed and began calling out to him, asking him where he was, what his name was. Every inquiry was met with the same desperate cry for help. He sounded far away, but clear as day. I couldn’t put my finger on where he might be; I’d gone through the entirety of the small house today and hadn’t seen any place that might be hiding him. I started to wander from the bedroom when I heard a faint thump behind me. I turned around and saw the only stack of books in the room jostling in time with the panicked thumping.

“Help me, I’m scared.”

The voice was louder now, and with haste, I began clearing away the pile of books. As I did the thumping stopped, but the cries just became louder.

“Help me.”

“Help me.”

“HELP ME!”

Finally, I managed to sweep away the last of the books, and underneath them lay a trap door. It had no lock and no handle, but it had the holes and outline from where a handle had been. I scrambled to the nightstand and removed its contents, careful not to lose the screws in the relative darkness.

“HELP ME!”

“HELP ME!”

“HELP ME PLEASE!”

The boy's now shouts assaulted my mind, invading every corner of my skull as I fumbled desperately with the handle. I tried so hard to be quick about it, but the screws themselves were long, and they did not go in easily. Finally, I managed to get them both in and gave a great heave upon the door. As soon as I did the shouting stopped, and I was met with a square of complete darkness. I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight, but for some reason, it would only pierce the black veil by a few feet. I could see only that there were stairs leading into the abyss, but what lay at the bottom was a mystery. Hesitantly, I placed my foot on the first step, unknowing of the journey I was embarking upon.

It took me far too long to reach the bottom. I turned around and couldn’t see even a glimmer of light from whence I’d come. Before I could think too much about it I heard a skittering coming from the dark, from somewhere out there. I whipped around and shone my phone into the void, but I couldn’t see anything. I reached out and put my shaking hand on the wall as I stepped off the final step into the darkness.

“Help me.”

There he was, whispering for my help once again. I called out to him but received no answer. I kept my hand on the wall as I began to venture out, alternating the light between the floor and the center of the room. Not that it did much good; I could barely see the floor and it might as well have been turned off when I shone it anywhere else.

The wall was cold, but the air was colder. The stones that made up the wall were large and smooth as if boulders polished down by some ancient stream. I’d been fumbling around for scarcely a minute when I felt something warm and wet under my hand. I brought it into the light, and it was covered in blood. I shone my light on the wall and saw something horrifying. I saw my grandfather crucified on the wall, naked and bleeding from his chest where the word ‘freedom’ was carved. One of the worst parts about it was his smile; from ear to ear and missing teeth. He looked so happy. I screamed and fell backward onto the ground, dropping my phone in the process. Thankfully it was easy to find it with the light on, but once I picked it back up I couldn’t see anything. I swung it around, but all I could see was the darkness.

“You came for me.”

I heard the child once more and turned my light to where I had heard them from. I saw them sitting naked in the darkness, a little boy with his head buried into his knees. He was shivering from the cold and his hair was long and unkempt, as though he’d been down here for months. We were about a yard apart, and I could tell that I didn’t want to get any closer. There was no innocence, no tenderness, no life left in his countenance. I was regretful of my decision.

Then he looked up, and locked eyes with me. It was me. He was a bastardized, malicious, monstrous version of my childhood. I was scared. I was afraid and horrified. I was frozen.

“I knew you’d come,” he said. “Your grandfather couldn’t resist me either. Call it a familial weakness.”

With a shriek he lunged at me, eyes blackened with hate and teeth flashing bright in the light of my phone as I dropped it. I screamed and bolted upright in the bed. I was covered in sweat, cold and wet. I rolled over and checked the side table drawer, and the handle was missing. Looking over at the place where the door to that strange Hell had once lain, I saw nothing but piles of books. Slowly, I got out of bed, and crept over to the piles, trying not to let the floor creak beneath my feet. I moved the books and found… nothing. No door, no portal to a horrific fever dream, no nothing.

It must have been a nightmare, I surmised. There was no way that any of it could be real anyway, no matter how real it had felt. That would be simply preposterous. So with that knowledge, I climbed back into bed and drifted off into what I hoped would be a more peaceful sleep - it wasn’t. During the night I tossed and turned, visions of monsters dancing in my head. When I awoke in the morning I was still tired, drained by my unrest. But I got up and went about my day.

I cleaned up a good portion of the house, most of what I found simply went into the dumpster outside, but there were a few things of potential value that I thought were interesting, so I kept them. The family said I could take anything I wanted out of there, as long as it wasn’t cash. My grandfather wasn’t a particularly wealthy man, but his finances had always mystified everyone. No one knew where his money came from or where it went, only that he’d never really wanted for anything or ever asked to borrow. Even his children were dumbfounded, and my grandmother had died shortly after my father was born, so she wasn't around to explain. I was never told exactly what happened, but growing up I heard whispers. From what I could piece together she had cut her wrists open in the bathroom sink when my father was only six months old - on the day of in fact. It was a horrible end that no one could explain.

Among the few baubles and trinkets I found was a dagger. It was very obviously old, being made not of metal, but of bone. The handle was wrapped in leather, and it had a strange symbol carved into the blade. I assumed it was Native American in origin, but I was no expert. Just a bad guesser.

The next few days passed without incident, though my sleep was still plagued with horrors I’d never encountered before. I chalked it up to sleeping in a bed that wasn’t my own, as I was generally a creature of habit. I did my duty, and when it was done I left. The dumpster out front was almost overflowing as I got in my car and drove away. The house was a quarter-mile from the main road, and as I kicked up dirt on the drive to it I looked in my rearview. I did a double-take because at first, it looked like someone was standing in the window. But when I looked again, there was no one. I kept driving.

I stopped in “town” to get gas and some things for the road. I wasn’t much of a talker, but the girl at the register was cute, and pleasant enough, so I struck up a bit of conversation.

‘Rape her.’

The thought came from nowhere and startled me so much that I tripped over my words. I’d never had a thought like that before.

‘There’s nobody here but the two of you. It would be easy. Rape her.’

I couldn’t comprehend my thoughts and stopped mid-sentence. Where was this coming from? The cashier asked if I was okay, and I told her I was fine, just tired. I paid for my things, thanked her, and left. As I walked back out to my car images flashed through my mind of her, crying and screaming as she fought against me. I shook my head, trying to physically banish the images from my mind. I couldn’t believe I would even think something like that - I never had before. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.

As I drove away from the station the thoughts subsided, and I was left with a horrible feeling of guilt, though I’d done nothing. I turned on some music to distract myself, and after a few minutes, I felt like myself again. Soon I was jamming and singing along to the music, the strange thoughts completely gone from my mind. Before long I was back on the main highway, well on my way to civilization.

I was still a good ways away from the closest major city, and hours from home, but I was making good time. The road was a wide two-way with ample shoulders but no middle divider, and only one lane on each side. I couldn’t see any cars ahead of me or behind me, and only the occasional semi passing opposite me. The fields on either side of me rolled like golden waves in the wind, and I felt peaceful as I drove through this ocean. Another eighteen-wheeler approached me.

‘Drive into it.’

My eyes widened.

‘You’re going seventy. It’d be over in an instant. No pain.’

My knuckles were white on the wheel.

‘It’d be like an insect being squashed in its grill. All you have to do is pull to the left.’

I couldn’t believe what I was thinking. Like in the gas station before these thoughts were completely unprecedented. Never in my life had I had these urges.

I was ripped from my self-reflection by the sound of the truck’s horn. It blared at me because I had drifted slightly into its lane, and I swerved back into mine to avoid it. It shot by me and I imagined what would’ve happened had I not made the correction in time. Images of the front of the car caving in and the engine being shoved into the passenger seat, all while my airbag tried desperately to do its job with the front of the semi coming through the cabin immediately after it, my face meeting its headlight. I hated the thoughts but I couldn’t stop them. They came forcibly into my mind and left without a trace.

Some hours passed without incident, and I had to stop for gas. I pulled into a station off the highway, which had grown by two lanes on each side and a concrete divider, and chose a pump, going inside to pay. I grabbed myself an energy drink and something to eat; an infamous gas station tuna sandwich. As I stood in line a police officer got behind me, and I offered up my place to him to allow him to check out first. He thanked me, and as the cashier rang up his items they made some small talk about the night’s high school football game.

‘Take his gun.’

Once again my thoughts turned uncharacteristically violent.

‘You could shoot him and everyone else in here. You’d be famous in this town. The biggest thing they have to talk about is high school football, you’d be doing them a favor. It’s right there. Take his gun.’

The image of me pulling the trigger and blowing the cops’ gray matter all over the poor cashier flitted through my mind. The officers’ blood blinded the poor boy as I took aim at him next, landing two to the chest before he could sink below the counter. Then I could see myself taking the next logical step; I put the now warm muzzle to my own temple. I was just eight pounds or so away from Hell.

I was shaken from my murderous thoughts by the officer, who was asking if I was okay. He said I looked tired and scared. I told him that I was fine, that I’d just finished cleaning out the house of a dead relative and I was still emotional about it. He simply nodded and wished me the best of luck moving forward. I thanked him, even though I could still practically feel the recoil of his gun in my wrist. I could barely look the cashier in the eye as I paid for my items and left. At the pump, I was as quick as I could be, but much like the inescapable march of time, the gasoline would not be rushed. It moved as fast as it was going to move, and no faster. When it was done I put the nozzle back and got in my car and drove away. I ran my hand through my hair, and it felt singed on my temple. I nearly hit another car as I panickedly checked the mirror; it was all normal. I waved apologetically to the other driver as they honked at me, and finally pulled out of the station. I had no idea what was happening to me.

The rest of my drive home was somber. I couldn’t stop thinking about my previous thoughts, which mercifully prevented any new ones. I arrived at my apartment after dark, and as I trudged up the stairs out front one of my bags suddenly ripped and deposited its contents on the ground. I swore, and as I stooped to pick up its contents an object caught my eye - the dagger. A realization washed over me, and I hurried to pick everything up and get inside the door. I struggled and fumbled with the keys, mostly because my hands were shaking at the connection I thought I might have made.

I had actually been in school for archeology, specifically wanting to explore the indigenous peoples of the Americas. It was the main reason I had taken the dagger. The symbol on it looked like something from the Mayan civilizations, specifically of the Preclassic or even the Archaic era based on the materials the dagger was made of. The Mayans had been great believers in the supernatural and often practiced ceremonial human sacrifice. Their writing system was known to be the most advanced of the pre-colonial Americas and consisted of hieroglyphics similar to the one carved into the dagger. But in all my studying I’d never come across this particular one. It was similar to those symbols representing Ah Puch, or the nameless God L, which in and of itself was fascinating. The fact that I may have discovered a new god of the underworld was thrilling, but one of the reasons I found the early civilizations so fascinating was because I was somewhat spiritual myself. Many would call me agnostic - I felt that there had to be more than just life, that there had to be a before and after. And I believed that there was something in the cosmos that lent itself to creation, and destruction. But I didn’t believe in the traditional theistic constructs. I felt that whatever was out there was not so defined as God. At least, not one God.

I spent the rest of the night accessing what databases I could, but I couldn’t find anything that matched the symbol. It was of a nearly skeletal disembodied head, with what appeared to be long hair and sharp, gnashing teeth. It wasn’t quite like anything I’d seen before. I fell asleep at my computer in the early hours of the morning and was awoken by a phone call after the Sun had risen. It was my father, calling to see if I was okay. He said he’d called a few times while I was out at the estate, but I’d never answered. I told him it must’ve been the cell service out there because I hadn’t received a single call. He told me he’d left a message, so I checked my voicemail after we hung up, and sure enough there it was. But I’d never received a notification for it. Interesting, but not as interesting as the dagger - it could be the start of my career if it was authentic. I needed to get in touch with one of my old professors. He was well respected in the field and knew more than anyone I’d ever met about the pre-colonial cultures of South America. If anyone could help me it was him, so I drew the symbol on a piece of paper and scanned it, took a picture of the dagger itself, and drafted up an email to him. Afterward, I took a shower and changed my clothes.

When I was ready for the day the sun was high in the sky, and my professor still hadn’t emailed me back, but I wasn’t worried. He usually didn’t check his personal email until the evening. I set out to visit a friend that worked at a lab that could help me date the dagger. They had an AMS machine that I was hoping they would let me use to carbon date it.

When I arrived at the lab I told them who I was there to see, and they called him. I would’ve done it myself, but they had procedures they liked to follow. He arrived shortly after I had finished checking in and greeted me with a hug - he was a very good friend. We’d known each other since high school; when he was a junior I was a freshman, but we were the same age. He was brilliant. He probably could’ve already been in college at that point, but his parents wanted him to be able to socialize with people his own age more. It didn’t work very well - I was one of his only friends. But that’s because high schoolers are vicious, being one step above middle schoolers in civility. It didn’t help that he was smarter than them all, and he knew it. He was never condescending, he just was never quite able to dumb himself down. He understood everything so easily that it was hard for him to understand how some people couldn’t get it.

We walked through the halls making small talk until we reached his office, whereupon I produced the dagger. He hadn’t asked me why I was here, probably because he didn’t like asking questions, knowing that I would tell him eventually. As I unwrapped the dagger he became visibly intrigued. He pulled out a drawer on his desk and took out a pair of those nitrile powder-free gloves. After putting them on he took the dagger from me delicately, turning it over in his hands as he asked me questions about it. Where did I get it? Where was it from? Did I think it was authentic? I told him everything except for the strange nightmares I’d been having and the connection I thought they might have. Unlike me, he was fully atheistic. When I told him how old I thought it could be his eyes widened. To find something like this just in my grandfather’s house was incredible, he said. I agreed with him and told him that I needed it carbon-dated. Without so much as blinking, he said he’d do it - it was a bit of an abuse of power, but he didn’t really care. He was fascinated.

We talked some more after that, catching up a little bit as it had been a while. Once we’d exhausted our conversation he said that he’d best get back to work, and I thanked him for helping me. He walked me back to the front of the building and as we said our goodbyes -

‘He probably doesn’t like you.’

The thought was tamer than the ones before it, but it was still unwarranted and unusual.

‘You know he doesn’t care about you, or you two would keep in touch more. He’s not even that far away.’

I told myself that we’d both simply been too busy to hang out; him with his work and me with my school. There just wasn’t time.

‘If he cared he’d make time; he just doesn’t care.’

I began to think about why we hadn’t made any time to see each other, and couldn’t really come up with any good reasons. I drove home in sadness.

When I got home I went to my computer and checked my email. My professor had emailed me back. He first told me how good it was to hear from me, but the email quickly turned business. He wrote that the symbol was something he had only seen once before, on a tablet that had been somehow lost before it could be fully translated. It was indeed from the Preclassical era, and perhaps even earlier. It was of a nameless god, known to prey on the souls of the living. He was a feaster of the mind, but nothing else was known about him except that he had been defeated at the hands of a great hero after he foolishly gave himself mortal form. That was all they had been able to get before the tablet and its accompanying pieces were lost - though my professor had suspected they’d actually been stolen.

After absorbing this information, I wrote him back, thanking him for his insight. After I’d sent the message I put my head in my hands. It was terrifying, the parallels between what was happening to me and the very limited history of this god. I was now certain that there was a connection between my thoughts and the dagger, and I was growing less certain that my experience at my grandfather’s estate was simply a nightmare.

The next few days passed quickly and with great emotion. The thoughts were getting worse, to the point that I would get angry at people for things that never happened anywhere but in my head. I’d be sad in ways I’d never experienced before, and I started to argue with myself in my head. It felt more hollow up there than usual, and my thoughts would often echo, though sometimes the thoughts that echoed back were not the same as the originals. The nightmares were getting worse as well, and I’d barely gotten any sleep because of it. All-in-all, I felt like I was going crazy.

My phone went off. It was my friend. He apologized for getting back to me so late in the week, but he had strange news. The dagger was large enough to provide two samples, but neither of them returned any results - that is to say, the bone was older than carbon dating would allow. This would put it as existing long before any pre-colonial civilization; as existing before any real civilization at all. That seemed impossible, but he said that both samples had returned the same very implausible results. He had no explanation.

But I did. It was the bone of a god-made mortal.

‘Good job Sherlock. You figured it out.’

That wasn’t me.

‘No shit. Go into the bathroom.’

I was afraid.

‘Do it.’

I didn’t want to, but I walked into my bathroom. There on the counter sat the dagger. It couldn’t be.

‘Start the water in the tub. Draw a bath for me.’

I did as he commanded, the water being warm and soothing. But I knew what was happening. It would offer me no relief. Not the water anyway.

‘You’re smarter than your grandmother.’

I stripped down and grabbed the dagger before shutting off the water and getting in the bath. My hands trembled as I held the dagger to my wrist.

‘No. Long ways. We’re only going to do this once.’

I cried as I did as instructed. The dagger was surprisingly sharp and sliced my arm open with ease. As my lifeblood spilled into and stained the water I heard laughter echoing in my head.

‘You might be smart, but you’re weak. At least your grandfather fought back. He was a worthy feast; he put up the best fight I’ve had in a long time.’

The tears almost completely obscured my vision, and the pain in my arm was agonizing, but I took the dagger in my now bloody left hand and mirrored my cut on the other arm. As the water turned crimson the laughter continued to echo in my head and was the very last thing I heard before the darkness completely overtook me.

The vast engineering feat of terraforming Mars was finally deemed, announced, and celebrated a success. Not by the engineers or the geologists. Not by the scientists.

The planet itself made the announcement with its first-ever spontaneous thunderstorm.

The word success, for those on Mars who had witnessed it, seemed an exaggeration, even funny; the thickening of the atmosphere was still in progress back then and still required the breathing assistance of OxyVents for those who dared to inhale out-of-doors. And announcement seemed a somewhat premature declaration, the thinness of the atmosphere presenting the thunder to human ears four octaves higher than the roar of Earth thunder, as if a real Earth vinyl record had been played on an antique 78-RPM phonograph, reducing a bone-rattling planetary phenomenon to a cartoon sound effect. Nevertheless, the psychological victory went public as a monument to the next step in humanity’s evolution.

And to capitalism and the business model.

For the terraforming of Mars, too expensive for nations alone to pursue alongside the crippling obligations of their societal entitlements, necessitated partnerships with the incorporated rich of Earth –Big Energy, Big Pharma, Big Comm, Big Transport, Big This and Big That.

From the beginning, the terraforming of Mars was a business relationship between nations and the companies large enough to take the investment hit first in exchange for the payoff later. And so it was that the ballyhoo of terraforming was seized and hyped and was as profitable as any insider trading. The initial payoff for corporate investors was inflationary only: stocks rose to new heights and titans of industry towered even higher. Suddenly Valles Marineris was sexier than Silicon Valley and more intoxicating than Napa.

Participating nations waxed idealistic with proclamations of a new sphere of peace in the solar system, destined to host the best that Earth had to offer. Mars vigila, borrowed from Latin literature, was the official triumphant slogan:

“Mars, awaken!”

Meanwhile, the thunder on Mars sounded comically falsetto and anemic, an adolescent’s voice breaking. Mars boasted, Earth cheered, but the handful of colonists remained strangely silent, pressing on in pursuit of real red thunder, which would take another busy sixty years.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 4,090

This is as good a place as any to begin my journal. By good place, I don’t mean this place—Mars, just the place I’m calling Page 1. But maybe I do mean the place, Mars, because that’s what’ll make it so interesting, right? Perhaps one day it will be a best-seller.

My name is Jon Latorella. I am 85 years old, although that doesn’t really matter. I’m a Telomorph, and because of my telomere and mitochondria manipulation, I should be able to live, well, forever. The Fountain of Youth. We humans were looking for it even before Ponce de Leon, so I suppose this is a golden age that’ll see my own golden years go on to be my platinum years, then my diamond years, then—I’m an engineer, not a romantic. But I know I don’t regret it. There’s been talk of making a law that limits the life expectancy of new Telomorphs to 150, but the way I understand it, I’m grandfathered in, which is a pretty funny way to put it.

As a geologist, I’ve been selected to be one of the observers for the moon crashes. It’s all part of the terraforming protocol. There won’t be anything interesting to write about before then, but if there is, I’ll put it in. Otherwise, I’ll just wait until Sol 4,100.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 4,100

I still have some ringing in my ears as I write this. Moons Phobos and Deimos were on schedule for their euthanasia. It had been easy to force Phobos below the Roche limit into the planet, and Deimos, although about three times farther away, was only half its size and easier to nudge. For the few colonists here that would witness what would normally be an extinction event, it was a dramatic test for the PoroCement that housed us, like observers huddled in utero. Both moons were timed to impact within minutes of each other, which offered a unique opportunity to observe the seismic overlay of a dual impact, one at each pole. Team Gamma, my team, was hunkered down one half kilometer below zero elevation datum, surrounded by three meters of PoroCement. We were positioned a few degrees north of Airy-0, so as to be as close to 0º/0º as possible. Holovideo surrounded our location on the surface, and it worked well until the fire/shockwall passed through. We saw a glowing barrage of immolation, all of the burning dust carried along the shock wave, as if a meteor shower approached sideways. We estimated its speed toward us to be nearly fifteen thousand kilometers per hour. The sky was red, with countless points of light rushing toward us, their pinpoints offset blue from the reverse redshift. In a way it was breathtaking, until the video feed abruptly ended.

But what was most impressive was the sound. Not the impact—we never heard the sound of the two impacts. Never mind that. There were three other surprises coming.

A sonic juggernaut approached. The thin atmosphere bunched the frequencies together and at the height of the firestorm/shockwall pass, a high-pitch siren made it through the thousands of tons of rock above us. Even though it was very high-pitched, it was very “full.” It was also very painful. It lasted a full two minutes and I had to hold my head firmly with my hands over my ears. Even so, bone conduction continued the torture. The high-pitch knifing through my brain didn’t mitigate until the sound Dopplered lower as it was distancing itself from our site. Many of us passed out from the pain, and even though it would later be proven there were several concussions, there were no casualties. All in all, a very unpleasant experience. By the time everyone was awake and regretting the experience, the sonic attack had circled the entire planet to give us seconds, several octaves lower, but no less painful. Every hour and a half we were subjected to it. By the eighth time everyone was awake and cursing the experience, the sonic attack had circled the entire planet yet again to give us its ninth and last strike at our acoustic nerves. By this time, the sound was a deep rumble bordering on subsonic, but still powerful enough to rattle our bones.

Subsequent passes only produced nausea. Then came the noise of the tornadoes. The vaporized moon debris and Martian ejecta which had vaporized together had been carried along with the shock wave, produced horrific tornadoes of over 800 km/hr. when interacting with the irregular surface features. Even half a kilometer down the cliché of freight trains remained accurate. After that, we weathered the sound of the unvaporized debris and ejecta rain that lasted for weeks.

What the hell am I doing on Mars?

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 4,155

Mars, besides being closer to the asteroid belt than Earth, also offered less friction from its atmosphere, so Mars’ moons had impacted fairly intact; the seismic data from the moons’ impacts established the extremes that could be withstood should something bigger accidentally wander into Mars’ orbit. This is prudent information, considering what goes whizzing by in the next outer orbit around the Sun. As a geologist involved in Phase I, the sacrificing of Phobos and Deimos was crucial. Already on the outer edge of the Sun’s Goldilocks zone, Mars lost even more sunlight as pulverized dust partnered with the injected radiodegradable nanoreflectors suspended high around the planet. But in spite of the diminished sunshine, the two native moons’ deaths created a firestorm that was debated as the “nuclear option,” when devising the plan to warm the planet up. The moons’ debris created a thermoreflective canopy and raised the temperatures for the nanoreflectors to recycle downward. What rubble that had escaped the upper atmosphere became an equatorial ring around the planet.

And it is stunning. Almost makes the ringing in my ears worth it. Almost.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 19,320

I have to apologize for the boring ramblings of my previous journal entries. It’s just that there have been no big surprises to spice it up.

Until now.

I like birthdays on Mars. You get to celebrate them twice a Mars year. By the time of my 110thbirthday, Phobos and Deimos had ultimately been replaced by the large near-Mars asteroid, Ancile. For a Martian year-and-a-half I and the other colonists watched a point of light grow into a globe as it was reeled in, and when it grew no longer, the spectacular fireworks began. Ancile made quick work of cleaning up the halo reminder of moons past. I loved the ring around Mars. I was there at its birth, and I am grateful I had over 20 years to stand in awe of its nighttime grandeur before it was cannibalized by its replacement. Ancile swept up the billions of orbiting particles from perigee to apogee, rather dynamically, you might say. There were almost twenty flashes a second initially, which made the new moon flare so bright that staring risked arc burns into the human retina. Over another 1,000 sols the flashes slowed to about three an hour, and by 2,000 sols, it was a wrap and the ring around Mars was gone. After that, the pyrotechnics were rare enough to provoke superstitious wishes.

The new imported moon begot the polar magnetic fields that stabilized our atmosphere. Once Ancile was tidally locked with its planet, water could accrue, dust could settle, oxygen and carbon dioxide could assume their rightful positions in and out of my human lungs, and I could finally stow away forever my OxyVents and ARESuits. By the sixty-years after the first spontaneous thunderstorm, the colony population had grown to 2700 persons, including me, and the first compound was ready to bud off into a second. All had gone well until this point. Nice, boring, and poor material for a diary.

Then the ferropods came alive.

Dr. Christopher Cooke, some data analyst at the Mars ṺberCollider, found this out the hard way.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 22,031

The living and dangerous ferropods were an astonishing surprise that set the entire Mars program back six Earth years. Half a centimeter in diameter, these nearly perfectly round structures, made of primarily iron in an alloy mixture of silicon, zinc, and over a hundred other trace elements, were a presumed natural resource used wherever ball bearings were needed in the colony. They were perfect as far as I was concerned. On top of perfect shape, there was a duplicity in their perfection as bearings: they were also self-lubricating, covering themselves with a non-degradable slick that originated from deep within their concentric layers. We all thought they were inert and non-viable. They were easily available, littering the planet’s surface or just centimeters below the surface in the numerous canyons and calderas. I’m as guilty as the rest of the engineers in recommending that all novel industrial design for Mars use the ferropod’s dimensions as the construction standard for ball bearings. It certainly made sense to me. Why import from Earth what lay around for the picking here, free?

Why the grace period? Why pose as the perfect widget, just long enough for us to complete the entire Phase I and use what we had as the stable platform to launch Phase II? Why be so agreeable and then declare war? Perhaps it was the achievement of an ambient temperature above 40 degrees or maybe a humidity self-sustaining at 2%—or a combination of these and a dozen other man-made Martian corruptions. All of our little ferropod workers in the colony went on strike; they no longer functioned as ball bearings. We suddenly lost environmental and indoor climate control, refrigeration, flywheel use, turbines, transport steering, axles, universal joints, graviton cones, and engines of every sort. All we engineers could do was stick our thumbs up our asses.

The colony collapsed.

When the tightly stratified little balls came back to life and weren’t happy in whatever niches, crevices, or interfaces we had placed them, the whole damn settlement had to be retrofitted. Like one of your body parts rarely thought about until it is missed, something as mundane and unseen as a ball bearing threatened a whole world by abdication. The problem was so devastating that the colony population was halved within four months as evacuees to Earth exchanged with massive crates of ball bearings of the inanimate type.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 22,102

It’s pretty amazing that these ferropods, simple as they were, ushered in such a cultural upheaval: there was life elsewhere in the universe, and the fact that it was just next door on Mars implied that it was probably everywhere in the universe. Everyone freaked. In typical bureaucratic overreaction, a Cultural Psychology Committee was created, bringing to Mars a panel of distinguished psychiatrists, psychologists, and social workers to assess and if possible implement responses to the colonists’ difficulties in “grasping the gravity of the situation.” I don’t really get it. Life elsewhere? I mean, it’s nice to know—even exciting—but I wasn’t going to blow my brains out or anything like that. And as far as “grasping the gravity of the situation,” I think that already being on Mars was already as surrealistic a life choice that no surprise could nonplus.

Back on Mother Earth, a lot of philosophers sold books, a lot of evangelists sermonized, a lot mental health workers evaluated, a lot of politicians strategized, and a whole lot of ball bearing tycoons became very rich. I guess Big Balls joined the other Big This and Big That megacorporations.

Since we needed ball bearings, our ball bearing-dependent colony on Mars retrofitted and recovered. Once the population again surged to over 2500, there was new talent: a Botany and Biology Consortium, along with its Veterinary Studies Division, or VSD. The ferropod was apprehended, studied, and also feared; it appeared that when its globular attitude stretched out into a linear, shiny, slug-like shape, snapping back into a ball released enough kinetic energy to make the re-formed ball ballistic. So far, three humans, including Dr. Cooke, had suffered strikes to their heads, with varied results.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 22,657

We geologists searched for more of these strange little beasts in hopes of determining what they live on, besides that brain in Dr. Cooke’s head. (He had become rather famous on Mars and had given a lot of job security to many scientific departments. There were two more victims, but for some reason they’re Classified.)

Our searches yielded two fantastic results.

The first was the discovery of the Ares arboreta plant, a green flora that had begun germinating from long-dormant spores; again, who knows? The rise in temperature? Humidity? Once sprouted planet-wide en masse, the little bushes quickly grew up to about two meters give or take. As they grew, they seemed to lift up out of the dirt by their tap root, which then split to very weirdly resemble functional limbs. The xenobotanists gained job security.

The second fantastic discovery were the Sonotomes—unearthly songs and vocalizations(?) which seemed to come out of thin air from the mountainous areas. With all the buzz over Ares arboreta, The Botany Division of the Botany and Biology Consortium had swelled to parity with the Biology Division, but a new group, designated Electromagnetic Archeology, came on board in attempts to decipher the mysterious Sonotomes and hopefully find fossil remains of those who sang them.

Actual Martians. Wouldn’t that be something?

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 22,809

The ferropods brought a lot of changes, but the biggest change was the birth of politics on Mars. I personally think this put into serious jeopardy our mission statement of bringing only the best Earth has to offer. Politics? The Botany and Biology Consortium joined the Cultural Psychology Committee, the Electromagnetic Archeology Council, and the old and long-established Terraforming Maintenance section of my own Geology College of Mars. Together, they made up the New Mars Colony Project Security Council, or MCPSC.

The business interests of Earth were not without representation on the MCPSC. The Nations of Earth—the NOE—formerly the United Nations, were no longer united except by business relationships. They sent an NOE liaison to the MCPSC as a non-voting member. The official function of the NOE liaison was to authenticate that the colony did in fact consist of the best Earth had to offer—philosophically, ethically, and humanistically. The real function of the NOE liaison, if you ask me, was to step in—to intercede—on behalf of the business interests of the NOE. That way, I figure that thoughts of independence—or even insubordination—could be reported back to Earth and, if necessary, “contained.” There were rumors that this person had at his disposal a secret Prestige Guard who would help him secure the colony, should this ever become necessary. The MCPSC welcomed him as an interested guest; he accepted as nothing less than a predatory spy, forever crouched in a striking position.

I guess it was another business decision.

Then Ares Arboreta began walking!

Their above-surface split tap root became the functional limbs they resembled. They weren’t very quick, but they could get around. Weird.

So we all knew business was good. The MCPSC kept administering and no one ever heard about the NOE liaison who obviously kept observing politely and unobtrusively. Any suspicion or intrigue was buried under the wonders of the discoveries thus far—life in two disparate species, spanning flora and fauna, botany and biology, and on the very next world at that! And evidence of a sentient species, extinct, but which left records for study. And now even the Martian thunder sounds right. Mars is no longer comical; Mars is serious.

As they say, “Mars vigila.”

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 26,488

Found a publisher for my diary. He told me that it’s too long already, and he wasn’t pleased when I told him I am still writing entries. He said he’ll put out what I have so far as Part 1, and if it sells, he’ll do the Part 2 I’m writing now. But that’s all irrelevant here.

It’s been over 10 Earth years of MCPSC deliberations and agendas, but our Electromagnetic Archeology Council has failed to find any rusted fossils that were ancient Martians. “Nothing to report,” the routine entry to the minutes, became a joke, and finally a cliché. As a geologist working with the archeologists, I could sense their building frustration over the profitless years that promised—no, teased—us with the initial discovery of the Sonotomes.

All this time, hordes of xenolinguists have flooded into the research divisions of the colony. Under the auspices of Electromagnetic Archeology, xenolinguist Deniz Mickal, DXL, accompanied her husband, Dr. Evan Mickal, to our little colony. Evan was a Ph.D. in both biochemistry and physiology, and he joined the Veterinary Studies Division (VSD). Deniz worked in the Xenolinguistics (XL) Division. Since Evan studied ferropods and Deniz translated the Sonotomes, I often worked with both of them in the field. When I went off alone on an excursion, Evan was back at the VSD trying to investigate experimental interactions between the imported Earth animals there and ferropods, but there were none; for some reason, the globular critters just weren’t interested in “snapping” into any animal’s head. The three humans who had not been so lucky justified a bullet-proof glass barrier that separated the ferropods from the other rooms, hallways, animals, and humans at the VSD, which went a long way in putting me at ease when I’d visit.

Meanwhile, Deniz and her fellow XLs have made great strides with the Sonotomes, thanks to me. More about how in a minute. My find, a crucial one, was unfortunately the last great discovery before the Electromagnetic Archeologist malaise of persistent non-discovery. Nevertheless, what I had found gave everyone plenty else to do, since it opened these oral recordings for the XLs.

“The book from Mars is an open book,” the XLs said, their work allowing even the unscientific to translate the texts as easily as a Greek scholar might translate Homer. It was a fascinating language with grammatical rules that seemed to corral syllables into a choral cadence as if it were meant to be sung by many. Harmonies, centered on the same word, indicated emphasis or nuance. It was if there were several Martians needed to say one thing the right way. The XLs codified it substantially enough to allow almost anyone, so inclined, to work on translation.

The actual recordings had been a different matter, and I’m not too shy to say I’m the guy who figured it out. Rendering them required much more actual geology since they were based on a mysterious recording process uniquely Martian, using rust as a substrate. The canyons played them naturally, but only under certain conditions. It wasn’t until I realized that ferric oxide enantiomers were used differently in recording vs. listening that the musical intonations of the language, as theorized by the XLs, were confirmed. (Levoferric oxide had been used to lay down the audiotracks long ago, but dextroferric oxide was needed to lift them off of the rust.) I got the idea to separate the two chiral forms of the oxide and run each through a magnetometer. I used the Department of Geology one, the one that allows you to plop down large strips of shale for evaluation. That’s when I noticed both oxides had wave forms of intensity which varied over the length of the sample. The enantiomers were mirror images of the same thing in different directions—like a coming and a going. I remember looking at the plotted data and damn if it didn’t look like a sound file. Not coming and going. Recording and playing back, possibly? I used an algorithm to convert the patterns into a playable format and put them through the piezo-quartz transducers.

I had never been lucky enough to hear them produced in the canyons naturally. Sure, I had heard recordings of them; everyone had. But my own transcription that day had a signal/noise ratio that rendered the clarity needed if we were ever hopeful of translating them. I listened. Couldn’t understand what I heard. Couldn’t grasp the melodic scheme. I listened.

And I wept.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 26,914

Water changed everything. Outside in the Martian canyons, the sound made by the ancient recording process played back spontaneously, but rarely, creating the ethereal “singing canyons.” But you needed to be patient, guessing where to be and when to be there, to hear it. I wasn’t lucky enough to catch one for a long time. I still needed electronic transformation to convert the magnetographics into oscillations that carried any song I heard through speakers.

I had always heard that the natural renderings were thrilling—even life-changing—compared to the studio-enhanced final products, because in the canyons the experience was fortuitous and accidental, a fluke by-product of someone having used iron at all, along with the natural processes that fetched the frequencies into the air. They must have been singing for eons, waiting for the right set of ears to be in the right place at the right time.

Then there was water. During the terraforming maintenance phase, it was we engineers who concocted the re-debut of water back into ancient rock. After that, Mars would literally burst into song for me and the heavily armored biologists visiting the canyons to collect more ferropods for study.

The singing canyons! They were astounding! For me, anyway. It was like comparing a mere recording of Wagner or Beethoven to an actual performance by an orchestra and chorus. To an inexperienced listener, the sounds from the canyons at first were heard as musical non-sequiturs, gibberish. In fact, I couldn’t even recognize them to be vocal renderings at all, much less sentient vocalizations. But strangely beautiful, people better and smarter than me studied and decrypted them, using my algorithm to unlock the recordings in a sound lab so the ancient Martians could not only be heard, but finally be listened to. We all had played a part, from my discovery of the recording process and then on to the polygamy of geology, sound engineering, and xenolinguistics; we brought the first authentic recordings to the ears of humans two Earth years after the canyons were first heard singing their postdiluvian songs.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 27,040

After my discoveries related to the Sonotomes, the MCPSC authorized a nine-fold increase in the Botany and Biology Consortium budget. (And I got a bonus, but they called it a stipend.) The new budget allows a Dr. Renée Niemann the opportunity to come to Mars and assume the Division directorship of the VSD. I guess it makes sense that a real veterinarian join the team. She would join Dr. Evan Mickal there. Even though Evan’s assignment on Mars is very different from his wife’s duties, there is still a lot of opportunity for the couple to cross paths with each other and with me—such as in the canyons. Deniz seems very energized with her work. She tells me that the Sonotome translations often refer to an as-yet unidentified symbiosis in the Martian life-epic. She feels that there are instances where “soul” may seem a better translation than symbiosis, but that could be a dangerous and erroneous conclusion. I suppose. I also suppose that shared field work as well as stories and songs of symbiosis give Evan and Deniz common topics of conversation at their dinner table each evening.

Evan’s a pretty bright guy. His primary tool, Magnetic Resonance Physiology (“MRP”), has been a staple of human medicine since the cancer cures and telomere lengthening technology had increased the human lifespan. By the way, the lifespan of telomorphs has now been legislated to a limit of 150 years. I knew that would happen. Sooner or later they over-bureaucratize everything. I haven’t received any notifications, so I guess I really am grandfathered in.

Evan’s MRP has reconciled human life from atoms to organs, so I know Evan is dying to use it when we discover the remains of ancient Martians. Even a fossil could be MRP-scanned for significant results and profitable payback. I know Dr. Evan Mickal dreams of Martian mummified remains.

Just imagine.

DIARY ENTRY OF JON LATORELLA, PERSONAL SOL 27,153

A little geology for you— Based on the Sonotomes, the extinct Martians had lived, evolved, and died during a range of time from the Late Hesperian to the Early Amazonian epochs, a transition time of three million years when oxygen concentration in their thin atmosphere was greater than 92%. From the songs, Deniz tells me there is evidence they had awareness of their coming demise, but the reason for it remains unsung, so far; their name for it translates as “forgotten,” which the XLs agree can’t be accurate. Forgotten by whom? They sing songs that give every indication that they were the dominant life form.

I’m no poet, but as the details of language are elucidated, the poetry on the subject is being described as nothing less than lofty and brilliant by the most expert translators. The demise, the “forgetting,” always figures prominently. Questioning your mortality is one thing but waxing philosophical on the death of your whole race is probably as beautiful, desperate, and chilling as the sudden wisdom from any last agonal gasp could be.

The VSD, additionally, is assigned the task of pursuing any biological risks of cross-contamination between Earth and Mars. Any new world interaction poses dangers for the sitting ducks—both any exposed natives and we visitors alike. After arrival, we were lectured on the cautionary tales of gonorrhea for Native Americans or, as payback, syphilis for the landing Europeans, which seemed to strike an interplanetary chord. So far, here, contamination across worlds had been a one-way street, the few ferropod attacks offering nothing short of a terrifying and lethal welcome mat for humanity’s second home.

Welcome to Mars. Have a nice sol.

END OF DIARY PART 1

WARNING CONTAINS GRAPHIC GORE

When I Die, If I Die

The peachy, rosy sun’s rays were faintly reflecting through the window into a dark room of a mansion. This room is ancient in its appearance, cracked walls, ash covered floor, and dark burned marks on all surfaces. In fact this mansion burned fifty years prior killing every resident of the mansion leaving an empty stone prisony shell of a mansion, left to be abandoned and lonely forever, or so it seemed. Since in fact it wasn’t empty it was certainly a prison but not empty not in the slightest. In that very room that I have just described to you sits a fine gentleman wearing a woolen cloak, and thick lined glasses, also wearing a cavalier's hat. In his two hands he held a skull with crimson sticky blood stains splashed across its face. Inside could be heard a faint moist squishing noise, like stepping into a swamp, when he turned and looked around at the skull. Then he stood up looking at the window with a thin frown he tossed the skull, it on impact with the wall cracked to bits out a moist pink mess of something that looked like a swarm of fleshy bloody worms, a brain. The gentlemen tossed a hood over his head and climbed down the wall of the mansion where awaited him a dark black stallion who’s bones could be seen pushing on the skin from the inside due to a lack of food. This didn’t alter the horse's speed though, not in the slightest. The horse let out a loud heee-haaa and stormed off into the thick forest vanishing from sight.

Not far in a village, at the bottom of a valley, came a report of a missing woman. In the office sat at the time of the report prof. Groitindel, he was a well known professor at the time, he specialized in philosophy. He found this case particularly interesting as the woman, aged fourteen, was found missing in the morning, with a large blood stain on her bed. Evidence pointed at murder but no possible culprit could be found as everyone in the town adored Dianna. What peeked Prof. Groitindel’s interest was how the rest of the town reacted to this case, life continued like nothing before the bazaars flooded like always people whispering to each other fun gossip. The professor's opinion or more properly the decision of this case was to just wait and see what happens.

One by one in the night sky popped bright orbs of light, stars, followed by their all large queen, the moon. The lonely Mansion soon again became filled with the presence of the gentleman, with him he carried in the body of a man. He laid the body on the stone floor, pulling out a dagger from within his cloak, before quickly glancing around he shut the doors to the mansion beginning his work. First he slowly disassembled the man , this process involved one by one slowly detaching every limb from the torso. The gentleman tossed away the arms and legs as he found no joy of playing with them. As he slowly cut the stomach open, spirits of blood burst out staining all the surrounding. The gentleman pulled out the long saggy gore cover intestines pulling them out like a long starchy rope, squashing under the force of his hands leaving blood cover handprints sprawled across the intestines. He plopped it down on the ground, coiling down below like a snake at rest. Next he by beeding down with the handle of his dagger broke off the ribs and tossed them away. Proceeding next to go through a large group of different organs most of which he threw out to the side, well except the stomach that popped in his hands spilling acid on the ground flapping in a loose sheet of fleshy stomach lining. The gentlemen then proceeded to take a small drink from his leather flask before continuing his task. Finally, reaching the heart which he quickly grabbed with anger almost dropping it. Chanting into the air angrily, “You unrestricted prick!” As he proceeded to stab the heart repeatedly before tossing it full force at the wall it with a squeaking noise stuck to the wall and slowly dripped off in an almost liquid form, forming a gory soup on the ground below. The man proceeded to pick up the head and kick it. Afterward he made sure his cloak was on properly and tossed his hood over his head before riding off on his dark stallion into the early rays of the new day.

Hot rays warmed the bright green grass. Everything in the world seemed so cheerful and happy! Other than the new missing report, a man aged twenty, Hugh. Conditions of the case almost identical, a blood stain in the bed. The Professor was left stumped, so he decided to get an assistant, he chose an old friend whom he knew for many years now, Count Rafion. A technical count but, really this meant nothing other than he had a bit of a fortune. The two of them sat discussing motives and possibilities: “Could it be possible that Dianna killed herself in the forest and then Hugh, possibly her secret lover, went looking for her and when he found her he killed himself?” Offered Rafion to Grointindel.

“Not likely, There were blood stains in their beds,” Rejected the professor, scratching his chin unsure of what to do. “We have to do something! What if more people start vanishing, at this point I’m certain its murder.”

“Where could your set murderer have hidden the bodies then?” Asked Rafion giving a questioning look at Grointindel. It was now evening again and the tension was high in the room as the professor frantically tried to come up with a solution.

“Who’ve ever done this must’ve hid the bodies in the forest.” Whispered to himself the professor dismissing Rafion. Making a final decision to wait a few more nights for more evidence.

The glory of the dark night sky rose up again, the faint taps of the dark stallion getting near where it was getting loud, until finally out of the thick forest it appeared its eyes flashed a reflecting bright red. The gentleman hopped off the stallion and quickly entered the mansion this time paying less attention to the surroundings just quickly closing the doors behind him. He didn’t bring a body this time, in fact he began carrying away the troops and remains of his last two victims he shoved the skeletal remains of Dianna into the closet with a faint crack as he slammed it closed hanging a lock on it which he locked. Next came the hard part: getting rid of all the crimsony mess of flesh that lay sprawled across the floor both on and under his wooden bent table. He grabbed the larger chunks like the hand and legs and tossed them out the window where the howls of wolves could be heard enjoying their late night snack just served to them. He then scooped up the guts and shoved them down a bag that he brought with a squishy gooey noise, he then grabbed the rest of the organs doing the same, each one a slightly different sound and splash of blood splashed out staining his dark cloak. He then ran over to the wall where at the bottom laid the heart that he had stabbed so many times the night prior. He picked up the mess and placed it in a different bag delicately. Then he set everything up carefully almost as though he was expecting a guest, he set up the table even placing roses in a vase. Then he heard a crack almost a footstep outside and he quickly hid behind a corner. In walking in a young girl probably aged fifteen, she looked around confused at what the noises might have been. The gentleman under his breath muttered, “What did she forget here?” Then with a sigh he pulled out his dagger and with a swift pattern of motions he slowly emerged out of the corner before striking her in her back with a force that would send someone unconscious without the use of a dagger. She fell on the ground with a splatter of blood and a loud falling noise. He quickly pulled her aside and onto his stallion, riding off into the forest at some point he just tossed her off the horse, her body jolting on the impact with the ground, the horse stomping over here and continuing to run.

The light emerged soon, pushing away the nights dark and rising to shine over the whole town. One new missing report, again, except this one was different. There was no blood stain in her bed, and her sister said she left to check where the weird sounds were coming from. The professor sat Rafion in front of him, “There house was near the abandoned mansion.” The professor thought out loud, though the professor didn’t notice but at this Rafion gave a quick nervous smile and quickly whipped it off his face and looked the other way. “We aren’t gonna just sit here anymore, we can't, that's absurd, people are dying!”

“I agree, and I can personally guard the mansion tonight! And I swear I will guard it well,” said Rafion with a serious look, Grointindel nodding his head slowly in agreement.

“See what the one thing I don’t understand is what is the motive here. Someone clearly had hate or something towards Hugh and Dianna, The other girl um Catala, maybe she just caught ’em and whoever is doing this killed her,' ' Proposed The Professor, thinking afterward but what hate did they feel towards Dianna, or Hugh? He glanced around thinking. He Dismissed Rafion. Rafion was mostly there for company, well now he’s here to make sure it's not to do with the mansion. Grointindel began strolling in a long walk along the forest when he saw there thick within something laying on the ground motionless. He ran over to find it to be a body, the body of Catla. Laying there on the ground a cockroach coming in and out of her mouth, a few crows pecking at her trying to get to the meat, a mess of blood and flesh was all that's left of her right leg. He flipped her over with a stick and a ton, possibly over three hundred little flies and fruit flies rose out of her quickly escaping, prof. Grointindel took a few steps before vomiting, covering the dead sticks and grass in vomit as the stench hit his nose, the stench of death and dung. He brought a group of men to bring back the body to his office to investigate, there was one thing clear about the body: it was stabbed in the back with brutal force. The professor put on gloves and tried to pick up her one arm to expose the back more but it just broke off popping off like a branch off a tree. He could see a clear horse print on the back this surprised him, this meant that whoever killed her most likely carried the body away from the initial place of murder.

Night rose over the city all but two were happily in bed resting and sleeping, even Grointindel was fast asleep. On a dark stallion rode The gentlemen, not alpine this time with him sat on the horse his beloved mademoiselle. The town of them arrived at the mansion He helped her down off his horse with a small bow. He led her in and sat her down at the table where just two nights ago he’d killed Hugh. She glanced around a little bewildered at the nasty of the place. “Why’d you bring me here tonight?” She asked her eyebrows high, her delicate peachy face lit up by the solo candle that lit up the whole room.

“I brought you here so we can rule this place together, just think of it, Count Rafion and Madame Hergina!” He exclaimed to her in excitement she frowned at him, her small rosy lips curling.

“This place is disgusting! There are blood stains on that wall and why would I marry you?” She said bewildered at his bizarre statement. She sat down and crossed her legs. Rafion stumbled a bit before catching back up to himself.

“This mansion was full of people and a single candle falling killed every single one who once lived here but the mansion lives on! Only destined for the best for you! For us!” He nearly yelled. Looking around she sat there fussing, her brow confused at what he’s trying to say. “See we don’t have to stoop, we can rise and shine, we can change this world, we can sculpt it like a rock!”

“Rafion-”

“Remember Dianna how she always annoyed you, made fun of you?” He asked out of nowhere.

“Well, yeah,” She stumbled not understanding where he was heading with this conversation but unfolded her legs growing tense. She glanced around the room finding only a locked closet and stained floor and Walls.

He pulled out a key of his cloak and unlocked the closet, “Hasn't been bothering you lately hasn’t she?” He said as he swung the closet door open Dianna’s bones at fleshy stains remained tumbled out onto the floor. Hergina stood her eyes wide and her hands over her mouth in horror. “You know Hugh that, Prick, who couldn’t stop tossing an eye at you, well look where his heart brought him!” He exclaimed, pulling out the remains of Hughe's heart and tossing it brutally onto the ground, blood squirting in all directions.

“You're mad! You’ve gone psycho!” Hergina exclaimed in anguish.

“Why say such things! Why fuss if you can join me?” He asked with genuine confusion on his face. He glanced around, this freaked Hergina and she stood up out of her seat. “No, No sit down,” He sighed and sat down himself. She carefully sat down worried at what this man sitting in front of her would do next. “Listen I love you and you told me the same, is that true?” He asked his eye leaned to one side in a look of intrigue

“I thought so, until tonight,” She said, her face forming a frown at him. Rafion’s face turned to a look of sadness.

“I, I, all I wanted was for you to have a better life!” He said, holding his head before looking up at her. “I’ll do anything, just don’t go… I beg, Please!”

“I do love you, don’t misuse my words, but you’re mad! You can’t do stuff like that! You must stop, or, I’ll, I’ll kill myself!” A look of surprise crossed his face immediately, and his arms clenched tight. He sat there thinking for a few minutes, before coming to a conclusion.

“I’ll stop if that’s what you wish,” Rafion sighed with a deep breath standing up and providing her his arm, before leading her back to his dark stallion.

“Good,” Hergina replied, making a small smile as the two of them rode off to the path laid out by the new sun that has risen leading farther and farther away from the mansion.

The Betwixt-Ness

A wagon rode along a bumpy road jolting over every rock, Being pulled by three white gorgeous steeds. As the sun rose the wagon slowly entered the town, out of it stepped out a tall man in a large top hat with a brown trench coat and beige pants. Out of his shirt’s right pocket hung a lens with golden lining. He picked it up to his one eye and glared around at the town with a small smile. By morning when all the citizens walked out of their houses there was a large tent set up, “Mag. Lopintle at your service, What may I do for you today?” He would say to anyone who walked up the tent, this confused everyone, a magician? What’s he doing in our town!? Everyone thought to themselves but shrugged it off. The day slowly passed and the tent completed zero orders as none had come in, but Lopintle expected this and wasn’t even near giving up. Night rose and there sat Lopintle still waiting at his tent. Soon out of one of the small shacks walked out Rafion and sat down on a bench not noticing the magician’s tent. He glared at the moon and sighed wondering and hoping for a dream to come true. “Ah, Dear Rafion,” Said Lopintle, breaking the eerie silence of the night.

“How do you know who I am?” Asked Rafion, narrowing his eyes at Lopintle. Who just shrugged and continued his part of the conversation.

“Anyway, I have an offer for you!” Exclaimed the magician in a cheery voice.

“What?!” Snapped Rafion, Lopinte stepped back. After which Rafion calmed back down.

The magician smiled and pulled out a green jewel approximately three duims. “This is a “cursed” talisman. It will make you invisible but you have to fill it with blood for it to work as long as there is blood inside you will be invisible. The talisman will eventually consume the blood around one hour after being filled.” Rafion tried to snatch it but Lopintle pulled away just in time, “You must have forgotten about the payment” The magician stood there with a smile smeared across his face.

“How much?” Rafion asked, pouring out all his silvers and golds on the table.

“What do I need your coins for? What I need from you is one little tiny thing,” Answered the magician.

“What?!” Asked Rafion, starting to get impatient. He even started gripping his dagger in his pocket.

“I want from you an oath that you will never touch me, and when you do you’ll come to a grim very grim end, Ironic for the way you killed those people to be… Anyway, you accept?” Lopinyle asked, stretching out his hand for a handshake.

“I accept,” Rafion agreed without accepting the handshake, Lopintle sighed and dropped the talisman on the table and rafion snatched it, hiding it in his pocket. A fog quickly set over the tent and when it faded Lopintle had vanished.

The morning rose and the town filled with people. Rafion Was taking a walk along the lake when over the bridge he saw Hergina strolling Lopintle at her side talking about something with her. Rafion quickly got over there, “Hergina?” He called, questioning what’s happening.

“Oh Rafy! Meet Mag. Lopintle!” Hergina said excitedly. Rafion stood there for a moment thinking over what he should do. The world seemed to freeze around him leaving him in a bubble where he just sat down on the ground holding his head in his arms. What could Lopintle want from Hergina? He caught back up with himself standing there in front of Lopintle and Hergina. Lopintle’s cursed wicked smile still on his face almost taunting to punch it off that stupid face of his.

“Already met him,” Grumbled Rafion.

“Well I’ll leave you two for now,” Chirped Lopintle before walking away vanishing behind the corner of the bridge.

“What in the hell are you doing with him!” Immediately Rafion asked as soon as Lopintle was far enough to not have heard.

“What? He’s a fine gentleman and offered to join me on my stroll,” Hergina answered innocently, her large green eyes looking into Rafion’s gray eyes.

Rafion shuffled before answering, “That fine gentleman of yours is quite not pleasant to me and I would prefer you not speak to him again!” Rafion said slowly, getting louder. Hergina sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Fine Rafy,” She said before giving him her arm and letting him walk her the rest of the way to her house. Her house was a lime shack made with concrete walls and a small garden in the front yard surrounded by a small birch fence. Rafion now was left alone to walk around the lake.

As the wave of the day slowly passed the professor was sitting on a chair thinking, he still needed to know who was the one who killed those people. He got Rafion to join him at his house and then he began discussing, “Someone killed three people and then vanished, Right?”

“Yes, indeed,” Agreed Rafion yawning.

The professor glanced at him before continuing, “well we're out to catch them, or who knows what will happen next!” The professor started to fidget with a fork.

“Just have some tea and take a break, we’ll figure it out,” Claimed Rafion, passing him a cup of tea.

“You’re right,” Answered the professor, taking a sip and then collapsing on the ground dead. On raffions face grew a thick grin. He bent down and spooned out the Professor's eyes and tossed them to the side with a spurt of blood. He then snapped his neck by twisting it with his full force. Then Rafion punched the professor full force in the face, blood began dripping out of his motionless nostrils and a couple of teeth rolled down his throat. Then he proceeded to pull out his dagger and three empty vials. He picked up his dagger and sliced along the professor’s wrists, filling up the vials with the fresh blood, before vanishing into the dusk and back to his house.

So the night grew all asleep once again ro so assumed, truly Rafion was asleep but two souls were wide awake with a faint squeaking.

Soon again the sun rose, bowling away all evidence of the night before. No one had reported the professor dead as no one cared for him enough to have checked on him with no reason and there was no reason as the missing reports had stopped. Rafion walked through the street, his feet joyfully tapping on the crackled stone pavement of the little town. Around the morning birds sing their songs all cheerfully and happily. What a wonderful day it was.

Though under every joyous lyes a scrutiny, under the cherry bridge laid a bird, a dead bird, her guts sticking out half eaten and half rotten, Its head torn off and worms crawling over and around. Under that bridge hid another secret, there sat Lopintle and Hergina, Kissing.

The Yarn Must Cease

The day slowly passed and the night rose again, Rafion fast asleep and resting. One was awake, Hergina stood in her room holding her head in her arms, tears rolling down her cheeks. She held a knife with which she swiftly made a cut in her wrist and a splash of blood painted her hands permanently. Then she proceeded to tie a knot around her neck and jump off the chair, her neck snapping, the body left dangling back and forth swaying the final tears rolling off her dead face.

In the morning Rafion happily skipped to Hergina’s home knocking on the door, after waiting for approximately five minutes to his surprise no one opened the door. He pulled the door open and walked in looking around until he stumbled to the bedroom where he felt back in shock and grief. “Why Hergina! Why, leave me? What have I done to scare you down this path, A monster I must be to have let you die without ever saying a farewell!” Ranted Rafion until he spotted a note he snatched it quick reading through it:

Dear, Rafy

I am sorry to abandon you, Though indeed I can not face you anymore hiding the truth

Away From you like a snake! I have to go, maybe one day you can forgive me and come

join below. I had an affair with Lopintle.

,Sincerely Hegrina

,Farewell

Rafion furiously tore this note to shreds and grabbed his dagger vanishing from the house swiftly and tossing on his dark blood stained cloak. He needed to kill Lopintle! That snake, that boorish snake! I knew he wasn’t a man to trust! Rafion darted down the street looking like a maniac running with a knife. He stopped on the bridge and sat down holding his head, the true grief hitting him finally. He sat there head in hands, his dagger laying next to him. He pulled out a vial of blood and filled his talisman with the blood instantly turning invisible though his cloak was still seen. He picked up his knife and continued running until there he spotted Lopintle twirling his mustache that devil’s grin as always smeared across his rat face. He wore a hat. Rafion darted at him, stabbing him in his face. Tearing it cutting it off, Lopintle let out a scream like no other scream it echoes through the world, but soon seized. Rafion pulled off his limbs with sheer force alone and then continued to repeatedly punch at the dead corpse until his own knuckles started to bleed. Out of nowhere a pain struck through his chest like a dagger stabbing into him, Rafion remembered the curse of the deal he made retrieving the talisman.

He started crawling the pain of fifty stabs where slowly appearing all throughout his body but he continued crawling. Finally he got to Herginas ground, behind him a path of blood stretching from the park all the way to her house. Then suddenly Rafions arm got torn off and gusts after gust of blood were pouring out in the bucket full. He crawled up to hergina and placed his hand on her leg, the blood smearing over her delicate leg. He whispered quietly I forgive you, before his organs got pulled out of him, his guts tossed around the room whipping like a rope. His liver ripped to shreds dropping to the ground followed by the heart, which was set a flame burning to a piece of soot. The sun set, the gloomy night came upon all, leaving gruesome seeing the moonlight highlighting the faint outline of Hergina as she slowly swayed side to side.

In the next years life went on like nothing happened, Count Rafion of the FortPalace Mansion forgotten over time. Soon a plague swept over the town leaving one last survivor an old man, who soon fell back from loneliness and aging leaving the town empty. The legacy of Mademoiselle Hergina, Magician Sir Lopintle de Montiporeles, and Count Rafion of the FortPalace Mansion died with the town forever forgotten as day turned night and night to day, until the end of time and all rambles.

I must be in heaven but the silence here is unlike how I imagined it to be. Are there no hosts of singing angels? Angels, who hold their trumpets high in praise for all eternity? Or maybe my sins have me cornered and I lay cast in eternal damnation. But where is the lake of fire and brimstone they told us about? The tormented souls hoping for a reprieve that will never come, where are they? Where am I? Oh but the quiet is all but shy. I can’t hear a thing. Not even the sound of my own breath. And the darkness. It’s too dark, for a moment I think I am blind. I look around and see a wispy light floating in the dark expanse. As I walk toward it, muted sounds slowly become discernible. Sounds of people talking, laughing, singing. But I can’t see them, I can only see the light.

I continue inching toward it. I am apprehensive, frightened. I look back and the darkness is only growing thicker. It follows me as death follows its sufferer. Now I can see the blinking light even more clearly and the sounds have faded into a murmur. I begin feeling safer and safer. Is it embarrassing how the mind accepts whatever seems to be agreeably rescuing and warm while choosing not to see the dark and cold? Or maybe it’s just dignifying. It is a weakness as much as it is a strength and many other things. A world that chooses to be blissful and sublime when it can just as well choose to be vile and haunting. In any case, we are who our worlds decide to be, agreeable or not. But that isn’t what I think of at this moment.

The candles sit forlornly on a tall candelabra with two of them unlit while the middle one dances in elegant poise as if chagrining the rest to do better. I feel the need to touch the light, feel alive. Because I feel dead. I light the other two and pick the middle candle to look around. I see naught. I decide to shout as maybe someone from the voices will hear me.

“Hello! Is anyone there?” I call out but all the noise drowns my voice. “Hello! Can anyone hear me!?” I call out again and between my frantic breaths, the candle I am holding stops dancing. It seems strange. It is as if time has frozen in its step and everything else with it. Everything but me. I look at the melting candle I hold in my hand, all the liquid that spills onto my fingers is supposed to sear my skin but I can’t feel a thing. I touch the flame but it feels cold beneath my palm.

“How are you doing today?” A voice jolts me from my peculiar ordeal. I look up toward the infinite darkness and see a girl staring at me through the window I had not seen there before. “How are you doing today?” She asks again in a higher-pitched voice as if happy to see me. I know she will surely tell me what is going on. “Please help me, I think…” I say briskly but she suddenly interrupts me, “How are you doing today…Oh no, maybe I should just keep quiet and let him do his job. We don’t need to exchange pleasantries, do we?”

“What…?” I say, bewildered. Can she not see me? I wave my hand desperately but she keeps adjusting her hair and scarf on the other side of the window. The candle I hold is still not dancing. I cover its flame with my hand. Instantly, the light in her room turns off and she stops fiddling with her hair. “Ah…but I just replaced the lightbulb!” She says, with exasperation in her voice that reminds me of something I can’t quite pinpoint. The kind of exhaustion that I understand well. An enervation that fills me with a dread I cannot describe but that which I have felt before.

I uncover the candle from my palm and the lightbulb turns on again. Is it purely coincidental or is it all connected? I cover the candle again. The same thing happens. I uncover it and the lightbulb flickers on again. Just then, the girl turns to face the mirror. Her eyes are the saddest ones I have ever seen. The most beautiful ones I have ever seen. I see the reflection of her face in her sad eyes. She is staring into a mirror, not a window. She is staring into my soul. I can see it through her demure countenance, but she can’t see me. I want to touch her face, to reassure her so that she smiles, at least. But I can’t. She wipes the single tear from her rosy cheek and smiles. A mask that fails to hide the purgatory she feels.

She walks outside her home and I follow behind. She wears a headscarf and looks down at the ground as if ashamed of something. Standing motionless for a minute, I can read her eyes as if they were mine. I wish to touch her, hold her hand and listen to the dismal secret gnawing at her lovely heart. She keeps on walking, eyes on the ground. We are now in a market and even though nobody looks at her, she stares at the ugly red earth beneath her feet. Finally, she stops in front of a decayed shack with a shuka for a door. What is she planning to do here where nobody ever enters unless they are without fate, without destiny, lost? She wants to turn back and return home but she slowly wills herself to go inside. The secret has to indeed be dismal. The beaded curtains behind the shuka rattle as she enters the seer’s home. I follow behind. I have to follow, as a dejected shadow follows its flesh to the ends of the earth.

The room is not as dark as I envisioned it. When one is used to the darkness, everything is grim and forbidding. A malediction of the mind. Black soot covers the sapling walls of the hut riddled with small holes. Other places have large holes covered poorly with brown earth. Others are left open. That is where the light seeps through. The white smoke smells of frankincense, mostly. It is said that the smoke carries prayers up to the heavens. But this smoke only goes up to the grass-thatched ceiling. And maybe that’s where heaven is.

“Who is that?” A hoarse voice speaks from an inner room. He must have heard the beads on the curtains rattle. I hear his heavy footsteps on the hard ground coming into this room and I can feel her discomfort as he approaches. She feigns confidence when he tells her to sit on a glistening njung’wa, a stool on which lost souls have sat ever since time first began.

“Why are you here young girl?” He asks almost soothingly. He knows, but he still asks.

“What…what will happen to me?” She says, amid anxious yet quiet breaths.

“Oh, little girl, you have brought this upon yourself.” He stretches out his hand and offers it to her and she places hers on his. He closes his eyes and starts muttering incoherently—an act I find almost melodramatic. He opens his eyes and looks straight at me.

“A shadow follows behind you, a part of a story you will live, little girl. You have a choice to make, one which I cannot tell. But this ghoul that follows you always will. As a serpent follows death.”

She maintains her gaze, more puzzled than before. “What does…What does it mean…”

“Only you know the meaning.” He says curtly as he stretches out his hand, behesting his payment. She takes the hand and places it on her forehead. His old, placid eyes scrutinize me all the while. He can see me, he is nudging me to react. I will not, I cannot.

She still is not satisfied and the seer turns his gaze to face her. “Dear girl, it’s the child, isn’t it?”

She is stunned. “Yes, I don’t know what to do. Can you help me? It was not supposed to happen, please. Do you know what I can do?”

“It would be unjust to spill the blood of that which does not deserve it. It will not bring you any solace.”

“But I did not want it… It wasn’t my fault…”

“I know, dear girl. But I cannot help you. It is not just to end such a life.”

She desperately needs to plead her case to the seer but her whimpers make her words indiscernible. I can feel her despondency, how her heart aches for elusive condolence “Please…if you have something I can use to get rid of it…you said I have a choice to make? Let me at least have that,” she tells the seer whose pitiful eyes gaze solemnly at her. He knows not what he should do and his conscience is barely clear. He heads into the backroom and for a moment, I am certain he thinks of our troubles as just mortal vanities. If they are not that, then what are they anyway? But this one, this one spelled only doom. It spelled debasement and rot, all that is wrong with our minds. He trudges in with a bottle of some herb in one hand and a sandglass in the other. She hasn’t moved an inch from her stool, her reddened face buried in her shaking hands.

“Here, girl…take this.”

She looks up and her face suddenly ceases to be sad. She takes them from his hands while standing up.

“Thank you…what should I do now?” she asks falteringly.

“Take these leaves in your third month when they have died and dried up. The sandglass will tell you when you should expect the child to come out—when the last grain of sand falls.”

She nods in agreement at his unexpected change of heart. He signals her to go on her way and she obliges. A single look at him reveals his obvious regret but I remember what he said about me, a serpent following death. Seers and metaphors! Is it too difficult to be succinct, direct? I am certain she did not understand any of it though. All that’s on her mind is to get rid of the being growing inside her. A curse inflicted upon her by a man who knew no mercy, whose eyes did not see the darkness he brought to a poor, young soul. And even if they did, they paid no heed.

She conceals the items under her long skirt and walks home.

SHE

I might be paranoid but today I feel like someone is watching me, always behind my back but disappears every time I turn. It might be the bad man that’s following me. The one who said he would be my husband and I his wife when I am finally of age. But he didn’t want to wait. I hate myself for believing what he told me about his “lavish” work with the “mzungu”, his many “cars” and god-forsaken “luxury house in the suburbs” yet he had me cornered in my own home when no one was there to aid my cries for help. To salvage my remaining semblance of dignity. I remember asking myself, ‘who will want me now?’ as he buried my mouth with his hands to keep me mute. He had me swear not to tell a soul, or else he’d ruin me. I believed him. Besides, nobody had to know. That was a secret I’d planned to keep. I had always thought of myself as strong, a fire in the flood but how wrong I was. The lie was enough in my mind but not quite in my arms and legs. What else have I been lying to myself about? I wonder.

It has been a month and a half since it happened. The last month passed without me bleeding. That’s when I knew. But I did not want to believe it so I waited for this month and expectedly, no blood came. I am to be married off next year. That’s what my mother always tells me. That a “fine man” has his eyes set on me and that he’s from a wealthy family.

So I cannot let this child that I carry live. It has to go. I have to choose this poison the seer gave to me. But if I have to, then it really isn’t a choice, is it? Choice is power. And where I stand, I can only feign to have it because that is the closest I can ever be to power.

My stomach is beginning to grow and in a few weeks, I will no longer be able to hide the bump. Mine will be obvious since my body is lean. My mother keeps telling me I have no ‘meat’ and that I need to eat as marriage will be an exertion and I need the energy to raise children.

I arrive home from the seer’s place still feeling like I’m being watched, read and analyzed like I do constellations on a starry sky. For once, I am happy that I will erase what happened and move on. I just need to find more shukas to hide my belly and all would be well. They would say, “Oh! What a well-mannered girl, she will surely make a good wife!” And my mother will be clutching my hand, boastfully agreeing, “Mmmh…Indeed she will.”

And that’s all that matters. Her happiness. That’s all I can afford to give her. Anything but that would be intolerable, insolent.

“Where were you?” A voice asks as I enter the compound. It is my father. He is holding a bottle of the bitter brew he always drinks on days such as these when he had not made any sales in the market. He seems to have not made any for a while now as he sits for longer hours, drinking more bottles each time, in the company of more men.

“I’ve been in the market,” I respond, trying to be as brief and truthful as I could.

“Oh, and you didn’t get anything?”

“No.” I am momentarily surprised at how natural my lie sounds.

The prying eyes of the men probe my frame as they discuss beneath their breaths things I can only speculate to be concurrences. They must be discussing my marriage, right? But it doesn’t seem like it. They are all too inebriated to discuss such a hefty matter. I am growing more anxious by the second and keep walking towards the house hoping that he won’t summon me. I feel the sandglass slipping from beneath my skirt. The way it tumbles freely against my skin. I quicken my pace, praying that he doesn’t call me to them. I suddenly feel nauseous, sick to my stomach. It must be the disease that’s growing inside me, feeding on the life I once had before it. Or maybe it’s the thought of what would happen if my secret falls before them. How would I explain it? Explain the herbs they will find buried exactly where the hourglass was?

He calls me. I ignore him, half running, half walking into the house. I can see him standing from the corner of my eye. He knows there’s something I am hiding. But I don’t stop. The door to the house is only steps away. I reach for it and push it open. I look toward my father and his odious crowd. He is seated. Maybe he wasn’t even onto me.

……………

In my room, the lights have never stopped flickering. I wonder why that is. And that mirror that sits at the corner of my bed, it scares me for some reason. I feel like I am being gawked at, studied and judged. I haven’t always felt like this. It began when I went to the seer some weeks ago. The medicine he gave me still lies buried in a hole beneath my bed. That’s where my secret remains hidden. If you bury it, it becomes dead. But mine is not dead yet, although it will be soon enough. What worries me more is this stomach. It keeps growing and growing. My mother pretends not to notice but I see her peeking curiously at me every time I join her on the compound and on errands. I have opted to stay away from everyone but this guise is too much for me to handle. I have thought many times about how it would feel to just die. Go forever, be in peace. What would be the quickest way? Pain does not really bother me. I want to feel death clawing my skin, tearing into my flesh and beckoning me to rest my tired soul. But all I have to do is wait a week to take the herb and all will be well, gone like the dust from a dandelion wished upon.

ME.

Does she know that I see her loneliness and misery? She must know. I have tried time and time again to show her that I can see. The light in her room that I always flicker to get her attention has proven to be useless. She thinks it’s her lightbulb that’s defective when it’s she that’s chosen not to see me too. I am trying to tell her that she is alive even when she feels dead. That to feel is to live and to live is to choose good. How does one tell good from bad though? Where is the line drawn? She thinks of leaving home and coming back when she has poisoned herself and the child is gone. Is this good? She knows that this will erase everything she wants erased. Make it look like nothing happened, an imitation of bliss. Is this bad? Tonight, she unearths her poison, holed away under the bed. She does not want to taint her home with innocent blood so she packs it into her shoal and wraps the whole around her small waist just beneath her bulging stomach. Her mind and heart have chosen but each has chosen a different poison.

I follow her outside her home and into the compound. I see she has worn the same headscarf she did a while ago when we went to see the seer. This time, though, the darkness does not allow me to see her face. Her beautiful eyes have been darkened by the night. And the cold air is doing little to numb her fears. I know where she is going. She whispered it one night in her dream. Or nightmare. A place called Naina, where mothers who died during birth and their children were buried. Only dead souls dwelled there. That is where she is going. No one will know because the secret will soon be dead and buried in Naina. She is tripping on rocks and sticks and adjusting her waist-shoal every second. She avoids the lighted paths and walks in the shadows like a lurking creature. We walk for miles and miles until I see the forest that is Naina.

………..

She sees the trees engulfing her and spitting her back out and the babel of noises that she tries to ignore is only becoming louder and more sinister. She wills herself to continue into Naina, where the dried bones of children and mothers beckon her company, urging her on. She stumbles upon a decaying branch and her legs can muster no more strength. The gray moon is finally visible so she uses its light to find the shoal that slipped from her waist. She finds it just close to her, with the sandglass nearly shattered. She sets it aside and pours the herb into her hand. It feels crispy and rough. She is sure what she has to do even if the noises in her head won’t hush.

She flips the sandglass and takes the herb without hesitation. She is immediately reminded of the fragility of her existence and the imminent death of her child. But at least her child will be with the others that died even before they lived.

…………….

Isn’t nature a true enigma? A being with as much reason as any other but still a god. That’s what comes to mind when I look at Naina. A world that turns pain and death into green magnificence. The trees here are never solemn as they dance over the graves watered by the rains. I hoped to see other ghosts like me but maybe they are elsewhere following their flesh as I am following mine. Or maybe they are doing something else entirely.

She has lost her mind now. She speaks of many things that I don’t understand. Although her eyes are my reassurance that her sanity is safe, or at least a part of it. I look after her however much I can but I don’t understand why I am here at all, in this nightmare that no one should have to live through.

Her belly is bigger now than ever before and the small movements it randomly makes seem to make her laugh warmly. She collects daffodils that grow by the sequoia trees at the far end of this blue stream and tucks them in her thick hair. She does this every day when the sun is out. But when the sky is gray, she plucks the purple hyacinths that grow everywhere.

Today, the sky is gray and she wanders out of her shelter to look for the flowers she so needs. They line the path that no one walks on. Is her family looking for her? Do they know that their daughter is in Naina, where bones lay unearthed and no ghosts dwell? A place that reminds one of a finite life?

She suddenly drops the flowers onto the ground and recoils in immense agony. I see water spilling from beneath her tattered skirts. She screams in sheer pain as she laboriously crawls toward her shelter. The pain is too much, and she can’t move any further. Water has stopped spilling. Now it’s only blood. She feels her flesh tearing and her fingers digging through the wet soil that she sits on. She has felt so much, so young. But this, this is another kind of feeling. Searing, sharp, throbbing, drawn-out pain. Pain that doesn’t make you question whether or not you’re alive. Pain that surely exists and brings existence with it. A mother’s pain.

She breathes in deeply and lets out a guttural cry. I look on, petrified but apologetic that she has had to experience this vale of tears alone, abandoned. I hate seeing her like this and I hate being as helpless as I am.

She cries till her tears run out. That’s when the child’s head appears and with renewed strength, she tugs at the baby until it comes out. Then the cries of a new beginning fill the cold ambience. They are surrounded by a pool of dark red earth and she smiles, holding the child in her weak arms. She is slowly fading away from losing so much blood. She feels her life slipping fast. That’s when she reaches out, handing her creation to me, her solace, her ghost from her past and now, a ghost for her future.

Mary W Ndirangu.

The month of October is a special month not just for the human realm. Creatures from all over the world wait for that special night when they get to venture into our world, when the portal opens for them.

Yes, you guessed it, they're waiting for Halloween. What a time to trick, scare, petrify, and still get a treat out of it!

They don't kill (well, some of them do, but they aren't important right now); they just play around a little. Harmless fun, nothing more.

Everyone is excited and preparing for their own Halloween fiesta! It'll be crazy!

One creature, however, isn't exactly teeming with joy.

A kitsune (fox demon) by the name of Kiyoshi is NOT looking forward to Halloween.

Too many insufferable, brainless creatures will only bring him a major headache. Kiyoshi isn't a big fan of crowds and noise and can't be bothered to deal with them.

Sadly, he'll need to. He has to work. On Halloween. While others get to go out and party, or do whatever, Kiyoshi is forced to work.

The fox puts up with a lot of insolence.

Kiyoshi isn't getting paid enough for this. Not that he gets paid at all, but it's the principle of the matter!

His job? To find a suitable head, a pumpkin to be precise.

Yes, you read that right. He needs to find a suitable head for that damned Headless Horseman. Who in their right mind manages to lose their head in the first place?

Oh, right, sorry. No head, so technically, no brain there either.

Kiyoshi sighs.

Now do you understand why he doesn't deal with the forementioned insufferable, brainless creatures? It's because he always gets dragged into these kinds of situations.

To make things worse (because they usually do get worse),

Kiyoshi won't be working alone.

He'll have a "partner." It's to get the job done as quickly as possible.

The kitsune snorts at the sheer stupidity of it.

And it's not someone he can at least (attempt to) tolerate, of course not.

His "partner" is a wolf. And it's a common fact that wolves and foxes don't exactly see eye to eye.

In fact, they avoid each other as much as they can. It's been that way for centuries.

And now they need to work together. Lovely.

The wolf doesn't look ecstatic about it either. In fact, he looks like he might wolf someone down.

No pun intended. Maybe.

"Let me get this straight. You want me and the bloody fox to find the perfect pumpkin for the Headless Idiot™? Because one isn't enough to do something so simple. " The wolf said flatly.

Kiyoshi would have to agree with that begrudgingly.

"Also," the wolf added, "Doesn't he know that wolves and foxes don't mix? We'd probably kill each other before he got his new head. "

"Yes, the boss wrote it down exactly like that. He wants the both of you to go search for his, uh, head. And he is aware of the circumstances between your races. But the more, the merrier, don't you agree? "

The ghost that "worked" for The Headless Horseman asked cheerfully, not seeing anything wrong with the arrangement.

The kitsune and the wolf give him a blank look, making it more than clear exactly what they thought about it.

The ghost wasn't finished, though.

"He also stated that, should you succeed, he'd pay you generously, plus, you won't need to attend the upcoming Halloween party, Kiyoshi." Kiyoshi's ears perked up at that.

The ghost looked then at the wolf, "And as for you, Lupin, the horseman said that he'd overlook last year's little incident." The wolf, Lupin, rolled his eyes and sighed in resignation.

"That "incident" wasn't such a big deal, but whatever. When do we start?" Lupin asked. Kiyoshi was surprised at the wolf's easy acceptance.

"You start tomorrow evening. You have ten days to find him a head or else he'd send the hunters after you."

The ghost warned them, looking serious.

For the first time, Kiyoshi spoke up.

"Send the hunters after us, because he was incompetent to keep his own head attached to his shoulders. I'm amazed, as if we're something to sneeze at when it comes to strength. We'd crush them. " The kitsune growled, his eyes turning into slits.

The ghost squeaked nervously.

"Do-don't shoot the messenger, Kiyoshi! I'm just saying! "

"Seriously, fox, calm down. We'd do our job and be done with the headless dunce. " Lupin tried to reason with Kiyoshi, who turned his head to glare at the wolf instead.

"Don't tell me what to do, dog." Kiyoshi sneered at Lupin.

"How creative of you, but you seem to forget we're both canines."

Kiyoshi shrugged.

"Technicalities. Wolves are far less sophisticated than foxes."

"Says who?"

"Does it matter? The point still stands; there's no use in arguing. "

"Why you..."

The ghost decided it was best to leave because his job was already done. He left the two of them to their bickering.

This is why the ghost was grateful to be already dead. He can't exactly die twice.

***

Kiyoshi and Lupin managed to agree to meet up in the same spot where they'd met with the ghost, which was a miracle on its own. From there, they'd decide where to begin this pumpkin chase.

Kiyoshi could tell this was going to be exhausting. He didn't need to be a seer to be able to deduce that.

At least they could agree on how ridiculous this whole situation is.

"See you tomorrow evening, partner. Don't be late! " Lupin waved at the kitsune before turning to walk away.

"Baka inu..." Kiyoshi mumbled under his breath.

"Did you say something?"

"I said that the same goes for you. Don't squander any more of my time than it already was. " Kiyoshi said before walking away.

"I don't howl all the time! It shows how much you know about us, you fiend! " Lupin yelled after the kitsune, his temper flaring. Kiyoshi didn't react to it, continuing on his way.

This is certainly going to be interesting.

***

The next evening arrived way too soon for Kiyoshi and Lupin. Both of them dreaded the journey that awaited them.

They met at the place they agreed on last night, arriving on time, so Kiyoshi couldn't complain that his time was "wasted." The kitsune sulked, and the wolf rejoiced.

It's not even ten minutes since they met up and went on their merry way when our two protagonists start antagonizing each other.

First, it started with Lupin's proposal.

"We should post our progress on Monstagram!"

"Are you out of your mind? What would your pack say if they knew we were on a job together? "

Lupin scratched his head, laughing nervously, and said,

"Actually, they do know. It appears that the horseman notified them beforehand. "

Kiyoshi grinned like the fox he was.

"Oh, and? Were you kicked out of the pack?"

Lupin sighed. This fox menace is so condescending that he regrets even trying to be civil.

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but no, I wasn't kicked out. They told me to grin and bear it and stay out of trouble. "

"Some pack you've got there." Kiyoshi commented off-handedly.

Lupin grinned, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight following them.

"They really are! I was sceptical about how they'd react, but they surprised me in a good way! We stick together no matter what! What about your pack, huh, Kiyoshi? "

"Don't use my name so casually, baka inu, and I don't live in a pack. We tend to be solitary creatures, relying only on ourselves. " Kiyoshi answered, his ten tails swaying as he walked.

Lupin noticed the white tails and was impressed by their number. He was aware that the number of tails represented the kitune's level of power.

Or something like that, he wasn't sure. He doubted Kiyoshi would answer him even if he asked nicely.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Lupin wondered, not aware he was saying it aloud.

"Not really, it's how things are done in our kind. As you probably noticed, I'm not exactly a fan of crowds or other creatures. " Kiyoshi said, enjoying the night breeze on his face.

The kitsune loved the night the most. Pity he can't spend it in his territory in peace and quiet.

"I've noticed you're not exactly friendly, but I've assumed you're like that because I'm a wolf." Lupin said bluntly.

Kiyoshi smiled wryly. He had to give it to the wolf because he was either brave or stupid to talk to him like that, though what he said wasn't a lie.

And Kiyoshi gave him an opening himself, so if anyone's to blame, it's him.

"Well, now you know that I'm like that with everyone. There are very few beings in our world that I can tolerate." Kiyoshi admitted it without difficulty, seeing no problem with it.

It was the truth, after all. If you asked anyone, they'd tell you something similar.

It wasn't from a lack of trying, because the kitsune did try, in his own way, to fit in with the rest. He later realized that he didn't have much in common with the other creatures.

Lupin was silent, mulling that information over. The kitsune was unusual, but he didn't seem like he was a ruthless and unkind bastard 24/7.

Lupin might be a dog, a hound, whatever name there is for his kind, but he's perceptive. His senses need to be keen, and so does his mind.

Wolves might not get on with foxes, but it wasn't like there was an outright war between them, unless they trespassed on each other's territory or killed one of their own.

Otherwise, they tend to stay out of each other's way.

It's a silent agreement of sorts. But now, they can't exactly do that, can't they?

A wolf and a fox need to cooperate. Their ancestors must be rolling in laughter or despair.

"You've gone unusually quiet, wolf. Have I shocked you into silence? Not that I mind, but it seems you're one of those who loves the sound of their own voice. "

Speaking of the devil...

Lupin's thoughts were broken by Kiyoshi's voice, bringing him back to earth.

"I'm fine. I was just thinking. " Lupin waved the kitsune off.

"I didn't ask if you were fine or not. I've just noticed the lack of your barking. And please, don't overuse that mass you call a brain; you might need it later on. "

Lupin glared at Kiyoshi, who smirked at him.

"Do you always have to be an overbearing bastard?" Lupin was done with Kiyoshi's nonsense.

"It's my default personality. Haven't we established that a few minutes ago? Seriously, leave the thinking to those who actually know how. "

"Teme." Lupin grumbled under his breath.

"What did you just say?"

"Why, the great Kitsune is hard of hearing? That's not good. Weren't you supposed to be a more "sophisticated" species than me? " Lupin replied smugly, catching the fox off guard.

If looks could kill, Lupin would've turned to ash right there and then. He was afraid of the stupid fox. He could hold his own in a fight. He just didn't see the point in fighting.

"And I've called you "teme." You call me "baka inu," so it's only fair I return the favor. "

Lupin replied cooly, putting his hands behind his head and walking ahead of the stunned fox.

Kiyoshi stared after the wolf, shocked that he had gotten one-upped by him.

***

They walked through the forest in silence, looking for the best place to spend the night and get away from the other creatures that lived there.

They finally found such a place, venturing further into the forest.

They will rest here for the night and continue on their way tomorrow.

The nights were colder, given that it's autumn, but both Lupin and Kiyoshi had fur to keep them warm.

They'd probably argue which one's thicker and warmer, but we don't want to jinx it. Let there be more peace.

Lupin wasn't tired, so he decided to lie down and just stare at the starry sky above.

Putting his arms (or paws) behind his head, he directed his gaze at the beautiful, glittering night sky, his mind blank and somewhere far away.

Lupin liked relaxing like this at night, after a hard day (yes, even wolves have those), though usually he'd go find a higher place for his regular stargazing ritual. The view was much better.

But Lupin wasn't by himself now, and he doubted his companion would appreciate him wandering off in the middle of the night.

The quiet fell upon the dark forest, only crickets filling the silence with their night melody.

Lupin was just about to completely empty his mind and focus on the stars when Kiyoshi broke his concentration again.

"You know Japanese."

It wasn't posed as a question. This foxy guy rarely asked them.

"My parents came from the Japanese wolf packs." Lupin gave a concise and short explanation.

"Hm, I see." Kiyoshi said, before they both grew silent. That was how they spent the rest of the night, before finally falling asleep.

***

They were on the move at dawn, not risking a potential ambush or anything that might endanger them. They tried to avoid fights with other creatures as much as they could.

That doesn't mean they would miss an opportunity to bicker with one another.

Lupin: "We should start with Midvar. They always have the most pumpkins! "

Kiyoshi: "Midvar is a small town, and the carvings on those pumpkins are atrocious. I don't think His Headless Higness would appreciate his mouth looking like an explosion. "

Lupin: "I didn't know you were such an expert on pumpkin carving fashion!"

Kiyoshi: "I'm not, but I have eyes and some taste, unlike you."

Lupin: "Great, here we go. What do you suggest then, Pumpkin and Carvingana? "

Kiyoshi: "What a stupid name. You should really work on that. I suggest we go straight to Ashgin. It's a bigger village, and they do know their way around a pumpkin. They look ferocious, just like the headless idiot wants to appear to those that are dumb enough to believe in it. "

Lupin: "While that might be true, I think those pumpkins look way too heavy to serve as a head. Speaking of which, that ghost never told us exactly how we'd know that we'd found a perfect pumpkin. "

Kiyoshi stopped what he was about to say, realizing that Lupin was right. How were they supposed to know that the pumpkin they found was the perfect one?

"Did that ghost give us some form of contact?" Kiyoshi wondered, trying to recall anything else that the ghost might've told them.

"No, he hasn't. I follow him on Monstagram, but there's no signal here. " Lupin waved his phone for emphasis.

"So basically, we're left to our own devices when it comes to choosing a damn pumpkin."

Kiyoshi's dry tone made Lupin want to laugh, but he held himself back.

The wolf didn't think the kitsune would take it too kindly.

Instead, Lupin settled with just, "It seems that way."

Kiyoshi let out a deep sigh.

Thank the gods for his immortality, otherwise he might've been worried about his blood pressure.

Lupin saw the kitsune's expression and added, "Uh, how about this? When we get to the first village, I'll try to contact the ghost. I follow him on Monster, so it won't be a problem. "

Kiyoshi massaged his temples before nodding in agreement.

That was the best option they had.

***

Walking through the forest, our protagonists come across a big snake.

It was Serpentia, the unofficial queen of the forest. She was napping and just chilling on a branch, like any snake.

When she sensed someone approaching, she opened her eyes, hissing when she saw Kiyoshi and Lupin.

"Greetingsss, fellow demonsss. What bringsss you to my territory?" Serpentia observed them calmly.

"We're just passing through. We're on our way to Ashgin. " Kiyoshi replied.

"I thought we were going to Midvar." Lupin said, glaring holes into the fox.

"That's what YOU thought. I don't recall having such stupid thoughts. " Kiyoshi said. Lupin gritted his teeth in agitation.

"Well, I'd definitely remember where we were going, and Ashgin wasn't it!"

"It wasn't Midvar either, and now it is Ashgin, because I said so. End of discussion. "

Lupin gaped at Kiyoshi in disbelief.

He must've done something pretty awful in his past life if he was forced to interact with an irritating and bossy demon like Kiyoshi.

"Who made you the boss?" Lupin asked Kiyoshi, who was leaning against the tree where Serpentia watched the spectacle.

"No one, I'm just better at...guiding, if you will. If you don't like it, you can always leave. I won't stop you. "

Kiyoshi picked at his claws in boredom.

"Like hell I'll leave! I'm entrusted with this job too, so I have every right to be here, you damn coyote with too many tails! " Lupin exploded, done with Kiyoshi's belittlement.

Serpentia watched in amusement as two demons went back and forth, hissing with laughter, which earned her a glare from the kitsune.

It was like watching children fight.

"You DARE compare me to those lower beings, you dog?! This is an insult! " Kiyoshi growled at the wolf and got a growl in return.

Serpentia decided it was best to meddle, lest they destroy her beautiful forest. There would be hell to pay if they did.

"Gentlemen, pleassse," the snake said, "How about a friendly competition to help you decide?"

Both demons turned to the snake before nodding at her to continue.

"It'sss sssimple, really. The winner will be the one who bringsss me the largessst meal they can catch. It wouldn't be hard for either of you. You both do hunt for food, after all. You have, let'sss sssay, two hoursss. " Serpentia explained the rules to Kiyoshi and Lupin.

"Are you mocking me, you slimy reptile? You want me to bring you food? How about I turn you into snake powder instead? Then you wouldn't have to worry about food! " Kiyoshi threatened the snake as he conjured a blue fireball in his palm.

Lupin slapped his palm across his face in frustration and decided to step in before things escalated.

Sneaking behind Kiyoshi, Lupin karate-chopped him, catching the kitsune before he fell to the ground.

Throwing Kiyoshi over his shoulder, Lupin turned to the angry snake.

"I'm sorry about this, Serpentia. He can be hot-headed sometimes. I'll do my best to keep him under control while we're here. " The wolf apologized, bowing his head in respect.

Serpentia calmed down a little, slithering down from the tree. She slithered closer to where Lupin was standing.

"At leassst sssomeone hasss mannersss around here. Very well, I'll accept your apology, though you did nothing wrong, wolf. Good luck with dealing with the fox. You have my sssympathy. " Serpentia truly felt sorry for the wolf demon.

No wonder the rest of the demon realm avoided the grumpy fox.

Lupin scratched his head, grinning at the snake.

"Thanks, we were kind of pushed into this, uh, temporary partnership, so..."

Lupin waved at Serpentia before walking off in the direction they were going before encountering Serpentia, carrying an unconscious kitsune over his shoulder.

"Good luck, wolf demon." The snake knew Lupin heard her because he laughed loudly at that.

Yeah, he'd need all the luck he could get. Or a divine intervention, whichever came first.

***

Kiyoshi woke up later in the evening, drowsy from sleep and disoriented. Looking around, he saw they were still in the forest.

"You know, for a demon whose name means quiet, purity, and other similar words, you're quite the opposite."

Kiyoshi turned to see Lupin lying on the ground, watching the stars.

"What happened?" Ignoring the jab, Kiyoshi asked.

Lupin, not turning his head from the sky, answered.

"You were about to set fire to the forest by threatening Serpentia, so in order to avoid that, I knocked you out. Simple as that. "

Kiyoshi was quiet.

"You knocked me out?"

"Yup." Lupin popped the "p."

The wolf didn't get a chance to continue to stargaze, because suddenly a big, white tail swung at him.

"Oi!" Lupin yelled at the kitsune, whose tails coiled behind him like tentacles.

"What? I thought I'd return the favor. I can't guarantee you'd wake up. Now be a good puppy and stay still. " Kiyoshi swung all ten tails at Lupin, who was fast enough to dodge them.

"You were going to burn the whole forest down! What was I supposed to do!?" Lupin asked, as he avoided a near hit.

"You were supposed to stay out of it, that's what! That snake had it coming! " Kiyoshi replied angrily, his tails moving in all directions.

"Your flames are the strongest ones in the whole demon realm. They would've spread across the whole forest; that's how strong they are! You know that better than I do! "

Lupin was faster than the kitsune anticipated, moving between his tails with agility. Kiyoshi had to give credit where it's due.

Not that he'd ever tell the stupid wolf that. He'd just gloat, waggling his tail in satisfaction.

"So you do admit to me being stronger than you? It's a shame I didn't record it. " That's what Kiyoshi said instead. He stopped trying to hit the wolf.

Lupin sat as far away as he could from Kiyoshi, not trusting the kitsune wouldn't try to hit him.

"I've never said that!"

"You implied it. There's no shame in it. I'm older than you and wiser. It can't be helped. Perhaps you'll get stronger in a few centuries. " Kiyoshi mocked the wolf, knowing he wasn't that much older, but used it to his advantage.

"You nearly turned us all into smithereens, and you call yourself wise? You're more petty than wise. Oh, and also, who ended up being knocked out by whom exactly? " Lupin grinned wolfishly at the glowering kitsune.

That night, Lupin needed to sleep on the other side of the forest, an angry kitsune chasing him off.

***

The following morning, they finally left the forest (much to the relief of other inhabitants, including a certain snake queen).

They were walking in silence, with Lupin keeping a safe distance from Kiyoshi. The kitsune may not appear as murderous as last night, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

Besides, those tails look heavy and like they could break a bone or two. Lupin didn't want to risk an injury.

And so the trip continues, leading the two demons to the roads leading to Midvar and Ashgin.

Kiyoshi expected another quarrel about which village they'd visit first, but he was shocked when Lupin himself turned right, taking a road leading to Ashgin without a single word.

Kiyoshi would've raised an eyebrow if he had them (he still looks like a regular fox) at this strange turn of events.

Wasn't the wolf complaining about this yesterday and the day before that? What made him change his mind?

Kiyoshi isn't going to complain.

He did insist (rather forcefully) that they go to Ashgin first, but he was curious.

Also, he noticed the silent treatment the wolf gave him.

Not that he was bothered by it.

He just got bored easily, and the wolf was a great source of entertainment when he wasn't a smartass.

Pot-kettle vibes, anyone?

Kiyoshi needed to get to the bottom of this. The wolf doesn't get to be the most mature of the two of them.

Really, Kiyoshi? Really?

Having caught up to Lupin, Kiyoshi walked a little closer to the wolf, giving him sideways glances from time to time.

It went on like that for five minutes.

Lupin sighed deeply, having had enough of the kitsune's not so subtle stares. It was unusual for Kiyoshi to not say anything outright. He always had something to say.

"If you want to say something, just get it over with." Lupin said, looking straight ahead of him.

"You didn't whine about not going to Midvar first. What made you change your mind?" Kiyoshi asked, not one to beat around a bush.

For someone so sly and cunning, Kiyoshi could be pretty straightforward.

"Not worth the risk of destroying parts of the realm, and we'd just be wasting time arguing about it. And you hate wasting your time, as you said before. " Lupin answered truthfully.

"Hm." That was all Kiyoshi said (hmmed) for now.

They had a few more miles until they reached Ashgin, so they spent the first three hours traveling in complete silence.

Surprisingly, in the third hour, it was Kiyoshi who broke the silence. He didn't know why, but the silence unnerved him.

"You know, you would've been fine. My flames wouldn't actually harm you or the serpent. "

"No, just leave me without fur, at best." Lupin said neutrally.

"I do know how to control them."

"Your temper is another story, though. For someone who looks so grumpy, you sure know how to be aggressive and just plain childish. "

Well, ouch, Lupin. You're being especially direct today.

"Thanks, captain obvious. Why do you think other demons avoid me?" Kiyoshi asked, actually impressed that the wolf spoke that way to him.

The wolf was usually making an effort to be somewhat civil.

Apparently, even he had a limit.

How shocking, right?

Kiyoshi can't deny that he can be extremely petty for no reason.

He never claimed to be perfect.

No, of course not. He's the epitome of modesty.

"Well, now I understand it much better. But, I'm not like other demons; you can't scare me. You might be stronger, but we never got to really test that theory. "

Lupin gave Kiyoshi a side glance before turning his head away.

"Are you challenging me, puppy?" Kiyoshi asked, his voice betraying no particular emotion.

"First I'm a dog, now I'm a puppy. You're giving me a cute nickname because you actually do tolerate me, right? " The wolf grinned smugly.

If anything irritated Kiyoshi, it was the implication that he respected someone other than himself.

"Just know that you're probably in third place on my list of things that annoy the hell out of me."

That was as close as Kiyoshi would get to admitting that Lupin wasn't the worst of them all.

"I imagine you have quite a long list."

"You have no idea. I can explain why your position isn't that bad. You should be thankful, puppy. "

"Aren't I lucky?" Lupin teased the kitsune.

"Shut up and listen."

***

"So, a witch wanted to chop you up for her potion?" Lupin was laughing uncontrollably; the look of discomfort on Kiyoshi's face was priceless.

Kiyoshi would deny he pouted a little.

He didn't appreciate the wolf's mockery of his (mis)adventures with other members of their community.

"You break my heart, wolf. I thought you said you sympathize with me. " Kiyoshi gave Lupin a fake-hurt look.

"You don't have a heart, kitsune. If you did, you'd accept that siren's invitation for some fun. God knows you need it. " Lupin teased Kiyoshi, watching the fox roll his eyes.

"She'd have eaten me alive later." Kiyoshi said.

"Yes, and you're a helpless kit, unable to defend yourself."

"Very funny, pup. Such a comedian of the demon realm you are. " Kiyoshi replied sarcastically.

"Thanks, I'm aware of that! Between the two of us, I might be the funniest. " Lupin puffed his chest in pride.

"You mean, more prone to doing stupid things that get you laughed at." Kiyoshi snorted.

Lupin shrugged.

"Maybe, but my point still stands."

Kiyoshi rolled his eyes but conceded to the wolf.

They fell silent after that. They were half an hour away from Ashgin, their first destination where they'd (hopefully) find the potential head for The Headless Horseman.

"I've got a question. It might be a bit stupid, loathe as I am to admit it. " Kiyoshi said, turning his head to Lupin.

"Ask away."

"Are you a werewolf or just a regular wolf demon?"

Lupin was surprised by the genuine question. He expected something more complex.

"No, I'm not a werewolf. They transform from human to wolf and back again, while we stay wolves. We can walk on two legs as humans, and that's where our similarities end, if they can be called that. "

Lupin gave a simple explanation, watching as Kiyoshi processed the information.

"Though we do "howl at the moon" sometimes, as you oh so poetically described us when we first met." Lupin teased the kitsune.

"I wasn't wrong about it, since you just said that you do, in fact, howl."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." Lupin nodded along, enjoying the temporary truce.

It was something at least. They'd probably find something to bicker about soon enough.

***

As Lupin and Kiyoshi neared Ashgin, the wolf stopped walking for a moment, deep in thought.

Kiyoshi noticed the lack of the wolf's presence by his side, so he turned around to see Lupin in a thinking pose.

"Whatever you're thinking so intensely about, let me tell you that it's stupid and not worth our time."

"You don't even know what I'm thinking about!" Lupin complained.

"I don't need to."

"How are we going to enter the village?"

"By foot, obviously." Kiyoshi was confused by such a question.

"No, I didn't mean it like that! People can see me since I'm your everyday wolf, just the talkative one-"

"Way too talkative. Keep it to yourself if you don't want an angry mob after you."

Lupin gave the kitsune an annoyed look.

"As I was saying before, people can see me and they can't see you. They can't, can they? " Lupin asked, to which Kiyoshi nodded.

"Well, don't you think it'd look strange if a wolf walked around, going from one house to another in search of pumpkins? " Lupin said, not really wanting to scare anyone before Halloween.

"Yes, I understand your concerns. Luckily, I have a simple solution." Kiyoshi said, his voice full of pride.

"You do?"

"Of course. I'll transform into a random traveler just passing by, and you can be my dog. "

"Why do I get the feeling that you somehow anticipated this happening?"

"Well, it did cross my mind..." Kiyoshi trailed off, not fooling Lupin at all.

"And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I have a feeling you also couldn't wait to have an excuse to call me a dog, not that you had any problems before." Lupin gave Kiyoshi a deadpan look.

"You're not wrong."

Lupin resigned himself to his (temporary) fate of being Kiyoshi's "pet." He shudders at the mere thought of it.

"Okay, let's do it." Lupin agreed to it, much to the kitsune's surprise.

"Very well. I'm amazed—you didn't whine and complain even once. "

"That's because there's no other choice." Lupin said.

Kiyoshi nodded in agreement.

The kitsune closed his eyes, concentrating on his transformation. He formed an image of his "human self" and, suddenly, there was a puff of pink smoke.

There Kiyoshi stood, dressed as a random traveler.

Lupin whistled, impressed by it.

"Nice, you look more approachable than usual. You should stay in that form. You might get other demons to like you. " Lupin laughed heartily, no malice in his words.

A white tail swatted the wolf over his head, not too hard though.

"Silence, dog. Follow your master. "

"Woof." That was all Lupin said before they entered the village.

Ashgin was among the bigger villages in size only. The rest of it left much to be desired.

The villagers were earning what little money they could by selling produce on the local.

As Kiyoshi and Lupin started wandering around the village, the first thing they noticed was the lack of people on the street.

The second thing they noticed was the lack of carved pumpkins in front of the houses.

"What's going on here?" Lupin asked quietly.

"I've no idea. This has never happened before, at least not in this village. " Kiyoshi replied, just as baffled as Lupin.

"I'll tell you what happened. A sudden mouse plague occurred. The mice ate all of the pumpkins! " A new voice joined the conversation.

A black crow was watching them, perched on a branch comfortably.

"Of course you'd know first, Raven. When haven't you stuck your beak where you shouldn't have? " Kiyoshi wasn't surprised to see the crow at all.

"Fun as always, Kiyoshi! What are you doing here with a wolf demon of all demons? " Raven asked the kitsune.

"None of your business." The kitsune replied impatiently.

"Well, I don't really care, but whatever it is, you won't find it here." The crow said, stating the obvious.

Kiyoshi was about to give the gleeful crow a piece of his mind when Lupin decided to break up the potential fight.

"So, uhm, Raven, was it? Do you know if something similar happened in other villages? " Lupin asked, knowing they needed any information that they could get.

Raven moved its gaze from the agitated kitsune to the wolf.

"I don't think it has, but don't take my word for it. It'd be best to try with Sondar next. " The crow advised Lupin, ignoring a grumbling Kiyoshi.

"Sondar is two days away from here. Will we be able to make it? " Lupin wondered aloud.

"If we go now, we will. We won't make too many stops along the way, and we'll be in Sondar in a day and a half. " Kiyoshi answered.

"You're right, we should get going as soon as possible. We don't have time to contact the ghost either. We'll do it once we actually have something concrete. " Lupin agreed with Kiyoshi, ready to leave the village.

Lupin turned to the crow, and bowed slightly.

"Thanks for the info."

"A polite wolf demon, that's a rarity. But you're welcome all the same. You should learn from your friend here, Kiyoshi. Bye-bye! " The crow flew off just in time to avoid being roasted by a well-aimed fireball.

"Can you try being less violent for once?" Lupin asked, feeling tired already.

"You're too nice. And we could've used some meat. " Kiyoshi replied before moving towards the exit.

"Did you just give me a compliment?" Lupin was shocked.

"Of course not, you're imagining things."

***

Lupin and Kiyoshi were half way to Sondar when the weather turned stormy. Rain fell heavily, obscuring everything in sight.

Two demons didn't have any problems with it, since they were, well, demons. They could handle a downpour, right?

Wrong. The biggest issue wasn't the rain itself. It was the area around Sondar.

There was a reason why there were no paranormal activities around Sondar. There was a protective barrier in place, preventing demons or other creatures from getting near.

If they tried, they'd be...

"Godamnit! Pesky hunters! " Kiyoshi growled, as he was electrocuted by the barrier.

"Uh, what happened?" Lupin asked.

"I tried teleporting, since it would be a faster way to travel in this weather, but it turns out we can't enter Sondar because the hunters had someone place a barrier. So Sondar is a big no-no. "

"Oh. We have five or six days left, I think. We have time! " Lupin tried to be optimistic.

***

The rain fell persistently for another day and a half.

They would need to go on foot until they were out of the barrier's range.

But they couldn't go on foot yet.

Lupin found a cave while Kiyoshi was trying to teleport to Sondar. It was on a mountain overlooking Sondar, so they were safe from the rain.

Here's where Kiyoshi's flames come in handy. They could see well, but it was strange to just sit and wait in the dark.

"What a crappy turn of events."

Kiyoshi looked at Lupin, who was the one swearing this time.

If the wolf says something is crappy, then you best believe it's true.

"I couldn't agree more. If it weren't for the rain and the stupid barrier, we could've been done by now. " Kiyoshi sighed, frustrated by this whole situation.

"I hope it'll stop by tomorrow. We've lost, what, two days because of it? " Lupin asked while he watched the azure flames dance.

"Yes. If the rain stops tomorrow, we'll find a place free of the protective magic and teleport to Midvar. It's our best bet. "

Lupin wanted to comment on how they should've just gone to Midvar first instead, but they'd get into an argument and neither was in the mood for it.

"Look at it this way; if we don't find pumpkins in Midvar, we'll take our frustration out on those hunters the horseman would send after us."

The kitsune smirked maliciously.

"You know, that doesn't sound bad. I might even go for the headless bastard himself. "

***

By some miracle, the rain stopped the next morning, allowing Lupin and Kiyoshi to look for the closest barrier-free spot to teleport to Midvar.

Lupin was clueless about one thing.

"Why didn't we just teleport from the start?"

Because of the author, Lupin. Moving forward!

They found a demon-friendly place and teleported to Midvar right away.

The situation was completely different here. There were children laughing and running around, people mingling and, more importantly...

There were pumpkins, lots of them!

"We definitely should've come here first." Kiyoshi admitted his mistake.

Lupin tried not to be a brat about it, but he just couldn't help it this time.

"I told you so."

"Who's petty now?" Kiyoshi mocked the wolf in return, but there was no heat in his words.

"Hey, I have every-hold on a minute, I'll be right back!" The wolf ran off somewhere, leaving a confused kitune behind.

Five minutes later, Lupin returned, a blank look on his face.

"What was that about?" Kiyoshi asked.

"Okay, so remember when I said that I'd contact the ghost on Monstagram? I did just that, and you know what he said? "

"Enlighten me."

"He said we'd recognize the right pumpkin when we saw it! Can you believe that? It's so fricking stupid, like in those romance novels, with love at first sight and finding your "soulmate" right away! So annoying! "

Kiyoshi gave Lupin a strange look.

"You read romance novels?""You read romance novels?"

Lupin slapped his forehead.

"That's not the point here! The point is that he expects us to just magically know which pumpkin to choose! How are we supposed to do that? "

"I guess we'll need the power of intuition. Or the power of love, if you prefer. " Kiyoshi looked like he wanted to die of laughter.

"Wow, you just cracked a joke. Miracles do happen. "

"Shut up, puppy. We'll get the pumpkin tonight, to avoid curious humans. "

***

"Let's pick the ugliest one." Lupin told Kiyoshi quietly.

"Is there a difference?"

Kiyoshi and Lupin are picking out the pumpkin. The first few they saw weren't up to their standards (pumpkin police, everyone!).

"He'd probably prefer the ugliest one, you know, to look badass. So let's pick the biggest and the ugliest one we can find. " Lupin said this as he examined a random pumpkin.

"You think he'd like a big head?" Kiyoshi was starting to have some fun with this.

"Of course he'd like a big head. He has to compensate for something, doesn't he? "

"Oho, are you sure you're not secretly a fox? You sure are full of mischief under that "nice guy" guise. " Kiyoshi grinned.

"I've spent a week with you. I guess you gave me fox cooties." Lupin grinned. He leaned down to pick up a pumpkin that was just big enough and carved atrociously enough to be passed off as "perfect."

"What do you think?" Lupin showed the pumpkin to the kitsune.

"Oh what the hell, let's take it." Kiyoshi said.

"Now there's an idea!" Lupin gave the thumbs up to Kiyoshi.

"Well, well, well, what a peculiar sight. A dog and a fox picking pumpkins together? Who would've thought? "

A smooth voice was heard from behind them. They turned around to see a vampire watching them, a smirk on his aristocratic features.

"We had a job to finish. We'll be taking our leave. " Kiyoshi replied coolly.

"Oh, have you now? I'm curious, though. What could you possibly have to do that required the presence of a lowly mutt?"

The vampire's haughty tone was grating on the kitsune's nerves.

And on the wolf's, too, if low growls coming from Kiyoshi's right are any indication.

"We are making pumpkin pie together. Can we go now? " Kiyoshi snarked.

"Oh, you may leave, kitsune, but without the mutt. Last year, he injured one of my men. He needs to be punished. " The vampire's eyes glowed red in the dark.

"He deserved it! He was picking on a child! " Lupin's growls grew louder.

"So what? We feed on humans, big and small. Now, take your punishment! " The vampire lunged at Lupin.

Lupin was getting ready for a fight when there were flames engulfing the vampire.

"If anyone's going to get punished, it's you. The wolf did nothing wrong. Now scram! " Kiyoshi snarled at the vampire.

"Let's go," Kiyoshi said to Lupin.

They left Midvar without another incident.

"Thanks, you didn't have to interfere, but you did."

"Don't thank me, wolf. You owe me a spar, though. "

"I'm game!" Lupin said.

***

"Ah, great choice, you two- "

"Shut up and give us the money, horseman."

Author: Emilija Veljković

Rule #1-

Never doubt the Golden

Rule #2-

The Golden are always right

Rule # 3-

The Red are inferior

I read from the list on my mirror, just as I’ve done every morning since I learned to read. Everybody does, ever since the Oriane Empire was founded 50 years ago.

I can’t help but imagine my pale skin with golden ink gleaming across my neck, and a crown in my honey blond hair.

Those who are deemed Blue are high class, the superior. Everybody only dares to wish to be Blue, but I want something better.

The Golden rule over Oriane as a group of kings. There are currently twelve, and never before has there been a woman as a Golden.

I belong with them.

I will be the first.

“Cleo!” My brother calls from outside. Luke, the son my parents always wanted. Their favorite to say the least.

The golden child, if you will.

I unlock my bathroom door, heading into my small bedroom, ignoring my brother. The bed shoved into a corner with an overflowing desk next to it. There’s a small rack of hand-me-down clothes acting as the only decoration.

“Cleo!” he yells again.

“What?” I reply annoyed, walking over to the rack, pulling out an oversized red shirt advertising one of the only bands the Golden granted a permit.

I can hear their screaming through the thin wall between Luke and my’s rooms.

They’re not good.

“Did you fill out the entry form?” He asks through the door.

Did he seriously not do it?

You need it for the Prism.

“You need it for the Prism!” I call out.

I’d like to say I’m surprised, but he always does this with school work.

How am I twins with him?

The top student and the failing one being related is surprising, but being twins is downright embarrassing.

At least for one of us.

And yes, Luke being born seven minutes earlier than me qualifies for hand-me-down clothes.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” He tries, “You’d do anything for me.”

“Since when?” I mutter.

“Luke! Breakfast!” Mom calls from downstairs.

“Cleo. Breakfast.” I say to no one.

I sit at the couch, reading and eating a granola bar, while Luke eats french toast at the table.

“Are you ready for the Prism?” Mom asks, my head snapping up.

The Prism, the day our role in society is determined.

Every sixteen year old undergoes it on the nation’s anniversary.

“It’ll be easy.” Luke replies, his mouth full of cereal.

“This decides your future, I don’t want you throwing it away because you were cocky.” She says, the striking blue gleaming on her neck. “We can't have a Red as a son.”

Red, the ones who failed.

I will never be a Red.

I refuse.

“Honey, come here. I have a thought.” She says sweetly. Luke goes to her, still holding his plate. She whispers something in his ear, his eyes glint with shocked betrayal. A sad look settling in as he looks at me.

Worry blossoming in my gut.

“Are you really not nervous?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

How could he not be nervous?

He lets out a sigh that sounds like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

Though, more accurately, it’s a jacket he’s holding.

A Golden issued jacket.

It’s seams are painted in blue, etched along stiff black fabric.

Were in a room, awaiting the prism.

It’s small and more bare than my bedroom. The walls a dull gray, the chairs cheap metal. There are two partitions propped in opposite corners.

The only thing of note being the prism shaped chandelier, decorating the wall with rainbows.

Okay, maybe my room is actually more bland.

“You never answered my question.” I say, looking at Luke. “Are you nervous?”

He looks away.

Fine, be like that.

See if I care.

I turn and walk into one of the changing spots. There’s a large mirror leaning against the wall, and an outfit hanging from the wood. The pants a perfect match to the jacket, and the tank top a shade match to the wall.

Putting all of my nerves into pulling the shirt up, over my head.

“This is the most nerve racking thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Luke says, just as my shirt gets caught, half over my head.

“What?” I ask, as I engage in battle against my shirt.

“If I mess this up,” He lets out an exhausted sigh just as the collar slips off my head. “I mess everything up.”

“Then why act like you don’t care?” I ask, genuinely confused.

I’ve never been one to hide my feelings, wearing my heart on my sleeve ever since I was a kid.

And no this is not some attention seeking method, patented by the forgotten twin.

Oh wait…

“You wouldn't understand.” I can picture his look, a mix of his ego and his fear.

“Try me,” I mutter, pulling the tank top on, it goes on without a fight.

“They expect so much from me,” He says, sounding woeful. “I can’t mess this up.”

This stirs something in me.

Has this been an unconscious motive for me?

No, that would be far too cliche.

“Why wouldn't I understand that?” I ask, emotion finding its way into my voice.

Don’t even.

“They adore you, you're their favorite.” He says.

I laugh.

I laugh at this ridiculous lie.

Me, their favorite?

That’s ridiculous.

“Anyway, I should go,” He says.

“They hate me.” I say, changing into pants. I hear the door behind him. “You hate me.”

“All participants are bound to the rules of the Prism, all cheating will result in an immediate ranking of Red,” the proctor says. I do my best to shove all thoughts of the previous conversation from my mind.

I have to focus.

“We will begin with the physical test.” She says again. Her hard green eyes landing on me.

We’re split into three groups before they take us into a dark room one by one.

We’re all required to wear the Golden issued uniform, consisting of a jacket with blue streaks across the seams.

I enter the room, one of the first to do so.

Three glowing streaks being the only source of light.

I had no clue what to expect, they change the test every year, and I admittedly still don’t know.

“The Golden are not responsible for injuries or death,” the woman says over the loudspeaker, ominously. “Good luck.”

My nerves spike at her words.

I wonder why, I think sarcastically.

My heart is in my throat when the lights flick on. Revealing a large room, a set of Monkey bars suspended over a large pit.

It’s terrifying and surely deadly.

It’s beautiful.

Beautiful and deadly.

“You have three minutes starting now.” The voice says again. “Your future depends on this, good luck Miss Magnus.”

My heart races with her words, my eyes fixed on the gleaming rungs.

I climb up the ladder to reach, grabbing the sides to steady myself.

A startled, embarrassing, sound escapes me when my skin meets the metal.

It’s boiling hot.

Okay, this complicates matters.

My fears keep rising.

My life is staked on this,

Everything is staked on this.

I need to think this through.

Okay so what do I have? I ask myself, making a list in my mind.

A Golden issued outfit

Three minutes

And a flaming set of Monkey bars

That would be the name of my band if I had any musical talent.

An image of me in a leather jacket and teased hair fills my mind.

Wait, the jacket.

Could I use the jacket to protect myself?

Yeah that’s my best option.

I slide the jacket off, the blue seams acting as a pattern to tear along. As I do, my eyes fall to the clock.

Two minutes left.

Where has the time gone?

I frantically wrap the destroyed sleeve around my palm. Pulling the jacket back on, it could still be useful.

I climb up the ladder again, having taken over half the time to end up at the same spot.

I have to hurry.

I grab onto the first rung, digging my teeth into my cheek to stifle a groan.

The pain will all be worth it when I’m in a crown.

I skip the second rung as the clock ticks down.

“60 seconds, 59,” The proctor says from the safety of another room.

Seriously!?

I skip another rung, only three left.

“46, 45,” The lights shine red.

This can’t be good.

I grab the next rung, not having enough time to ponder the meaning of the red lights.

It’s probably nothing.

I grab the next rung, just as I do it slides free. Swinging to the right as my hands slip off.

NO!! Definitely not nothing!

I’m so close.

I desperately flail my arms out, hooking onto the vertical support.

A shout of pain escapes me as my bare flesh sears.

“25, 24.”

Not helpful!

I’m at the end, I just need to escape this deathtrap.

First, I have to turn around so I’m facing the platform.

“20,19.”

I swear she’s skipping numbers.

My heart speeds up as the time ticks down.

“13,” I put my foot on the ladder. “12,”

I spin around grabbing for the other side, my forearm burning.

“The Golden are not responsible for injury or death.”

Yeah, that makes sense now.

“6, 5.”

No!

The lights dim to black.

No, No, No…

My heart picks up to a pace I didn’t think possible.

“3.”

I jump into the inky darkness, falling to my knees when I hit the ground.

“Physical challenge.” She pauses. “Pass.”

I stumble to answer questions about Oriane’s history in the written portion of the test, bandages wrapped around my arm and hands, the stinging fading in and out.

The rest of my group has finished with the physical challenge, all with varying degrees of injury. Luke has a large burn across his face, I don’t even know how he did it.

Nor do I know why he’s avoiding my eyes.

“Pencils down,” the woman says just after I mark my final answer.

It was easier than I’d expected.

She pulls out a device.

“We shall begin grading,” she says, walking over to me in the front row.

My heart picks up.

She holds the familiar machine by the handle. It’s small with a camera at the bottom and a sensor at the top.

It’s an automatic grader.

She lines up the lens with my paper, her expression giving nothing away.

She grabs my hand roughly, bringing it close to the machine before she pricks my thumb on the needle.

Sixteen years of this, and I still can’t look at it.

She flicks her hair back, revealing the metallic blue.

The goal.

She reads the screen carefully before speaking.

“Cleo Magnus, it’s been determined.” She pauses before running the device across my neck, marking me.

My heart beats wildly.

This is it.

“You are a Red.”

My heart drops.

Red-

In a group of 30 people, 4 people were Red, 25 were Blue, and 1 was Golden.

Guess who it was.

“My baby, a Golden,” Mom says, hugging Luke, sending bile into my heart. “We knew you could do it.”

I dig my fingernails into my skin.

They’ve been like this all day.

I can’t deal with it any longer.

“I’m getting some air,” I say while standing up.

“Have fun, Clementine.” My dad says not looking up.

Cleo, it’s always been Cleo.

I close the door behind me, their full attention on Luke again.

I sit on the small railing of our porch. A small tree and a few rose bushes being the only real things about this place.

This can’t be real.

I’m meant to be the Golden one, the Golden shouldn’t make mistakes.

“Tough luck,” a voice says from next to me.

I almost fall off the railing in fright.

Who would scare someone who is clearly wallowing while sitting on a thin railing?

I look and see Ronan, the neighbor I’ve known all my life. His hair is hidden in a black beanie, his collar high to disguise the color ranking, no doubt intentional.

My heart would be skipping beats in front of Ronan had I not been so miserable.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, slipping over the railing separating our houses, “you were screwed from the beginning.”

“What? No, the test is always right,” I say, no doubt in my voice. “Rule #1 - the Golden are always right.”

“They're frauds,” he says, leaning against the pillar. He sounds so casual like we’re talking about the weather.

“Rule #2 - Never doubt the Golden,” I say, frantic.

“You still believe them?” he sounds genuinely shocked.

“Don’t you?”

How could I not?

“I was trying to comfort you, but I guess you’d rather believe their lies.” He walks off through the gap in the fence, of which we’d both ignored until now.

I don’t want him to go (whether from curiosity or his strangely attractive bad-boy vibe, I’ll never say).

“Wait,” I say, standing up by habit. I fall to the ground when my feet only meet air.

An embarrassing sound escapes me as I fall into the bush.

“Cleo,” he sounds the closest to worried I’ve ever seen him as he pulls me from the bushes. My already burned arm scrapes across leaves, making it sting like heck. “That looks painful.”

“A bit.” I say, not wanting to admit the amount of pain I’m in.

“Why don’t we talk inside, unless you want to fall into the tree too,” he jokes, gently leading me inside.

My skin aflame where he touches.

I struggle to wrap my mind around his words.

It contradicts everything I’ve ever been told.

“So let me get this straight, to become a Golden, your DNA has to fit a certain criteria?” He nods, just as another thought crosses my mind. “Then how are Reds selected?”

He smiles like this is fascinating to him as my world falls apart.

“They get 100 percent on the exam. Their intelligence scares the Golden, they could see through the lies. Well I guess not,” His eyes fall on the mark, my cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “They’re hoping the population discredits their words, given that they’re “inferior”.”

I take in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

So, I did it.

I got 100.

Little did I know, it sealed my fate.

“What about the Blues?” I ask, wrapping a shirt from the floors around my hands. The messy surroundings of Ronan’s room doing nothing to calm my nerves.

“I wore that last week,” he says, leaning back in his chair casually.

I stifle a gasp as I throw the shirt to the floor, trying to pretend like I had no interest in keeping it under my pillow for years to come.

“Anyway,” he leans back in the desk chair, “the Blue are the only people the Golden actually rule. That’s why they are the largest.”

“What could we even do?” I ask, a sinking hopelessness fueling me.

He smirks wickedly.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“God no,” I mutter to my reflection. The girl dressed in a pink dress with silver earrings cannot be Cleo Magnus.

And the girl referring to herself in the third person can’t be me.

I’d never worn a dress before, it was my mothers.

She thought it was worth me getting dressed up for Luke’s coronation.

It should be me on the throne.

I hate the lies they’ve told us. I hate the Red on my neck, the mark of my dream and naivete.

And I hate that because I’m a sixteen year old girl, this all sounds petty.

“Cleo!” Luke calls from downstairs, for some reason it angers me.

“I’m coming!” I call back.

It’ll all be over soon, for tonight we reveal the lies.

The event’s crowded with people, all shoved into a large gallery. Even with the large skylight and high ceiling, I feel trapped.

The Golden’s divided the room into four parts. The Golden sitting high and entitled on the stage. In a small area sits my parents, the family of the rising Golden on display.

It angers me that I couldn’t be there. Reds have to sit separately on the balcony, displaying us like examples.

Like a warning.

Leaving the rest of the large hall for the Blue.

The doting followers.

The sight angers me more.

They lied to us about everything.

“Today we are honored to have a new member rise to our pristine ranks,” one of the Golden says.

He has honey blonde hair, a perfect color match to mine. He carries himself with such confidence like he can do no wrong.

He looks like an older version of Luke.

“To be a Golden, your DNA must match a set of criteria,” I remember.

Oh my God, how did I not think of this before?

We’re twins, our DNA is almost identical. The main difference being chromosomes.

You really are naive.

The answers’ obvious as I stare at the rulers.

They’re all men.

I never had a chance to begin with.

“The divine, Luke Magnus.” The Golden says, his face shining with a false smile.

Luke walks toward him, dressed in a new suit, a nervous smile on his face.

“We are honored to welcome you into our ranks,” he continues.

He loves hearing himself talk.

“However,” he pauses, the Blues hanging on to every word. “We are short one thing, or rather one person.”

A ripple of gasps from the Blues.

I missed that.

“Ronan,” he calls out.

What?

It can’t be him, it must be someone else.

The lost Golden enters, holding a gold crown.

It’s him.

His hat is gone, revealing the same long blonde hair. His choker is gone, no longer hiding the gold mark.

Ronan, he’s a Golden.

Golden-

The traitor,

Was he lying this whole time?

Was any of this real?

God I’m so clueless.

I want to get out of this place desperately.

I want them to hurry up and crown Luke, ending my public humiliation.

“Before Luke’s welcomed into our ranks, we will take a brief break. It is a tradition.”

How convenient. I think bitterly.

I rush from my seat immediately, heading downstairs.

I want to go outside, get some fresh air, when somebody grabs my wrist.

“Cleo.” It’s Luke.

My anger builds inside me. All I want to do is escape him, escape this place. But when I see his expression, my anger melts away.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I need your help.”

Magnus-

I’ve dreamed of this day my whole life.

My destiny.

I kneel before the Kingdom of Oraine. Faces staring at me with enjoyment. A sea of Blues and Reds.

“Luke Magnus,” the Golden continues.

My heart swells.

“I declare you.” He pauses. Ronan places a sturdy gold crown on my head.

Even he can’t ruin this.

“King of Oraine.” It’s just as I imagined, only they would say my name,

Cleo Magnus.

A Few Minutes Earlier. . .

“You sure about this?” I ask him through the mirror.

He swallows, his eyes locked on the gold mark.

“Yeah,” he pauses, “I never wanted this life.”

His eyes lock on me.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says.

“I want to, this was my dream.” I smile for the first time in awhile. “Well, sort of.”

He laughs, relief flooding his features, before the stress comes back in waves.

“They told me the truth, you know.” He looks guilty like he was the one lying to a whole kingdom. “You don’t deserve to be a red.”

He buries his face in his hands, ashamed.

I smile. I’ve wanted to hear those words from my family since the Prism.

My brother was always there for me, even if my parents weren’t.

“Did you mean what you said?” I ask, my voice betraying me. “Before the prism.”

“I don’t know.” He admits. “I was angry, I thought they were lying about the prism being rigged. I was hoping that they made it up to mess with me. I know it sounds stupid.”

He looks down, defeated.

The confusion fades, leaving behind a strange confirmation and hurt in my heart.

“I can change it,” I promise, my hand going to his shoulder in a way I hope to be comforting.

This eases his worries as he uncovers his face.

“Would citizens kindly return to their seats,” an announcer says.

“It’s now or never.” I say.

He pauses before he picks up the scissors, cutting my long hair to match his.

The Golden have lied to us, but I will change the world.

The people deserve the truth.

That’s what they’ll get.

All hail the first queen of Oranine, Cleo Magnus.

RULE #1 -

The Golder have lied.

RULE #2 -

The Prism is rigged,

RULE #3 -

The Red are superior.

By Samantha Sullivan

“Don’t let me forget to empty the dishwasher when we get home,” a woman said, holding a vial of liquid up to the sunlight.

“Yes, dear,” the man responded, exasperated. He preferred to wait in silence, but his wife wasn’t as practiced in patience.

“And Jimmy’s birthday is coming up,” she continued, tipping the vial onto a cloth, soaking it. “We need to get him a gift.”

“A gift? He’s three.”

“He’s five. Starting kindergarten in Fall.”

“Five?” The man shook his head, wondering how their only grandson could be so big already, a proper kid. “Where does the time go?” His wife lovingly patted his arm, a soft, warm smile tugging at her lips.

Their black SUV was parked down a dark alley. The street light was broken here, plunging their car into near total darkness. Here they could wait, unbothered, until the perfect moment.

“This alley reminds me of our first time,” his wife said seductively, spreading out in the back seats. He turned his head to look at her. She laid her petite body on its side, propping her head up with one elbow, her other hand draped lightly over her hip. In that moment, the husband saw his sixteen-year-old high-school sweetheart, with full lips and flushed cheeks.

“Remember how nervous you were?” He teased.

“I remember how you took charge,” she said, a purr to her voice. “Showed me exactly how you liked it done.”

The husband licked his lips, his tongue grazing his thick, dark mustache. He longed to climb back there with her, but at 55, that was easier said than done. Besides, his job tonight was to watch. It was his turn to pick.

The sound of rusted breaks caught his attention. A tan sedan with a dented bumper turned onto the street before them, its one working break light illuminating the curb. A pink-haired woman in a tight purple mini skirt stumbled out of the passenger side. The sedan sped off before she rightened herself.

She stumbled again, then grabbed hold of the chain link fence behind her, using it to keep herself up.

Perfect, he thought.

He turned the key over. The engine roared to life, but the pink-haired woman didn’t notice. The wife, eyes wide with excitement, slide from the back seats into the floor well. She pulled a floor mat over her head.

The husband slowly pulled his car to the curb. He rolled down the passenger side window as the pink-haired woman approached.

“H-Hi,” he said, faking apprehension. The wife suppressed a snicker.

“What can I do ya for, big guy,” the woman slurred.

“H-How…”

“Much? 50.”

“The husband nodded. The woman climbed in.

Like a cobra, the wife sprang from the footwell. She clamped a chloroform-soaked cloth over the prostitute’s mouth. She struggled, trying to fight off the wife. The husband chuckled and calmly rolled up the windows, pulling away from the curb. Eventually, the pink-haired prostitute went limp, her arms sliding to her sides.

The husband turned on the CD player in the car. Their wedding song floated from the speakers as he drove into the night. The wife, cheeks flushed crimson, sunk back into the seats, panting.

“I love date night.”

Detective Roy Sanchez hiked up his muck boots. The cool air bit at his face, tickling his mustache. Pink and gray clouds obscured the otherwise blue sky. Morning dew clung to the grass blades, shinning in the pale light of the sunrise.

Sanchez took in the musky smell of the air as his boots sank into the soft earth. He carefully made his way to the river bank, were two crime scene investigators stood talking, a gray corpse laid out on a tarp between them.

CSI Ian Harrison was now taking photos of the body, while CSI Courtney Pruse went to scrounge the river bank for personal effects. A beat cop was interviewing the dog walker who found the body. The dog, a black lab, sat patiently with its head on its owner's knee, as the walker sobbed.

"What've we got," Sanchez asked Harrison.

"Prostitute," Harrison responded, snapping another photo. "Been a while.”

Sanchez nodded. Linn County had a bloody history, ghost stories stretched as far back as memory. For the last forty years, a woman was murdered annually. Always the same clientele: a drug-addicted prostitute. Sanchez glanced at the blue-gray arms. Sure enough, needle tracks.

He crouched next to the body. Her gray-blue skin horribly complemented her bright pink hair. She had no shoes, but wore a tight purple mini skirt and a black cropped-bra-top-thing.

A boogeyman plagued Linn County. But, it had been five years since the last murder. The long pause had townsfolk hoping the boogieman was dead.

"Dog walker found her face down in the river," Harrison continued. "I count about twenty stab wounds. But I'll know for sure when I get her on the table."

"Ten on each side?" Sanchez asked, dismayed when Harrison nodded. Whether the boogieman was real or not was a heated debate amongst townsfolk. Some claimed a sophisticated killer, others a gang. But there was one thing no one could deny: the killings had a pattern.

Sanchez had a different theory. A pastor’s son, Sanchez remembered the panic of satanic cults from his childhood. His father forbid him from playing violent video games and Dungeon and Dragons, calling them “gateways.” His mother spent her evening glued to the news channel, decrying Godless families and latchkey kids.

Sanchez quickly scanned the banks.

“No blood,” he said. “So…She wasn't killed here?” Sanchez asked Harrison.

Harrison looked at Sanchez over the edge of his camera. “That’s usually want that means…”

It could just be a gang, Sanchez thought, straightening himself. That’s what most cops thought anyway. Probably one from the neighboring city, crossing into their territory, their home, to committee these atrocities. A sick initiation ritual.

But the consistently of the killings threw that theory out the door. What gang had the kind of structure and patience to stab someone twenty times, once a year? That’s why Sanchez thought something more sinister was brewing under the surface.

Once, at a barbecue at Chief John Louis house, Sanchez got drunk enough to voice his suspicion. He had just been promoted to detective back then, vice. The other detectives laughed at his theory, claiming the “satanic panic” was fake, that killing cults didn’t happen in Linn County. He laughed with his colleagues, feigning light-heartedness. Later that night, Chief Louis approached him.

“I think you might be on to something, son,” the chief had said. That Monday, the chief transferred Sanchez to homicide.

Ironically, that was five years ago, just before the killings stopped.

Sanchez looked back at the pink-haired prostitute, her unseeing eyes gazing at the blue sky, her mouth slightly agape. Now was his chance to prove his theory right.

The car wheels crunched dead leaves on the driveway. Sanchez had promised his wife he’d leaf-blow, but the game had been on Saturday. And Sunday…well…time had just gotten away from him.

He put his keys in the lock and turned, the clicking of the mechanism vibrating in his ears. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Lights from the hallway spilled out into the night. It was quiet. Eerily quiet.

“Honey? I’m home!” He called, but Mrs. Sanchez didn’t respond. He dropped his briefcase in the entry. Fingering his Glock, he inched inside.

The Sanchez home was a modest, middle-class home: three bedrooms, large flat screen, stocked refrigerator. The entry led to a family room with navy couches and colorful throw pillows. The kitchen had an island and stainless steal appliances. A bright yellow mixing bowl sat on the counter, next to the fastest milk-frother for lattes — wait. Where was the frother? Sanchez did a double-take. The throw pillows were on the couch, but the throw blankets were gone. Some pictures had been removed from frames on the wall. A blown-glass vase, a gift from his mother-in-law to his wife, was missing from the TV stand.

His heart sank. He ran upstairs to their bedroom. The closet doors were open, his wife’s side empty. He didn’t need to check the guest room closet, where they kept their suitcases. The empty spaces would be too much to bear.

Sanchez slumped onto their bed. His limps felt like lead. The silence pressed in around him, squeezing him from all sides. Why, he thought. Why would she do this?

He fell backwards, his head hitting the solo remaining pillow. A crunching noise confused him. He flipped over and saw a note.

Dear Roy,

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. I don’t even know where to begin. So, I’ll just write from the heart.

I don’t love you anymore.

This probably comes as a shock, which is the problem. We’ve been having issues for a while now. You can’t deny it, though you’ve been trying to. And I can’t deny it any longer, either.

Let’s be honest — we never should have gotten married in the first place. We want different things, and we knew that going in. From small things like me wanting to go out while you want to stay home, to big things like you wanting kids as soon as possible and me wanting to advance in my career first. We both hoped the other would change their minds. Neither did.

We just can’t make this work anymore.

And the worst part is; You always have to be right. I’m tried of that. There is no room for anyone else’s opinion or way of life. You refuse to make room.

So I’m leaving you. If this seems cowardly…well…maybe it is. But we both know how you can get. If this seems extreme, it’s because you haven’t been paying attention. I’m staying at my sister’s. Please don’t contact me. We need space.

Good bye, Roy. Have a good life.

Jenny

Sanchez crumpled the paper and threw it across the room. She should have said something, he thought. Talked to him, yelled at him. She should have forced him to see how unhappy she was. She should have dragged him on dates, counseling, anything! She should have fought for them! Instead, she just packed her shit and left! Who does that?

Desperate women, the thought invaded his mind. Unhappy women.

He was getting a divorce. What would his parents say, rest their souls?

Sanchez dragged his feet downstairs. He slammed the front door shut, but hesitated before locking it. What if… He shook his head, then went to grab a drink.

The man’s dark sunglasses were not helping his headache. He and his wife were lounging by the hotel pool, soaking in the late May sun, regretting the bottles of wine they had consumed the night before. The sounds of kids screaming and splashing were hard to drown out, but the sun felt good on his skin.

“We should go out again tonight,” the wife said, peeking at her husband from behind her romance novel.

“Again?” The man asked. “My shoulder’s still sore.” It was a workout, stabbing someone so many times.

“Oh come on,” she pleaded. “It’ll be months before we’ll get to go out again. Let’s squeeze in another!”

The man looked at his wife’s pouty lips. His knee replacement had taken them out of the game for five years now. It was their longest dry spell, and his wife was parched.

“All right,” he conceded. The woman squealed with glee. “But just one more. Then we need to take a break.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” She waved off his concern, her gray curls bouncing in the sunlight. “I’ll go get things ready!” She shut her book with a snap and raced to their room.

The man moved his shoulder in a circle, trying to loosen the tight muscles. He may have introduced his wife to the sport, but she had taken to it like catnip.

His father had taught him how to hunt for prey; low lives, always. His father had taught him how to kill; knives, more intimate, more fun than guns. His mother taught him how to clean blood out of clothes and carpets. His parents had been efficient in their game, effective, clinical, even. But his wife…he had never seen anyone derive so much pleasure from anything.

He saw it in her eyes some 40 years ago, in Biology class. The way she dissected frogs, cats, pig fetuses. How slowly she pulled the knife through the flesh, how her gaze lingered a little too long on the corpses. He knew then and there that she was the one.

They changed the prey to prostitutes to make the game more their own. She made every kill fun. The way she inspired fear in their victim’s eyes made him so proud. And the rough, animalistic sex they’d have after, well — date night was intoxicating.

The man laid back on the lounge chair, lost in the memory of his wife moaning beneath him. The scratches she left on his back stung.

One more night would be good for them.

Did they know, Sanchez wondered, walking into the precinct the next day. Could they tell?

He removed his sunglasses, eyes wincing in the bright, florescent lights. His head felt like it was going to split open. He drunk whiskey after whiskey last night, eventually abandoning the glass to drink straight from the bottle. He awoke on top of his sheets, still in his day-clothes.

He kept his eyes glued to the floor, avoiding eye-contact with his colleagues, and sneaked his way to his desk. He sunk into his chair and tipped the navy blue thermos of black coffee to his lips. The hot, bitter liquid seared his throat.

“Hey Roy,” Detective James Ryan, his partner, greeted him cheerfully. Sanchez winced again. “Heard I missed the River Body yesterday. Crazy! After all these years? And when I’m on my honeymoon, of all things.”

Sanchez chanced a look at his partner. The reserved Irishman had been nothing but smiles since he and his fiancé eloped a month ago. For the past week, he’d been in Aruba. Now, his usually pale partner sat across from him, sun-burnt, with an annoying grin spread from ear to ear.

Sanchez grunted, then threw the report onto Ryan’s desk, who starting flipping through it immediately. He looked up at Sanchez and frowned.

“You all right, man?” He asked.

Sanchez swallowed another gulp of coffee. “Yeah,” he said with bravado. “Jenny and I just…overindulged a little last night.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, that stupid grin growing again. “Good time, I bet,” he winked.

Sanchez did his best to look smug, his head aching.

“Hey Ry!” Officer Lily Thomas called, her way of greeting. “How was Aruba?”

Sanchez made some excuse about needing more coffee as Ryan launched into the details.

Sanchez stood in the middle of the hallway. The break room was full of other officers and detectives. He didn’t need more coffee: his travel mug was full. He didn’t have a lunch to put in the refrigerator either; Jenny hadn’t been around to pack one for him, and the idea hadn’t occurred to him to do it himself.

He grabbed a paper cup from the water cooler by the wall and filled it to the brim. He knocked the cold water back in one gulp, soothing his seared throat. He took a few more gulps. It did nothing for his headache, but hopefully Ryan will have finished his story by now.

Unfortunately, Thomas and a few other officers were still gathered around Ryan’s desk.

“Any advice, Sanchez?” Thomas asked as he begrudgingly rejoined.

“About?” He asked, wincing at the volume of her voice.

“For Ryan! You’ve been married how long now?”

Sanchez nearly chocked on his coffee. “Four years,” he managed.

“So?” Thomas persisted. “Any advice for the newlywed?”

“Oh…Uh…” Sanchez stammered. Marry someone loyal, he thought, bitterly. “You know,” he said. “It’s different for everyone…”

“Oh come on,” Ryan said. “You and Jenny are perfect! Seriously, what’s the secret?”

Sanchez took a long gulp of coffee, trying to give himself a moment to pull something out of his ass. “Good sex,” he said, winking. Ryan laughed while Thomas rolled her eyes.

It was her turn. She practically vibrated with excitement; a Cheshire-Cat smile plastered on her face.

“Her,” she hissed, eyes alight.

A guy strutted out of a nearby alleyway, a girl in a neon green mini dress tripped and stumbled behind him. He hoped in his sports car and sped off. She leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.

The man tsked at the guy in the sports car. At least have the decency to pay for a motel room, he thought.

The man watched the prostitute. Her bright dress looked like a searchlight in the dark. She had hitched her leg up, her green heel pressed against the wall, creating a triangle in the shadows of the streetlamp.

“Are you sure?” He asked his wife.

“Of course,” she said, her eyes trailing the woman’s body, lingering on her elongated torso. “Look at that canvas.”

The wife ducked down into the footwell. The husband turned the key in the ignition. He slowly pushed the car toward the hooker.

“Hey sweetheart,” the prostitute said with a wink. The husband made his usual stuttering murmurs. But something in her eyes made him stammer a few extra times. Moments later, the neon-clad woman climbed into the passenger seat.

The wife sprang like a panther, laughing manically. The chloroform-laced cloth smacked over prostitute’s mouth.

She didn’t scream or thrash about. Instead, her hand moved to her thigh.

A flash. The wife screamed, blood erupting from her hand.

Miss Neon pushed the passenger door open and rolled onto the pavement. “HELP!” She screeched. “HELP!” She pushed herself off the ground and took off running.

The husband whipped open his door. He chased the prostitute, his mechanical knee protesting. He only made it to the end of the block before she disappeared into the night.

His car pulled up next to him. “Get in!” His wife ordered. She floored the gas pedal before he’d shut the door.

“Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!” He yelled, slamming his fist on the dash.

“How did you not lock the door?” The wife yelled.

“How did you pick a live one?” The husband fired back.

She hadn’t tripped or stumbled out of the alley, the husband realized. She’d adjusted her weapon.

“What do we do now?” The wife begged. The husband shook his head. This had never happened to them before.

Tara Williams adjusted her neon-green mini dress as she sat on the couch of the police station lobby. Black mascara ran in thick streams down her cheeks. Ryan placed a steaming mug of tea on the table before. She wrapped her hands around the mug as if it were a lifeline.

Ryan sat next to her, sinking slowly into the break room couch cushions. He didn’t touch her, but his presence was soothing enough.

Sanchez sat directly across from them on a hard, straight-backed chair.

The police station break room was awfully dingy. Fingerprint stains dotted the handle of the white refrigerator, crumbs littered the countertops. The sink was piled with mugs and plates from the officers. The secretary used to clean up after the cops, but she’d had enough and recently went on “strike.” The officer claimed to be having a test of wills to see who would break first.

Everyone knew it would be Ryan.

“Miss Williams,” Sanchez began, trying to stop his foot from tapping against the linoleum. “We really need to know what happened —“

“When you’re ready,” Ryan interjected.

Tara took a calming breath, fidgeting with the mug. “I thought he was just another client, you know?” She chocked out. “He seemed so normal.”

He, Sanchez thought. Singular. His heart sank.

“Can you describe him?” He asked gently.

Tara nodded. She described how the man looked older, with jet-black hair and a thick, black mustache. She also described a black SUV, but she didn’t have a clue about the plate.

Sanchez scribbled in his notebook, the ink blotting where he pushed too hard. Just because it was one guy tonight doesn’t mean there aren’t more out there, he tried to reassure himself. They could take turns, teach other tricks of the trade.

“Then I got in the car,” Tara continued, no longer crying. “I even looked in the back seat and I still didn’t see her.”

Sanchez’s head snapped up. “Her?”

“Miss Williams,” Ryan said softly. “Are you saying there was more than one?”

She nodded again. “Two. He was driving, and she was behind the passenger seat somehow. She had this cloth-thing that she put over my mouth.”

Two, Sanchez thought triumphantly. He tried — and failed — to stop the smile spreading over his face.

“Did they say anything? Chant, Maybe?” He asked excitedly.

Tara looked confused. “Uh…No…”

“What kind of cloth?” Ryan pressed on. “Like a gag?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “As soon as she put it on me I went for the knife.” Ryan raised his eyebrows inquisitively. Tara blushed. “I keep a knife on me,” she explained. “For protection.

“When she attacked, I cut her. It surprised them, I think, ’cause I was able to open the car door and get out. The man tried to chase me, but he was too slow. I think he was limping.”

Ryan nodded supportively. “That was quick thinking,” he said.

“Where did you cut her,” Sanchez interrupted.

“The hand, I think.”

“Which hand?” He snapped, no longer able to contain the frustration in his voice.

Tara’s eye widened. “I..I don’t know. Her right, maybe?”

“This is important, Tara! Think!”

“Roy,” Ryan cautioned.

“It all happened so fast!” Tara said, the tears falling again.

“Try harder, Tara!” Roy said angrily, but she was crying too hard to respond again. “Jesus, do you want us to catch them or not?”

“Roy!” Ryan scolded. “That’s enough.” He shot his partner a disgusted look before turning back to Tara. “Did you see her?”

Tara wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. Ryan nodded slowly. There was a pause. Sanchez was desperate to fill it, to ask more questions, but a second look from Ryan told him he had crossed the line. It told him to shut up.

“Where did you meet him, Tara? Which alley are you girls using now?”

Tara didn’t answer. She averted her eye’s from Ryan, looking scared now.

“You’re not going to get in trouble,” Ryan continued. “Nor are any of your friends. They might go back there. If you tell us the alley, we might be able to catch them.”

Tara took a moment to think it through, then nodded.

“It moves,” she said. “The alley…it’ll be different tonight.”

Sanchez leaned back in his seat. He kept one hand gripped on the steering wheel, his white knuckles shinning in the moon light. The other hand was poised on his knee, prepared to spring to the start-button at the slightest notice. Ryan munched on a granola bar next to him.

“Hey man,” he said, crumbs stuck in his red beard. “You going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Sanchez shot a look at his partner.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been acting different. Angry.”

“I’m fine,” Sanchez grumbled. “I just…want to catch these guys. Okay?”

Ryan chewed his bottom lip. He didn’t look convinced.

“You look like a slob,” Sanchez said, shutting down the conversation. Ryan brushed the crumbs out of his beard, still looking quizzically at his partner.

“The likelihood they come back,” Ryan started, allowing the change in subject.

“Yeah…I know.”

The killers had never let someone get away before. Ryan was sure they would be laying low. Honestly, Sanchez figured Ryan was right, but he hoped they would strike again — needed them to strike again.

He had been so wrong. Wrong about everything. Wrong about this case, wrong about his wife… What else in his life was he wrong about?

He really needed a victory.

The alleyway was dark, darker than usual. A few street lights were out, allowing the men to blend into their cars. The women, standing just outside the light’s cast, glowed in their bright, short dresses and skirts. Some stood straight and tall, others appeared hunched, broken, high out of their minds. Sanchez could see now how the killers hunted, how they picked their targets. They weren’t the masterminds everyone thought they were; collecting victims here was easy. Hell, Sanchez could drive up to any of these girls and get them in his car. If Ryan hid in the back, they’d be easy to overpower. Sanchez could do whatever he wanted with them…

“Heads up,” Ryan said, dropping his granola wrapper to the car floor. Sanchez turned to the left. A black SUV had appeared in the alleyway — when and how, he didn’t know. They must have rolled in, creeped in neutral with the headlights off. Slowly, Sanchez straightened, trying to see into the driver seat.

With a screech, the SUV sped into reverse, peeling out of the alleyway back onto the street.

Sanchez slammed the start-button. He spun the wheel, pulling into the alley so fast, the girls on the sidewalk jumped. Ryan radioed dispatch, calling out the SUV’s description.

The SUV sped onto the highway, Sanchez rushing to catch up, siren blaring, lights flashing. Ryan relayed the direction.

The killers picked up speed. Other cars on the highway moved out of the way just in time. Sanchez slammed the gas pedal. He needed to overtake the SUV, force it onto the shoulder. Soon. Before it picked an offramp.

“We need a roadblock,” Sanchez called over the screeching siren, as Ryan called out the speed: 90 miles per hour.

“Shut down the on and off ramps,” Ryan demanded into the radio. “You know we don’t have the man-power,” he said to Sanchez.

Sanchez slammed the gas pedal down harder, but there was no where for the pedal to go — it was already floored. The SUV moved closer. It was only two car lengths away now.

Suddenly, it made a sharp turn. Sanchez barely followed it, cranking the wheel just in time to take the same offramp.

“Damnit!” Sanchez yelled. The SUV was heading straight into downtown.

“Nearing 100 miles per hour,” Ryan reported through the radio. “Sanchez, we’re going to have to let up.”

Sanchez ignored him. The SUV spit rocks from its tires, cracking Sanchez’s windshield. The lights from town grew closer.

“Sanchez,” Ryan said, louder. “Let up!”

Sanchez gripped the wheel tighter. He pushed the pedal down methodically. There was still time, he told himself. He just needed to get close enough. He needed to see at least one of their faces…

He could see the silhouettes of buildings now. Ryan called his name again, but the SUV wasn’t slowing down. It was going to blow through downtown at 100 miles an hour, through stoplights and signs. It was almost 2 a.m. Bars were closing, people would be out, waiting for Ubers and taxis, running through the streets looking for late night tacos and burgers…

“ROY!” Ryan screamed.

Sanchez let off the gas. The car slowed; the SUV didn’t. He watched it speed into town, take a sharp turn and disappear.

“We lost them,” he heard Ryan report.

The husband paced back and forth. The wife sat crying on the bed, her head in her hands.

“You were right,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry!”

The husband said nothing. He kept pacing, physically biting his tongue. He knew it had been too risky. The girl had gotten away; they needed to cut their loses. But his wife had insisted on trying to find her again. She said she hated the idea that someone was out there who had seen their faces. But the husband knew the truth; she hated that a filthy prostitute had gotten the best of her. They both hated that their prey had gotten away.

But a good spouse never said: “I told you so.”

“It’s okay,” he opted instead. “We got away.”

The wife raised her head just enough that her wet eyes peeked out above her fingertips.

“But we’re done,” he said firmly. “No more hunting.”

The wife’s eyes widened. The ache of desire gnawed at her insides. She dropped her hands. “I…I don’t know if I can.” She spoke in barely more than a whisper.

“We have to,” he commanded. He understood her reluctance; he felt the same ache, the gnawing that no one else in the world felt, the desire that bonded them together.

Outside the hotel, a grayish tint pierced the darkness. The morning sun peaked over the horizon, blending a bit of purple into the black sky.

The husband finally stopped pacing. He looked down at the woman he’d loved for over forty years, his soulmate.

Slowly, as much as his old knees would allow, he knelt in front of her. He placed his weathered hands gently on her skinny thighs.

“I know it’s hard. This…calling of ours. Ignoring the need hurts,” he said. The wife placed her hands on his, her head still hung. “But we have to. If we want to stay hidden, if we want to do it again, we need to stop. Today.”

The sky had turned from purple to grayish-blue, the sun now a half sphere.

The wife threw her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him passionately. The husband lifted her to her feet. He wished they could stay in this room forever. Alas, it was time to submit to reality.

The wife grabbed the bleach. She would scrub the motel bathroom so throughly, not a drop of blood would be left behind. The husband ripped the black mustache from his upper lip, wincing at the pain. Gray hair-dye waited by the sink; his wife would apply it for him when he got back. But now, he needed to deal with the SUV. They kept it in a storage container. He would switch out the license plates and peel the black wrap away, returning the car to its original white color.

Deputy Chief Mitchel slammed his office door in Sanchez and Ryan’s face, causing them to wince. The Deputy Chief had just finished ripping Sanchez and Ryan a new one. Defeated and deflated, they dragged their feet back to their desks, the eyes of their fellow officers searing holes into their backs. Sanchez slumped into his desk chair and cursed behind his computer.

“We’re not the only ones who lost them,” Ryan grumbled under his breath.

“Let’s just,” Sanchez said, catching another officer staring, “finish the report.” To add insult to injury, they had to explain themselves in writing.

It had been seven hours since they lost the town’s most prolific serial killers. Word had traveled fast. Sanchez hadn’t slept. He and Ryan had waited at the station for Mitchel, who had to deal with the reporters before he could deal with them. They said nothing, just watched the cold, morning sun rise in the distance.

When a commotion sounded from the station lobby, Sanchez sunk further into his chair, scared family members of the victims had come for his head. But Mrs. Martinez, the secretary, was greeting someone warmly.

“So happy you’re back, Chief,” he heard her say. Sanchez’s heart dropped into his stomach. Somehow this was worse.

Other officers stood to greet Chief John Louis and his wife. Sanchez steeled his courage, then made his way to the lobby with them. “Mrs. Louis!” Ryan called, beaming at the petite old woman, who was setting a tray of brownies down on a spare desk.

Mrs. Betty Louis was the sweetest woman Sanchez had ever met. She was bird-like, with gray curls stacked neatly on her head. Once a week, she brought treats to the station: home-made brownies in the winter, hand-squeezed lemonade in the summer. She’d flutter around the station, asking after everyone’s spouses and children, never forgetting a name or grade level. She beamed at whoever she spoke to and hung on to her husband’s arm lovingly.

Sanchez watched the couple, surrounded by admiring colleagues, with an ache in his heart. He had truly thought he and Jenny would be that way someday. She’d glide into the station with gifts and a smile, a kid or three in tow. She’d make all the other officers jealous of Sanchez. But she was too busy with her career; BBQs and fundraisers were all she would attend.

“Chief,” Sanchez said. Chief Louis, a once fit man gone round, with gray hair, took his hand in greeting. “We’ll talk later,” the chief said under his breath. Sanchez gulped.

He turned to Mrs. Louis, greeting her with a kiss on her cheek. “Vacation good?”

She fumbled with the plastic forks Mrs. Martinez had brought from the break room. “Oh, just wonderful,” she cooed. “So refreshing. Exactly what we needed.”

She fanned out paper napkins in an elegant pattern. When she took the foil off the tray, Sanchez noticed a bandage wrapped around her hand.

“Oh no,” he said. “What happened?”

She snatched her hand away, making Sanchez jump back a bit. “Nothing, dear,” she said, wide smile returning quickly. “Shard of glass hiding in the sand.” She crumbled the foil in her fist.

Mrs. Martinez returned with paper plates. Mrs. Louis grabbed a large, sharp butcher’s knife from the table. She pressed it slowly into the warm brownies, dark chocolate oozing from the cut. She dragged the knife through the cake, then lifted it delicately… lovingly. She thrust the knife into the brownies again, this time Sanchez thought he saw a twinkle in her eye.

“Hey Boss,” Officer Thomas said, swinging an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Settle a bet for us. What makes a relationship work?”

“What do you mean,” he Chief asked.

“You know. How do you make it last? You and your wife. What’s your secret?”

Louis laughed. “Well, her baking is reason enough to stick around.”

Sanchez watched Chief Louis joke around with the officers. He thought he saw faint red line decorating the chief’s upper lip. But from what? The chief was a clean-shaven man, former foot-soldier. Years of chasing bad guys had done a number on the chief’s knees, but he refused to carry a cane — even after his replacement surgery five years ago.

Ryan twisted his brand new wedding band around his finger. “Seriously, sir,” he persisted. “Tell us youngins. What’s the secret to a happy marriage?”

Sanchez narrowed his eyes. He remembered that red line. His wife used to get one, after a waxing appointment. Or, Sanchez realized, after a Halloween party two years ago, when she dressed up as him, much to Chief Louis’s amusement — fake mustache and all.

His eyes snapped to the chief’s hair. Did the gray looked darker? Was that a tint of black hiding beneath it?

“A shared interest, I guess” Chief Louis said, finally. “Something the two of you can do together, whether times are good, or bad.”

The chief and his wife took a vacation once a year, Sanchez thought.

“A hobby,” the chief continued. “Keeps the spark alive.”

Sanchez looked back at Mrs. Louis, who was now using the knife to serve slices of brownies. He looked at the cut on her hand. Her right hand.

Mika sips her warm chai in a green iconic mug she won in a raffle from a comic convention adventure. "Manay Sol, you really know what I want in chai."

The copper-haired lass smiles sweetly as her sister beams back in gratitude. "And this would be the yummy cookies you can pair with the chai."

"Manay An!" The sisters hug each other as their other sister put the plate full of cookies on the table.

"How about some music, DJ Mika?" Mika's elder sisters teases a bit.

With a snap of her fingers, a beautiful melody they all enjoyed plays about the room they are in until the song turned into screaming.

"Mika!" Solaris calls and reaches out to her eldest sister as a shadow pulls her further from her sister covering her nose with a handkerchief that made her sister fall asleep.

"Save us, Mika!" Ansley crawls towards her sister's feet but as the young Mika pulled her elder sister up, a boa slithers from her feet encircling her fair-skinned sister's body until she's unconscious.

The figures fade to black and a booming voice replaces her sisters' screams. "You will pay for everything, Mika! My revenge is well on its way to you!"

The voice seems to surround her and close in on her with an evil cackle at the end. Fright made the young girl's heart pound, soak her in her own sweat as uneasiness, fear and

the thumping sound of her heart woke her up to the continuously ringing alarm. Finally, she felt some warmth on her cheeks, that gave her discomfort in knowing it was again a dream.

She habitually clicked the alarm off and blinked sadly and slowly, even squinting her eyes from the light entering her room. She puts on her glasses as a sigh passed off her lips. "Just a dream but I may have to write this again like before when these vivid ones appear," she thought.

As she was preparing her breakfast, her thoughts go to being responsible for her sisters' deaths. "If our parents have just believed me and let me accompany my sisters or anything just to save them, this would not have happened."

'I may be okay alone but my sisters are precious too. I did not wish for this God, but please help me at least find out what actually happened to my sisters."

Writing everything in her diary, a ring from her phone startled her. "Hey, Mika. How are you doing?"

"I'm pretty fine, Farrah. But all these deaths still make me feel so vulnerable to even think I caused them," she replied back to her friend/therapist.

"I presume you're writing your dreams, right?" the therapist confirmed.

"Yes and...wait, what if I solve these mysterious deaths just through clues from my sisters' things, web accounts, news and whatnot?" Mika said having a eureka moment.

"Would you want me to help you on this?" Farrah asked again.

"If you are willing." Mika sipped her chai as she waited for a reply from the other line.

"I'll join you then," the therapist's voice sounded hopeful. "I also would want to know what actually happened to my bestfriend."

"Let's start tomorrow for my day off."

***

Walking home with earphones in, Mika passed by an antique store which has this coiled green and copper serpent pendant. She took a picture of it and wondered where she had seen the symbol. Unknowingly, a man bumped onto her purposefully shaking her up from the daze she had on her phone. "Watch where you're going, four-eyes!"

She glanced back at the buff guy and shook her head. "So mean," she thought. "May karma hit you hard."

***

Concurrently, the buff man called Jafet texted his boss, a lady who's the current mayor of Mika's hometown and leader of the Copper Serpent Crew named Lynda. "Boss, I found the target and located her in Mayfield Apartment, second floor."

"Good job, Jafet. Now to execute plan C for the third sister," the lady grinned devilishly and called her twin brothers after.

"Twins, I want you both to search for Mika Manlagnit in Ichabod City. Jafet said she's in Mayfield Apartment in the second floor. Search for where she is located in that floor and report to me where she goes."

Smiling in her villanous grin and luck, Lynda thought, "Your time is up, Mika. Tick tock, little country mouse!"

***

The naturally copper-haired lass immediately prepared and ate dinner and went to reading her notes sitting in her bed. With the cold air of the electric fan, Mika's eyes slowly went heavy and she fell asleep sitting. In her bathroom window, a firefly entered and travelled in towards her bedroom. It looked like that little bright bug is finding her. And after an hour of almost flying, it finds her lying in bed in a fetal position facing her left. Sobs can be heard from the young lady and as her tears rolled down her cheeks, the glowing fly landed on her tears as if kissing her sadness away.

In her dream state, Solaris appears before her sister, "Mika, my lovely little sis, find this pendant in the large pink shoebox I kept in my old room at home."

Mika stares and sees the same pendant she took picture of as she was walking home that day. "Wha...w-why?"

As she glances back at her sister, she is already fading. "Manay Sol, wait! What do I do with this? What does this pendant mean? Wait!"

With her last scream in the dream, a song played from her phone signalling a call for her. Mika reached out to her phone and found it under her notes. "Hey, Farrah!" The young lass yawns and scratches her eyes.

"What time do we..." the therapist was cut off as Mika replied, "Oh, no! What time is it now?"

The sleepy girl looked at her clock as the therapist immediately replied, "It's still okay for us to prepare for our mission today, Mika. Don't worry it's just 7:30 am."

The copper-skinned girl relaxed. "Okay, I'll call you by 8:15 or 8:30. I'll just prepare. I'll be going to your clinic. I have to tell you something about my dream last night."

In a hurry, Mika went to Farrah's clinic to tell her what happened. "I'll start from the very start when I went home yesterday."

The part-time barista retraced her story from when she took a picture of a pendant that showed up in her dream.

"And then my kinda murky dream was like this: I saw Manay Sol with hikers. They planted seedlings and then, they kinda reached the summit of a mountain and watched the sunrise. This made me feel my tears roll down from my cheeks. Then, the next part was so chaotic: Manay was thrown off the mountain; the perpetrator was mugged by some of her colleagues; I searched for where Manay is and was screaming but the people in my dream doesn't seem to see or hear me, some of her colleagues ran to help her and she mentioned a name, 'Jafet'; and then all of them even my sister was hit by a branch that the suspect grabbed somewhere in that summit.

'I still tried to grab my sister's hand to save her from falling off the mountain, but everything went black. And then she appeared again, told me to find a pendant in her large pink shoebox in her old room at home. Then I woke up." Mika looked down at her lap and bit her lip to avoid herself from crying.

Farrah hugged her and said, "This will fall into pieces soon. Right now what we can do is gather information on that pendant you showed me, why it is connected to your sister and who is that Jafet guy and if he is involved in killing your sister."

***

Mika has her afternoon shift that Saturday she and Farrah discovered some clues as to what happened to one of her sisters, so she went to the café right after lunch. But even the avid customers of the café she's working can see that she is bothered. Observing this, her boss told her to get in the office for awhile.

"Mika, how are you doing at work so far?" Her boss, motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs.

"I am fine, boss." A smile spread across her lips hiding her thoughts about her sisters.

"Are you sure? Because you seem not yourself this afternoon," the lady looked at her employee worriedly.

"I think I'm just jittery about the midterm exams, Ma'am. Nothing too serious." She smiled uneasily again.

"Why don't you take a short break and just sort yourself out?" Mika's boss worriedly smiled.

Mika nodded and went out of the boss's office and climbed to the rooftop of the building by a back staircase. She untied her apron, folded it and put it on her lap. A couple of sighs passed out of her. "This is not what I intended to be feeling. I should feel relief instead."

She was still brooding and lamenting on her fate when she was disconcerted by a familiar husky baritone voice calling out to her. "Fellow newbie, hey!" She turned towards the sound.

"Oh, hey. Uh, Nico right?" She gazed at the young man towering as he stood then slowly descended into sitting next to her.

"Nig-uh..Jojo, fellow newbie," he scooted closer which made Mika move a bit farther to give space to her companion and to give him a hint that she wants to be alone. "I saw you were not yourself today. Care to tell me what's happening?"

"Why? So you'd make a story out of it making me a villain in there?" She crossed and folded her arms in front of her, biting her lower lip bitterly.

"No, you're like an inspiration to me ever since we were hired." He stopped for a moment glancing repeatedly to his workmate. "When we work, it's like you were born as a barista. You always ace on making those drinks that make the customers smile and change moods. Its surreal actually but I am a fan."

"Well, thank you for that but I don't need your praise. I'm outta here." Mika put on her apron, stood and walked away from her fellow barista.

Nigel aka Jojo sprung from his seat and blocked her from walking away. "Wait, Mika, I just want to help! Even if it's just about sharing your burden. Someone once told me, 'There is nothing wrong with letting people who love you, help you.' Not that I love you, I mean we're but workmates in this café."

The young man cleared his throat and dusted off his shirt. "You see, when you share your worries and let others help you on it, it gets halved. And sooner or later, you'll find yourself solving whatever you are weighed down of and then, you'll find yourself happy. If you share that happiness you feel too, it gets doubled."

"You are so persistent, aren't you?" Mika massages her forehead and sits back at her spot again. "Alright, Persistent Mr. Jojo, do sit beside me and I'll tell you a tale you will never like."

"Avoidant Ms. Mika, tales are essential for humans to express, suppress and develop themselves and their culture. So, whatever that is, I won't judge you." The young man smiled at her before looking at the sky and stretching his legs a bit forward before getting back to sitting cross-legged on the rooftop's floor.

"Well, one of my friends thought that she may have initiated the death of her sisters through a person who has this deep envy towards them. She also sent me this picture of a pendant which recurred in her dreams. I even accompanied her to one of my therapist friends to make her calm because the pendant is bothering her in every dream she had for the past few days already." The copper-haired girl seemed to shrunk smaller as she told the story to her workmate. She hugged her legs close to her body and bit her lip suppressing her tears. "I don't know what I'd feel if I was in that situation as hers." She glanced at Nigel and shook her head.

"Maybe my brother can help her. I'll send you his business card later since I don't have an afternoon shift. I'm planning to go to his office later anyway," he said looking hopeful at his fellow barista. "For now, I think I'll accompany you downstairs. Our avid customers are waiting for your drinks now."

Mika thanked Nigel heading back to the kitchen and the young man smiled. "Your problem will be solved soon, lady."

***

"Manay, we have already installed hidden cameras and recorders inside her room. We must commence plan C soon," one of the twin brothers called their sister/boss in the revenge operation.

"Good, very good! Has anyone seen you or knew you there?" their treacherous elder sister asked for confirmation.

One of the twins named Lance recalled his last visit in the café with Jafet. He saw a few people looking at them but he suspected none of those people knew them. "No. No one knew our presence here." Lance shook his head even if his sister can't see him. "Later, we will start the recordings so we can start plan C."

"At last, our plans are unfolding and falling in place and in our favor." A sly grin gradually spread across Lance's elder sister's face.

***

Ding!

"Oh, this must be Jojo's message!" Mika stopped eating her dinner for awhile and rushed to open her phone. Her workmate sent her an image of a business card showing who she would find in the agency to help her.

Mr. Nigel Ramirez, Detective

Go Figure Protective and Detective Services Agency

2nd Floor Salvation Sanctuary Bldg., Ichabod City

Office hours: 8 AM to 8 PM weekdays, 8 AM to 4 PM weekends

"That's the building in front of the coffee shop. Strange!" The young lady immediately told Farrah about it in a call.

"Woah, really? That's so kind of Jojo to help you." Farrah smiled on the other side of the phone. "I'll also see if it's legit because scams are rampant nowadays."

"Yeah, thank you. And you really are right that everything will be falling to pieces soon." Mika wiped some tear from her right eye. "This is such good news before Christmas."

Her therapist confirmed it to be a real agency and with that, the young lass told her workmate that her friend will visit the next day to his brother's office.

The next day, Mika visited the office. "I'm looking for this man?" She showed the business card to the front desk personnel.

"Do you have any appointment with him?" the lady asked her.

"Uhm, actually a friend of mine recommended him to me...sort of?" The young girl smiled a bit uneasily.

"Alright, I'll notify him if he received an appointment today because I think it may have not been written here yet." The front desk personnel instantly called Nigel from a telephone in the booth.

After a few seconds, "Ma'am, you may get in the office."

"Thank you so much." She smiled to the lady who assisted her and walked fast to the office suggested to her.

Tok tok!

"Come in, please." A man hollered from inside the room and Mika opened the door.

"Good day, si-" the girl stopped midsentence as her brain registered that the man before her looked familiar.

"I was expecting you, Ms. Mika Manlagnit." Nigel slowly took off his glasses and looked at her smiling.

"Jojo?" The young barista froze at her spot.

"I thought you'd find out later." The young man pouted a bit. "But I also found out that it is you and not some random friend you have who needs help."

A grin spread across his lips as he gestured for her to sit down on one of the chairs. "I can memorize faces and less of names but you looked so familiar that when you put down your glasses, I knew you were Jojo. Are you stalking me?"

"Heck, no. Your sisters' case is my first one to solve but the information I have here is scarce because of lack of evidences and I know something is not right..."

"Like someone planned it?" Mika completed his statement.

"Exactly." Nigel snapped his fingers. "About my disguise as Jojo, I ask you to let that be our secret and I was in disguise because I was protecting you. Two people have actually been following you in the café. One of my workmates here reported that to me one time they visited me in the café."

The girl gasped, "Have you seen them? What time do those people appear in the café?"

"The first man who appears at about the first hour every afternoon when you have whole day shifts except yesterday looks buff, has this grey fedora on and a large tattered coat. The other one is slimmer and appears on half day shifts except yesterday which was strange."

"Why didn't you tell me? How long have they been doing that?" Mika's hands trembled a bit as she bit her lip in fright and worry.

"About a month now since we both got in the café. One time they actually ordered in the menu and I got their face." Nigel showed her a picture of two men.

"Brent and Lance Corteros? Where have I seen these two men?" Mika remembers something from her childhood. "If my memory is still fine, they're about two years ahead of me at school. I'll access their social media accounts if those two are really from the same school I attended."

The girl scrolled through her phone and found some younger pictures the men have saved in their accounts. "Confirmed, they are my schoolmates. Wait, those two were my bullies before. Brent gave me outrageous gifts to silence me from their bullying and Lance would be the messenger and bodyguard of his twin for the people they bully."

"What happened to them now?" Nigel pulled back the files.

"I am not sure though. All I know and the last time I saw them was before my sisters died. Brent sent me gifts since he started high school and I would either give those gifts to people or sell them to my classmates. I store the money in a bank account." Mika said. "I don't know why he's so obsessed but if he would be the only living guy here on earth during an apocalypse, I'd rather die unmarried."

"You really are disgusted, huh?" Her friend chuckled as she slipped a smile to him. Mika stopped for a second, realizing something.

"I may add some info to that case of my sisters after my midterm exams since I'd be getting back home for a few days, but I just noticed something. What is the connection of those twins to my sisters' death?" The copper-haired barista put her chin atop her right hand.

"You're not alone in wondering, Miss. Oh, would you like me to help you in finding more info for this case?" Ramirez, in a friendly gesture, suggested.

"Maybe you could be of help. Okay then, accompany me next time I go back in my hometown."

***

"I overheard that Mika will be getting home in Rowan. Brent, what is written in our next step?" The lady boss asked her younger brother.

"The day the girl goes home, her parents would vanish," Brent replied with a malevolent grin.

"Plan C is getting exciting!" A hearty but wicked laugh coming from the eldest sister ended the call between the siblings.

***

Mika passed a note to Nigel after sending her leave form to their boss.

Go to rooftop by 3, I'll be waiting there.

Mika

When Mika asked for a break, she immediately went to the rooftop and soon enough, Nigel followed after her. "I'd be going home Wednesday to look for more clues in my sisters' rooms. We'd go to the train station by 6 am so we can find more stuff."

"Alright I'll be there. Anything more?" Nigel waited for her answer.

"Let's see, maybe bring a few clothes. There's a chance we'll stay there for a few days." Mika nodded and let out a huff. "See you on Wednesday."

They both ran back to the café kitchen and continued their work. "Wow, fastest break yet in this café's history. Was Jojo with you?" one of their workmates from the kitchen asked the young lady.

"I-uh...no. Why would he accompany me or something?" A blush increasingly spread on her cheeks heating her face then her whole body. She lowered her head and exhaled a fit of air to regulate her body's sudden warming.

"Okay! Chill, dude." The larger dark-haired lady held her hands up and chuckled nervously. "Don't be defensive, man."

"Who's defensive?" Nigel walked inside the kitchen and clipped another order.

***

"So...the train would have eight stops before we reach my hometown. We will be going out at the ninth stop, which would be in Rowan. We will either ride a rickshaw or walk from the terminal straight to my home which is just a few meters away. Since it would be a bit of a long ride, we can recharge sleep losses with snoozes in the journey," Mika explained things to her city-born workmate as he munches his chicken burrito. "Farrah knows that since we're both from the same town. By the way, will you be visiting your siblings, too?"

"I think I would surprise them, yes." The therapist smiled and soon enough was the one to fall asleep since she's by the window. After a few minutes, Mika soon dozed off unknowingly laying her head against Nigel's left shoulder. The young man panicked a bit but slowly wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulder so she would not fall off her seat.

Meanwhile, Mika sees her second eldest sister moving her wheelchair towards her companions to help them clean the beach. This makes the young lady smile at her sister's presence. "How I missed that smile, Manay An!"

But then, the smile is short-lived because chaos ensues soon after. Ansley is hit hard by a ball tipping her wheelchair to throw her into sea. At first, Ansley is still crawling out onto the sands and is being rescued by her companions but as the waves grew stronger, Ansley and some of her companions are carried out further from the shore, making some of them drown, while some continue saving Ansley but she perishes. Mika feels such immense pain from it as she watches her sister float in the deep sea. The dream scene fades into black and then, Ansley calls her sister, "Mika, please don't be sad. Be brave little sis. Manay Sol and I will not leave you alone. You can still visit us through here but, please solve our deaths. I have a hunch who killed us but I may not be sure. If you know of a lady who possesses an intertwined copper snake for a pendant, she's the one who killed both of us. She each gave us that pendant that we never wore. I discovered that it is a tracking device so please crush it once you have solved our deaths. We will always love you, sister."

Outside her mind, Mika's tears are rolling slowly down her cheeks which made Nigel jump for the second time. He slowly wiped her tear with his pinky finger. "Don't worry, we are near the answers."

Mika's face calmed and involuntarily, her arms hugged Nigel. "I will fulfill your wishes, Manay An and Manay Sol."

After about a few minutes, Farrah woke up to see that both Mika and Nigel were asleep. The therapist found it a bit funny looking at how the two sat beside each other: Nigel's left arm is loosely hugging Mika as her left wrist is rested on the edge of his right lap. But this scene put the lady to tears when she remembered Ansley.

***

Once they reached Mika's home, her parents were surprised of the guests she brought. "Farrah, Nigel. Welcome to our home!"

"Dad, when did you know Nigel? What's happening here?" Mika was left a mute after knowing Nigel and her father knew each other.

"He's one of the few people trusted by the police in our town to ensure safety for you in Ichabod City. They recommended him to us and some time before you went to college, we met him for that purpose," her father smiled in great gratitude to the man and pat Mika's head. "We are in great gratitude to you, young man."

"My pleasure, sir." Nigel smiled.

"By the way, Dad we'll be finding clues from my sisters' stuff since they're always in my dreams. They must be giving me clues of what happened to them before the alleged accidents," Mika straightforwardly said. "And we'll possibly spend a few days here again."

"If you need help, we'll be right in the kitchen, okay?" Mika's mother hugged her. After Mika's parents exited to the kitchen, the three talked in the living room to plan their search. "I think we can split the job," Farrah suggested.

"But if one of us finishes first, we must help the other in the search," Mika added agreeing to Farrah's suggestion.

Mika's friends nodded. "I'll go to Ansley's room. You two go in Solaris' room," Farrah volunteered.

***

Mika opened her sister's room and memories flooded in making her tear up a bit. "Her room is unmoved. This is where I have spent a part of my life before and..."

The young lady's right fist clenched as Nigel gently held her left hand. "We will solve this. I promise you that."

The young man, then, hugged her as she let her sadness and grief flow out sharing it to her friend.

***

"We will bring justice to you Ansley," Farrah thought as she hugged the stuffed toy she won for her friend which was placed in her bed. Her tears rolled down her cheeks and suddenly a cold wind caressed on her face.

"Ansley, are you here?" the therapist whispered. Unexpectedly, a firefly appeared and landed on Farrah's nose as if saying, 'We will solve this puzzling case. We will help you.'

Seeing this, Farrah's sadness turned into joy even if her tears kept rolling down her cheeks. She wiped it off her face and tried to smile again. The glowing bug then flew to a cabinet. Farrah opened it and it revealed a diary, some printed conversations from FaceMessenger and a serpent necklace. "What the hell?"

***

Mika, surprised of her hug to her friend, pulled off from it and wiped her tears. "Don't tell anyone I cried." She sharply looked at Nigel. The young man exchanged a smug look and sighed.

"You're not weak and it's normal to cry. Even I did when my parents died. But that's not the point. Right now, we have to find Solaris' clues that may lead us to solving this case." The young man started to pull cabinets open and take the things out carefully.

After about half an hour of finding clues, a firefly entered the room and landed on this certain brown cabinet that looked off in the bright pink room. Mika poked her friend on the arm, "Hey, let's try this one."

The two pulled open the cabinet and found a pink shoe box. "This what she told me in my dream, Nigel." Together, they found a diary, photographs of Solaris and her bestfriend, and a serpent necklace.

"This is it." The two looked at each other.

***

By lunchtime, the three discussed what they found out in the rooms.

"As far as I know, the people who own this customized serpent necklaces are part of Copper Serpent Crew," Nigel said.

"But in both their diaries, they weren't part of that awful band of people," Mika added.

Farrah's hand shot up. "Ansley explained that they were both given chances to join that group but she and Solaris both refused. If we have these information, would it not make the siblings move forward to their next plan like hurt one or more from Mika's family?" Farrah asked Nigel.

"We really should be wary of them." Nigel pondered. "Before we went here, my agency alerted the police here so the Manlagnit's would be safe. I already saw some of them in disguise earlier as we went in here."

"We are in great debt to you, Nigel," Mika made a small bow to her friend who helped her so much.

"Whomever I can help, I will help in as much as I can."

***

As night cloaked the sky with a dark sparkly blanket, the Cortreros twins parked their motorcycle just outside the Manlagnit household. Cops in disguise readied themselves to get in the household if commotion comes.

"Hey, Mika. Long time no see, darling. Where is your father?" Brent pulled Mika to his side, almost kissing her.

The lady looked at her furiously and signalled Farrah to scream. "Help! We're being robbed!"

Soon enough the cops rushed in. "Hands up! We have a warrant of arrest for you and your siblings' faction for killing innocent people."

"That is fake! You have no proof!" Brent shouted and pointed a gun at the policemen. Lance shot Mika but as he was going to do so, Nigel rushed to disarm the twin so the bullet struck a wall. "Darn!"

"That's what you think. Aren't recordings, hidden videos and recorded calls from sim providers not good enough proof for you to be arrested?" Nigel struggled to keep the braver twin at bay. Thinking about Brent doing a shot to get revenge for disarming his brother, Mika's father dashed to the other twin and disarmed him, too.

With this, the cops cuffed the twins. "You'll do the explaining when we get to the office. Anything you say can and will be used against you if you step on the wrong path, dudes."

But as they are walking out the gate, Mika remembered that both her sisters knew of a girl who wore a serpent pendant and that she's the mind behind the deaths. She wants to confirm if that girl is who she knows she is. "Wait, I still have to ask the twins about something." She hurriedly grabbed the picture from her eldest sister's room.

The cops stopped and made the twins face the young lady for a moment. "Do you know the people in this image?"

Lance rolled his eyes and said, "That's your sister on the left and our eldest sister on the right, the one with the copper pendant. Don't you recognize them?"

"I knew it. She's the leader of the Copper Serpent Crew. Take them to jail." Mika's eyes were filled with anger and grief. Her parents immediately hugged her from behind as the policemen dragged the twins to their car.

***

Trials proceeded soon after and every proof Mika and Nigel gave to the lawyers really added depth to the case showing what actually happened to the sisters. Even the autopsy showed signs that point to Mika's dreams to be on point on what happened to her sisters. As the trials progressed, Lynda was added to the perpetrator.

"Did you kill the sisters?" The trial lawyer for Mika's family asked Lynda.

"They deserved that because their father robbed our father's true love."

Everyone gasped. "Care to elaborate why and what happened?"

"My father loved Solaris' mother during their younger years and by the time they were about to get married, Solaris' mom called it off. Likewise, Solaris always gave me a reason to get jealous even with the leadership camp we were both supposed to go but I did not join because she did not help me." Lynda's eyes are flamed and fumed with great madness. "Ansley is a conniving force with her sister so I killed her, too. Mika would be the next since she is the haughtiest of them all."

Until the last trial, the siblings and their minion, Jafet all had been proven guilty for killing the sisters though they felt no guilt for the deceased sisters. Lynda was put in an institution for her dwindling mental health while her brothers and minion were in jail for being the perpetrators for the killings. Mika crushed the pendants given to her sisters and deleted the image of it in her phone.

***

"Do you think they'll be at peace now?" Mika rested her head on Nigel's shoulder as they both looked at the lovely starry night sky, months later after the trial had the final verdict.

"I think they may be smiling down at you and your family, being proud that you solved their unusual deaths." Nigel combed her hair gently using his left hand fingers. A kiss on Mika's forehead followed after.

"I think I should transfer to a better apartment building. What do you think?" Mika glanced at her friend.

"Your choice."