It was the year 2015. The school year was halfway over and the eighth graders were so happy to be leaving this place. I was offered a class, a ceramics class. Of course I selected it because I love art, I always have and always will. And there was also the fact that I would get out of one of my other classes, I would not have to do public speaking or extra scient experiment or any of the boring crap.

We started out with a clay cup. Simple, I thought. But, noooooo. We had to make the cup out of coils. Somehow I made it through to the finish and produced a nicely crooked and quite imperfect cup. I was ok with its turnout because it was my first actually 3D object, sculpture, that I have made. I also learned that clay is not my thing. It is gross, wet, slimy, grey, urgh.

The second project was a teapot. I thought it could not get any worse. Sure let’s try to make a teapot out of clay!!! Mine looks like a bumpy, uneven vase with a handle and weird spout that sticks out. Honestly, the spouts everyone are making look like something else. The only people who were making decent products were the teacher, Mr. Keefe and my friend who sat next to me. I hate it when the teacher is teaching you something that is hard and they go off and do it with ease. Some people can be just showoffs, and this teacher tends to get on my nerves.

The third project was how it started, or more like how it was born. We were making masks. The teacher gave us plastic faces, the type that you can build around then remove. He told us to wrap plastic around them so the clay would not stick. As we created our masks my clay started to feel weird. I could not tell why or how, it just did. I handed a bunch over to my friend and asked her if it felt weird. She took it and rolled it into a coil. Looking at me funny she said it was fine and asked if I was feeling ok. I laughed and said it just felt different, but it is probably my imagination.

After a couple class periods the masks started taking shape. No longer did we need the plastic. Now we were just altering the mask to whatever shape or design we wanted it to be before it went into the kiln. I barely altered mine. I just increased the contrast between high spots, like the cheekbones, and low spots, like the eye sockets.

It was the last day before the mask were to be placed in the kiln. I was peacefully and carefully working. It was about 9:43 am. I turned to comment about my friend’s mask and how perfect it was, when I noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. My head whipped around. My mask was as still as ever. Taking a deep breath I closed my eyes for a second. Mr. Keefe apologised for scaring me and I spoke quickly forgiving him.

Only a couple minutes later, I was staring at my mask. This time I was sure I saw it throb. By this time I was afraid I was hallucinating. I asked my friend if she could watch my mask and see if there was something wrong with it. I told her I thought I was hallucinating and I wanted her reassurance. Being a good friend she agreed. We watched it for 10 minutes. There was no motion.

Soon it was time to clean up. I asked my friend to put my mask with the others while I cleaned the table. She took mine and hers in her hands and walked away. Breathing slowly and calmly I cleaned off the table and wiped it down with a wet rag.

A screech broke out followed by a thud. I turned to see my friend shaking standed near what seemed to be two piles of clay. Realizing one must and have been her mask and one mine I walked over to her. She started to apologize and I said there was no need. She whispered inaudibly. I asked her what she said. She screamed, “IT MOVED!!!” I had no idea what to say. Everyone was looking towards us.

One of the guys said, “Of course it moved, you dropped it.” He bent down to pick up the piles, succeeding to pick up one. The other he touched then dropped. “Ouch!” By now this area had everyone’s attention. “It burned me!”

“Stop with this silliness,” Mr. Keefe demanded. He walked towards the sad looking clay lump. But before he could reach it the thing rose. It grew and grew. Before I knew it everyone was running, well, except for me. I was glued to the floor, looking up in awe at the sight I saw in front of me. It was growing closer and closer. And closer. And even closer. Soon it was no more than an inch from my face.

I was wrenched back by a force I could not pinpoint. I struggled as I was pulled against a strong body. “You’re going to get yourself killed?” It was Mr. Keefe. “Why didn’t you run?”

“I couldn’t,” I stated confidently, “Why didn’t you run?”

“Because I am responsible for my students which unconviniently includes you.”

I sighed as he pulled my out of the room locking the door behind me. “What, are you just going to leave that thing in there?”

“Yes, I plan to for now.”

I pushed away his arms and walked over to my friends. We talked for a while while the teacher called whoever he called. The bell rang and we headed off to our next class.

Wait for a sequel...Possibly...

First, a warning …

Every now and then, there comes along the perfect campfire story, or the perfect Halloween tale for the night of goblins, black cats that cross your path, and witches who cast evil spells. Where pumpkins are carved with sinister eyes and a gaping mouth, seemingly ready to pounce on you and swallow you whole. They sit, staring as you listen to a tale of dread and deadly horror; and a taste of the black night’s shroud you feel enveloping you, never to release its hold on you ever again.

But this isn’t Halloween and there aren’t any campfires to be found.

Before you begin this tale; make certain your windows are latched closed, your door firmly locked, and don’t turn out the lights.

If you still have an extra minute, use it to settle into a story that will truly make you wonder. Is it worth trading fact for a dream? Or, simply use that minute to just walk away.

This much is known: this story was told to me many years ago and was told it is true.

You decide.

I already have.

Step inside. This won’t take long.

Not long at all.

___________________________________________________________________

Campfire Storyteller

“Mr. Perkins? Can you tell us a story?”

“Yeah,” chimed in the rest of the boys.

Leroy Perkins is their scout master, and after their first day out in the woods, all the tents were set up and they had a big fire going, Leroy Perkins sat across from the six boys; flames licking upward into the early evening night sky, and it appeared as if he controlled the fire by the look in his eyes.

Besides being the scout master was also the town mayor of Pineville, a small country community, and he was also known as a master storyteller.

“Well, I suppose I could. What would you boys like to hear? Something funny, or,” he paused for effect, “something really scary?” Through the flames, his smile appeared sinister looking.

“Something scary, please!” all the boys cried at once.

“Alrighty then. You boys have been real good today, so I’m gonna tell what some folks around here to believe to be true, while others say it’s only a story. When I’m finished, you’ll all know in your own heads if it’s truth or not.”

Leroy Perkins smiled. He loved telling this story because the ending had such an effect on children. He could see the look of keen interest in their eyes.

“Over two-hundred years ago, a small farming community was started by our ancestors that came over on the Mayflower, or so people say. What started out as just one family eventually sprouted to nearly three dozen within the first year or so.

“The whole area soon came to life. The wheat, barley, corn, blueberries, and of course the livestock became plentiful.

“One day, a stranger came to town in the dead of night. His hair was as white as fresh-fallen snow and his eyes held the color of flames that seemed to penetrate into a person’s soul.

“The following morning, not one child could be found. It was said the Pied Piper of Hamlin had come in the night and all the children followed him to a land never to be found again.

“The parents went on a long and futile search. Days turned to weeks, then months, and none of the children were ever found. It’s been said well over forty children vanished in the winds of the night, on a night filled with black clouds and a black moon.”

The boys looked up into the night sky and their eyes had somewhat of a fearful look in them. What had before appeared to be a clear evening had suddenly developed into dark clouds, and the moon, which earlier had been full and bright with life, was no place to be found. Leroy Perkins continued with his devilish smile that held the boys captive.

“Nope, they never did find those children, but a strange thing happened one year later to the day. In another farming community, so people say, a stranger came into town in the dead of night and the following morning, all the children were gone. Again, the parents searched, and they too, never found their children.

“This kept up for two more years and suddenly there weren’t any more reports about missing children. It seemed for all practical purposes the stranger with the snow-colored hair was finished, or just outright disappeared. A hundred years went by before it happened again.

“All the children prior to that, went missing from the state known as Rhode Island. When it happened again, it took place in North Carolina. Once again, the stranger came in the dead of night, and on three different occasions, children came up missing. There never were signs of a struggle, no signs of blood or anything to indicate an out and out act of violence. Then, just like the last time, the disappearances stopped.”

Leroy Perkins spread his hands out, palms up as if signaling that the story was over.

“Mr. Perkins,” half-shouted Tommy Lee Harding, “that isn’t all of it, is it?”

Leroy Perkins looked at Tommy Lee and the other boys settled in closer to the fire, and his eyes started to redden even deeper as if they caught the fire from the flames in front of him.

“No, Tommy Lee, that isn’t all the story. See, as this tale goes, the children, so it goes, grew up into adults and continued to do the work of the ageless white-haired stranger who waited in the depths of hell. The children grew into adulthood and continue, even now, to rid all the communities of children until no children are left on earth. It is said once all the children are taken from the earth, the devil shall have free rein on the world and the devil will have finally beaten the heavens.

“The devil had mastered all of the children’s minds and retaught them how to think and act. They became his children. His disciples.

“Now kids, that’s the end of the story and I think it’s time we all turned in. Tomorrow begins a new day for all of you and I want you to be fresh as a daisy when you wake up because each and every one of you will have a busy schedule.”

The boys headed for their tents, and a few of them looked into the still, dark clouded night that had hidden a moon that was full and bright less than two hours ago. A couple other boys shivered at the thought of all those children disappearing; children their own age.

Regardless of their thoughts, within minutes they were snuggled inside their sleeping bags caught up in deep slumber.

Leroy Perkins didn’t fall asleep. Rather than go to his own tent, he stood and walked directly into the flames that held his eyes in flickering heat.

As the flames coated the clothes he wore, he whispered words of adulterous adulation.

“Master, the time has come once more. Even as I speak, the children sleep. As with all times past, I shall steal their souls and deliver them to you as you have had me do so many times before.

“My only wish is that it could be as easy as it was in years gone by. Be it the six tonight, or sixty tomorrow, your wishes shall be fulfilled. I sense from you the others have done as well as I, and that soon, very soon, your commandment, and your prophecy shall rule.

“Once we have all the souls of all the children held in captive in the Kingdom of Hades, there will be no true leadership, no truer religion than your own. With your teachings, we shall have finally beaten the heavens as you have pronounced to be true. Now I go to do your bidding.”

Leroy Perkins walked through the flames to Tommy Lee first. Such a bright and inquisitive lad, he thought. And dangerous. As Leroy opened the tent’s flap and reached his hand out to touch the chest which protects Tommy Lee’s heart; the face of Leroy Perkins no longer looked the same.

His hair became white as snow and his eyes held the color of fire and his flesh became waxen with age. This is how he really looked, but to others, they were blinded by trickery. And like all the other times, trickery would win out.

The night was filled with black swirling clouds without a moon filled with life and six children were lost. Their souls captured, and their flesh burnt away to a fine dust that blended with the grassy dirt that lay under their tents. So too, was the camp itself.

_____________________________________________________________________

For nearly a month, the townspeople of Pineville searched for the missing children and Leroy Perkins. The State Police and National Guard as well as volunteer’s from surrounding counties joined in the search, but they found nothing. No tents, no sign of tracks leading in any direction, and no sign of violent foul play.

Leroy Perkins was smiling as he prepared himself for another town, another face, another life.

Trickery; how sweet the sound.

I stepped on a swing and it swung me away.

At some point, in the middle of an eternal momentum, there was a ripple in time that graced my face. Wind turned to fabric and the night to day.

My second foot swayed forward until it met with peach-tinted water hanging far above my world at a 90 degree angle. It was beautiful, like a flower that melted into a transparent ocean. It held my foot in place as I held the swing’s chain, like the magnet of mercury or the muck of mud - beautiful, glassy, fluttering mud.

A giraffe’s head surfaced from the water. It wore water goggles. Its neck was surfacing too, higher and higher, it grew, until up came its back and a spikey-haired boy that sat on it. He, too, wore goggles.

“You’re a long ways from home.” ...said the giraffe. His head craning down beside me. “You were unwise to visit this place.”

And like that, his warning became a sentence to my fate, for the boy on his back took that moment to jump out of the flower-water, off of the giraffe's back, and on to the swing. In one fluid motion, he slipped my foot off the seat with his, and pried my hand off the chain with his. As he started to fall away, he whispered a faint "Gracias" with a pained expression on his face. He lifted his arm and a long patterned sleeve that wasn't there before flung up towards my face, from this came a pomegranate that I juggled to catch. Every fumble sent this water-glazed world at a different angle, as if the pomegranate was the centre of the universe and we were rotating around it.

When I last caught it, this world was upside down and I was viewing the final sillhouette of the boy who stole my swing as he fell through the clouds. I hugged the pomegranate to my heart and for some reason I began to cry. My tears caused the ocean I was attached to fall out of the sky and rain down on my old world. I watched, completely drenched, as the ocean and all its talking zoo-animals, fell away from me, without me. All that was left for company was this pomegranate...

...and it didn't come with an instructions manual.

"What do you think of when you here Skeleton Man?" An elderly lady asked as people gathered around to hear a story from her.

"I think of a plain skeleton that's laying out in the sun or hanging on a rack." A little girl with skeletal wings said as she walked through the crowd and they cleared her path.

"No, young lady. This Skeleton Man was different from that. He was skeleton but he could regenerate his skin and muscles, if he wanted to." The elderly lady said as she looked at the little girl.

"Why should I listen to your story since Ma and Pa said to not listen to your stories?" The little girl asked.

"It all started when he was born. He was born and the hospital he was in, burnt to the ground. He was the only survivor other than his parents. They saw him as a skeleton and he was breathing. They grabbed him up and left the area. He grew up isolated from other kids and soon fell in love with an Angel from across the way." The elderly lady started as she looked out upon the crowd.

"They soon left the town and no one could find them. When it was time for 'Reincarnation' for the Angel, she fell and said, 'Take care of the kid and let him socialize with other kids.' With her final breath, she passed on and shifted into a baby boy. He was surprised and he ripped the flesh off himself and stayed as a skeleton. His son, Soul Eater, grew and met a demon girl named Maka. He was different from his parents and, so was Maka. They bonded as friends and conquered everything until one fateful day, she fell ill and he had to go back home. He did so and saw his father at the table stained with blood," The Elderly lady continued, "From a fight with the landlord. 'Father, what 'appen to ya?' His son asked. 'Nothing, dear son. It is none of your concern.' He said."

"What happened next?" The little girl asked as she stood in awe.

"They stayed silent for days until Soul Eater had enough. 'Father, tell me what 'appened to Ma and what 'appened to you. I am tired of the lies and you covering up what is going on. Tell me the troof.' He said. 'You are a reincarnation of your mother and I had a fight with the landlord.' His father said. 'What is your real name, Father?' Soul Eater asked. 'Kudo Skull. My parents were Kidonna Killer and Swan Grace.' He said. 'Why are you a skeleton and I look human?' Soul Eater asked as he stood up. 'I can choose to grow my skin and muscle back. That is why I am a skeleton.' Kudo said as he looked at Soul and went to touch him. Then came a knock on their door. Soul Eater answered the door and saw Maka's parents, Killdar and Nora. They told him that Maka didn't have long to live so, he went to their house and sat with Maka." The Elderly woman said with a tinge to her speech.

"What happened after Soul Eater sat with Maka?" The little girl asked as she looked at the elderly woman.

"If you seek that answer, ask Soul Eater yourself. He shall tell you what happened next. Hurry home, little sweetie. It is almost time for the rain to come." She said before she coughed.

"What does Stories today say that he does now?" The little girl asked.

"Legends and stories say that he hunts when hungry and stays in one home the rest of the time." The elderly lady says with a smile and then walks away.

The little girl ran home and it started raining when she got on the porch to her home. She smiled and walked into her home to the smell of chicken and dumplings being served up.

"Hi, Madra. Where's Padre? Dindin smells good!" The little girl says with a smile.

"Hello, Gretchen. Padre isn't here. He hasn't been here the whole day. Can you go look for him outside even if it is raining, please?" Her mother asked with a worried expression.

"Yes, madre!" Gretchen answered quickly.

She ran out the door and saw a bright flash of light from far off. She opened up her skeletal wings and took off to the sky toward the light she saw. She got there quickly and saw her father laying on the ground next to a standing skeleton. She gasped and the skeleton looked up at her. He motioned her to move closer but she stayed in the sky. He got angry and jumped, grabbing her leg and pulling her down to the ground. When she hit the ground, landing on her right wing, she broke her right wing. She grabbed her wing and started crying.

"Kudo!!! Leave her alone!!!" A male voice she didn't recognize.

Two people, no, not people. A female demon and a human that looked half asleep. They came out of brush from nearby and growled.

"Ugh, fine!! I will leave!!" The skeleton says in a raspy voice.

"Are you okay, kiddo?" The male asked as he helped stand Gretchen up.

"I... I will be. My name is Gretchen and that there is my Padre. I came out here, looking for him." Gretchen said as she wiped away her tears.

"He's gone, Soul Eater. Most likely mauled and hit in the cranium with a... Rabbit?" The female demon said as she looked at the human.

"Are you guys Soul Eater and Maka?" Gretchen asked as she held her broken wing.

"Head home, kiddo. Tell your mother that he is dead." The female demon said as she healed Gretchen's wing.

"No! I want to know who you two are!!" Gretchen screeched.

"Sorry, kiddo. Head home and we will catch up later." He said as he pushed her and she flew home to her mother.

Maka and Soul Eater stayed there on the edge awhile before leaving the area. They left the area, back into the woods and brush.

To Be Continued?

Saphira,

I know you won't be able to respond to this letter, and I don't expect you to. But I know you'd be worried about us. We're all still alive. The guards have been so busy trying to find you that they've left the rest of us alone. Stay safe, do all you can to stay out, even if it means you never come back for us.

Saphira,

I have no way to if you recieved my last letter or if you'll ever get this one. But I think they've given up on finding you. All the guards are back, and it doesn't look like they'll be leaving again. They've been asking if any of us know where you went, as if any of us have ever even been on the outside. Anyway, the reason for this letter is because you need to wait. You can't come back for us as soon as you want to. Wait until the higher ups aren't so agitated, when you'll stand a chance of getting us all out of here alive.

Saphira,

Nowhere is safe anymore. Just getting this letter out may have cost me everything, but you need to know. It's not safe, I know the plan was for you to come back for us, but you can't, not now, probably not ever. Don't beat yourself up about leaving us here, this is our choice and I'm begging you to honour it. Enjoy being free on the outside and forget about us. I'm sorry it has to be this way. Good luck.

Saphira,

By the time this reaches you it'll be too late to save us, so please don't try. Run as far and as fast as you can. They won't stop looking for you, the only chance you have is to become somebody else. You're the only one who ever had hope of seeing the outside, so its fitting that your the one who gets to experience it. Goodbye Saphira, we'll see you again when you join us on the other side.

“I was going to tell you it was over”

Really because i simply received the cold shoulder, is it because you don’t want to get closer, or was I just some donor. You’d be great at playing poker. That straight face holding all the cards capable of handing you a win. You got me to open my legs not my mouth and face a deadly sin. Conning me into giving you everything. Never letting me stop and rethink. The taste of you bitterly distinct.

“I was going to tell you it was over”

Don’t lie your a freeloader. Pretending you were a lease owner, holding the title to my heart. I was simply your last resort. Might as well have been your escort. A simple consort. Somehow you made it past my fort, no longer was I safe, you had become my escape. You found a way to make me feel awake. I tried to hit the emergency break, but I had already made a mistake. You had been a fake.

“I was going to tell you it was over”

You see I never asked for closure, but i must keep my composure and pretend that you were not my four leaf clover. My heart slowly cracking, being fined for indecent exposure. It thought that your love was kosher. But now it realized I was just a smoker. To afraid of losing a habit knowing it would one day kill it. I know now I was only an exhibit. Let me help you find the exit.

Once upon a time, there was a little lizard with a hoot-owl shaped face and large, cat-like eyes. He lived inside my bathrobe pocket, and had become so comfortably established in his little home, that he had even set up a news stand just outside of his house. What he wrote about, I don’t know. The newspapers were too small for me to read, but I bought them weekly anyways so that he would have money for his Saturday ice cream cone.

I had just bought one such newspaper, thrown it in the fire after offering it to my cat (which was silly, because cats can’t read), and sat down for a cup of tea when a knock sounded on my door.

“Yes?” I called, stepping into my slippers and standing up. And then, I swear to you, a blimp burst through my door. Right through! I’m afraid I shall have to replace it.

The blimp sailed in and settled onto the sofa without even wiping its feet, and a ghostly figure emerged from it gracefully. I was quite frozen with fright. The apparition (whom I shall now refer to as She), crossed the carpet and took hold of my hand. Suddenly, and I couldn’t tell you how, we were standing in the middle of Stonehenge under a mess of party lights and streamers.

The streamers were all yellow (which I thought was odd), and draped from stone to stone in a crisscross pattern above our heads. There was even music. I don’t listen to the stuff of course, but it sounded a bit like that American pop rubbish. She had vanished quite completely, leaving me there to try to find a way home for myself. I asked several of the partygoers (who were mostly walking violins) how I might get back to Manchester, but they were very rude and none of them answered me. Finally I came to a polar bear wearing a bow tie whom I thought looked personable, and asked him.

“MANCHESTER, EH?” he bellowed through his mustache. “NOW WHAT WOULD A BLOKE LIKE YOURSELF WANT WITH MANCHESTER?” As I was sputtering for a reply, the polar bear slapped his knee and let out a loud guffaw, as if he found his remark very humorous. I did not, but I chuckled politely along with him.

“Yes, Manchester.” I told him. “You’ve heard of it?”

“HEARD OF IT? WHY MY DEAR FELLOW, I AM THE KING OF MANCHESTER!”

“Ah, I see.” I said, though really I did not.

The polar bear began lecturing me on the economy, simultaneously demonstrating a very bad Winston Churchill impression, which I found to be quite inconvenient given my dilemma.

However, at that very moment, all of the party lights went out all at once, sending the king of Manchester, and all of the violins, into a panic. I myself was quite glad for the reprieve and took the opportunity to stumble down the dark hill towards what I perceived to be a lit lamppost in the distant woods.

When I arrived at the light, out of breath and short one slipper, I caught sight of She. She hovered above the ground with a flighty, unconcerned smile on her indistinct face.

I suddenly became very angry. “Take me back home this instant and fix my door! Remove your blimp at once! Or I will- or I will...” She began to cry. I immediately regretted having shouted.

“Oh dear. Please forgive me. It’s because I didn’t get to finish my tea. That always makes me ornery.”

I thought, for a moment, that she had accepted my apology, for the smile returned to her face. Yet then she disappeared once again, and I was left to spend the night in the cold, dark forest wearing only one slipper. Just before I fell asleep, my little lizard clambered out from inside my bathrobe pocket and handed me an ice cream cone. The generous little fellow! I thanked him, and ate it all at once, which made me feel slightly better.

When I woke up, I miraculously found myself back in my sitting room. Oddly, my face was very wet. I glanced upwards and found that there was a thin, pale man bent over me, holding an upside-down vase over my head.

“Finally!” He threw the vase over his shoulder (it vanished into the air), and pulled me up onto my feet. I was bewildered of course, though very glad to be back in my own house again. At least, I thought to myself, he is not a mustached polar bear.

“Who are you?” I grunted, wiping the water off of my face with my sleeve.

“Who am I? Ha! Ha! Charles, you ridiculous chap. Stop joshing about and go change your clothes! Spit spot.”

I was again highly disgruntled. “My name is not Charles,” I said, harrumphing. I then went off to do as he had told me. As I was just sitting down to take a whiff of my smelling salts, the bothersome fellow barged in through the door (this makes two that shall need replacing).

“Hurry up will you, Charles?” He began to pace, snapping his fingers occasionally so that little pink puffs of smoke appeared in the air. Though annoyed, I decided that it was no use arguing with this bull-headed crumpet.

“Alright, where are we off to?” I asked.

“Nowhere. Just hurry up or we’ll be late.” He grabbed me by the coat sleeve and began dragging me ungraciously through the sitting room.

“And what is your name?” I asked him, as I bumped down the stairs after him.

“Hapgood. Honestly Charles!” He opened the door and dragged me out onto the sidewalk. It was quite warm out, and I began sweating profusely, but Hapgood had a hold of my sleeve, so I could not take my coat off. All the while we walked, Hapgood kept up an incessant stream of chatter.

“This body I found is great Charles. Know why? It’s got blue skin. That’s the best color for organ donations. Your job can be holding the lid of the box shut so they don’t escape. You know, they say: ‘lungs have wings,’ and it’s true. Just ask Mckinley. He’s got stories about that alright. But don’t try to help too much just yet. I want to watch me do it before you try. Spit spot Charles, dead bodies don’t just hang around now, do they?”

As we walked, I noticed that Hapgood’s shoes made very loud clicks on the sidewalk. The repeated ‘click clack, click clack’ became quite annoying. I cast an irritated glance down at the polka dotted shoes, and noticed that they were high heels. No wonder they were so loud. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and tried to keep up.

At length, we turned down an alleyway and entered a dingy little shop with a sign hanging on the door that read ‘closed.’ I hesitated, but Hapgood pulled me in after him, and finally let go of my sleeve. There was indeed a blue body lying in an unattractive fashion on the floor. Hapgood pulled out a knife and a small wooden chest from his left shoe.

“Just hold the box, alright Charles?”

Taking advantage of my release, I bolted out of the shop. I hailed a taxi, dreadfully relieved to get away from that Hapgood chap.

When I arrived home, my door was still smashed in, but someone had removed the blimp from the sofa. There was also a note lying on the table by my cold tea: “Next Stonehenge dinner party Friday, 11:00”

Still feeling rather disoriented, I took a bath and changed into my bathrobe (only a little damp on the sleeve), and made myself a fresh cup of tea. The lizard crawled out of my bathrobe pocket and handed me a newspaper (no doubt to pay for another ice cream cone, since he had given me his). I fished out a penny from the dish on the table for him, and threw the newspaper into the fire. It would have been ridiculous for me to save it for the cat, as cats can't read.

The city lies on the edge of nowhere and the beginning of everywhere. The sun rises at night in the west and sets every morning in the east.The trees die in summer and come back to life in the frigid winter.

King Valiant, who fears his own shadow, sits on the throne. He only ventures out on days when the moon is hidden behind clouds. Valiant's mother waited to name her children until their true natures had been revealed, as all mothers in Paradox City do. His younger sister, Princess Whisper, never speaks below a shout. She drinks honeyed tea to prevent vocal strain.

The people of the city endeavor to be contradictions, for on the day of their deaths, the tale of their life is told to those who have gathered, and it would be delightfully embarrasing to have behaved in accordance with their name.

Valiant never thought he would shame himself with an act of courage. Nothing much at all happened to him, on account of his solitary and sedentary existence.

He was wonderfully wrong.

On his death day, Valiant saved the life of his only campanion, a young dog of fifteen years, from dashing into the path of a carriage. He was struck in the process, and his broken ribs punctured a lung.

The story of his cowardly life was shouted by Princess Whisper, until she got to his last, terrible, valiant deed, where her voice dropped several decibels.

The ignominy killed his mother several days later.

First of all, my name is Veyna Bones and I’m a bodysnatcher. No, I don’t just take your body and do wily-nily things with it. I’m actually part wisp and part succubus, a perfect mutant who can literally copy a soul right down to its ethereal DNA. I’m also a private detective who is currently chasing down a vampire lord in a piece-of-crap, run-down building that’s about twenty-stories tall. Next to me, running on all fours, is my shapeshifting bff Grant. He can transform into anything as long as he gets a piece of DNA: hair, blood, etc. of whatever creature that suits his needs: currently, he was a black wolf with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I stiffled a chuckle as we neared the vampire’s lair.

Upon reaching the stairs at the bottom, I looked at Grant. Giving me a nod, I then used my wispy-succubi powers and dissipated, before going “inside” him. Once there, I carefully touched his soul. With my succubus power, I took a little sip from the outer shell of his soul, granting me the ability to shapeshift. Then with my wisp power, I exited his body—like I had previously entered—and stood next to him once more. Feeling his power flow through me, I then transformed in a flame atronach: a being that was shaped like a human, but engulfed in flames; also a member of some Demonic family...

Ready for some serious ass-kicking, I motioned for Grant to enter first: he had better eyesight as a wolf and I’d rather not scare the vamps right away—I wanted to roast as many as possible for all the crimes they had committed and for all the rules they had broken. Not to mention interracial treaties between the various families. They were lucky I hadn’t chosen to be something worse than a flame atronach...

While I was standing outside, Grant went in first: I could see him sniffing around some of the darkest places on the ground floor, before grunting and letting me know it was safe so far. Entering, I was careful not to light anything on fire by accident. The building was already a mess to begin with and I definitely didn’t want it to collapse on top of us while we were hunting for this particular coven. So levitating carefully through the doorway, we went towards the back where a staircase was positioned. Following our routine, Grant went ahead of me again, checking the floorboards and making sure they were safe enough to cross. I don’t really know why he did that, since I was levitating in this form anyway, but maybe it was part of his habit.

We made it up about fifteen-stories before seeing any movement. As we reached the landing on the fifteenth floor, I saw a few fledgling vampires staring at me with blood-red eyes. Eyes that clearly stated: “I’m hungry.” I smiled at one such fledgling—who was perched on the railing of the staircase in front of me—before raising an arm and hurling a bright-orange ball of fiery death. The fledgling dodged, but in doing so, he knocked another one of his coven off the staircase; the other hissed in anger before they quickly shifted to smoke—avoiding a very long fall to the bottom.

“Move,” I told the newbie. “Before I roast you.”

“No.” He hissed, altering his stance on the railing. “You shall not pass.”

“Who are you? Gandalf?” I laughed then shook my head. “Never mind, you wouldn’t understand.”

The vampire looked at me like he was dumbstruck. Has he never seen any of the “Lord of the Rings” movies? How could he not get the reference? Shaking my head at the disbelief, I raised my arm again, ready to hurl more fireballs. “Just move already.”

“No.”

“Fine, have it your way then.” I replied, chucking a fireball in the noobs direction. He dodged again, but I was ready for it this time: I raised my other arm and hurled a second ball and caught him by surprise. It was fun watching him writhe in agony as he started to turn to ash. “One down, twenty-nine to go.”

Walking past the smoldering pile of ashes, I continued going up, killing both fledglings and full-fledged vampires. I even saw a couple of hybrids as well, but they weren’t a match for mine and Grant’s teamwork. We kept turning people into dust until finally reaching the twentieth floor, or what was left of it. Should’ve just said it was a roof since the floor didn’t have a ceiling anymore. It was also where the vampire lord and his second-in-command stood waiting for us. Behind them were some mysterious-looking bikes: both shaped like Harley-Davidson “Deluxes” from the Softail family. One was black, the other red.

“Greetings Veyna, Grant.” The vampire lord said, his short-blonde hair waving in the cool, night breeze. His second-in-command, a woman with long-red hair, flinched at the sound of our names.

That’s right, I thought, we put the fear of God into our enemies...

“Hello Alistair,” I reply. “Having a good evening?”

“No, not really, but that’s because you’re here. You’re always such a party-crasher aren’t you?”

“Hmm..only if it involves lots of dead bodies drained of blood.” I answer, floating closer towards him. His second, seeing my advance, starts to unsheathe her sword. Before she can though, he places his hand on hers: forcing her to let go of her weapon. I’m ten-feet away from him before he speaks again.

“They deserved to die. They killed twenty members of my coven, I only killed ten of their pack.” Then, waving a hand in the air, “Those werewolves don’t know when to quit. We practically fight every weekend. What’s so different this time around?”

“Well, for one, no one died in your previous conflicts and two: you killed the pack leader’s second-in-command this time. I’m sure you’d feel the same way if your second died.” Raising a hand, I showed them the power I currently weilded, and aimed it towards the woman. “Am I right?”

With a sigh, “Yes, I understand.” Alistair said, looking at his second. “I will atone for my sins then, but only if you can catch us.”

Without any warning, the vampires dash towards the motorcycles. Too slow, I missed them with my fireballs, before they took off into the night. In the distance, I could see them flying through the night sky. Only the headlights of the bikes were visible.

Grant looks at me with his silly wolf face; clearly disappointed. I was disappointed too, not because they got away—they would be easy to track down again—but because they had gotten away on custom-made motorcycles that could fly due to the magic imbued into the metal. Yep, I was really disappointed.

#xjenvanx, #jenvan91, #shortstory, #story, #bodysnatcher, #fiction, #vampire, #werewolf, #shapeshifter, #veynabones, #grant, #supernatural

Sam and I wait until we hear a portal open and close before we leave from where we’re hiding. We creep along the side of the large, black house and stop at an ordinary looking mulberry colored wooden front door. Sam raises his fist to knock on the door but I stop him.

“Don’t”, I mouth. I slowly place my hand on the cold doorknob and turn it. Surprisingly, the door is unlocked and opens silently. I tip-toe inside and Sam follows my lead. He closes the door softly behind him and we look around us. There’s a stairway that leads to another floor on the right, a hallway that leads into a living room ahead of up, and a starry night sky painted room that has a lot of boxes in it. Everything seems to be painted in a dark fashion. We, then, hear a noise coming from upstairs so I grab Sam’s hand nervously and we begin to climb the stairs as silently as possible. The stairs creak a little but it doesn’t seem to bother whoever’s in the room because the noise continues.

As we get closer, the noise turns out to be the sound of whirring and occasional footsteps. I look around to make sure no one else is here before putting my hand on the knob. It feels warm as I turn it and it opens silently.

Inside is a messy room that has a black wooden desk with a mulberry colored chair pulled up to it. Next to the chair is a small set of stairs and beside the desk is a bed with dark blue sheets. There are machine parts scattered all over the dark hardwood floor. In the middle of the room is a small black-haired child sitting with his legs crossed. He seems to be assembling a little robotic toy.

My eyes widen as my jaw drops. I glance at Sam and he seems to be the same way.

After about a minute of silence, the child looks up at Sam and me. His purple and red eyes widen in what seems to be a mixture of fear and curiosity. He stands and backs a couple of steps away from us. I can now see everything that he’s wearing. He has on a dark purple shirt with a large golden crescent design in the center, dark blue jeans, thick grey socks, and black fingerless gloves. What really catches my attention is what’s hanging on a thick golden string around his neck: a golden crescent charm. It looks just like the one around Ethan’s neck.

I look over at Sam and he mouths, “Who is this kid?”

I shrug my shoulders and mouth back, “I don’t know but let’s get him out of here in case Ethan had kidnapped him.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something back but closes it quickly when the child begins to speak.

“Please don’t take me away from here. I really like it here.”

Sam and I snap our heads towards the child as he walks towards us. He stops about a foot away from us and holds out is hand as he says intrepidly, “greeting. My name is Tanner.”

I kneel and Sam follows. I shake Tanner’s hand for a couple of seconds before letting go. He smiles.

“So,” I drawl, “how old are you Tanner?”

He frowns and says, “Please don’t do that. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh,” I say normally, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replies.

Sam speaks up and repeats my question. “So how old are you Tanner?”

Tanner looks at Sam and holds out his left hand. “I’m five.”

He, then, grabs one of my and Sam’s hands and tries to pull us to the middle of the room. After a couple of seconds, he gives up and walks to where he was sitting earlier. He sits back down and motions for Sam and me to sit in the space in front of him. Sam and I sit down and watch as he continues assembling the robotic toy. Not even pausing to look up, or pause at all, he asks, “So who are you? Why are you here? Why do you think that I was kidnapped?”

Surprised by the amount of questions he asked, I decide to answer his questions by counting them off.

“One,” I began, “this is Sam,” I point to Sam, “and I’m Aurum. Two, let’s just say that that’s a secret for now. Three, we came here through a portal and four, because Ethan is a bad guy.”

Tanner tilts his head the side, a look of confusion on his face. “Why is Ethan a bad guy?”

“He’s done terrible things,” Sam says.

“Like what,” Tanner asks.

“He’s hurt people in many ways,” Sam tells him.

“I don’t believe you.” Tanner crosses his arms. “Ethan is the best person ever. He would never hurt someone.”

“Why do you say that?” Sam and I ask at the same time, curiosity creeping into our voices.

“Because he’s my dad,” Tanner says simply, “and I want to be just like him when I grow up.”

There’s a period of silence where Sam and I are left speechless. It all made sense now. It all fit into place for why Tanner lives with Ethan and has his own room. It makes sense for why they’re wearing matching charms around their necks, but that also means that Tanner is Ethan’s kid. I turn to Sam and see that he’s reached the same insane conclusion as I did: Ethan is a dad!

“Umm… s-so where’s y-your m-mom T-Tanner?” I stammer, turning to him.

“I don’t have one,” he says, placing the finishing touches on his robotic toy.

Sam and I say nothing as we watch him complete his toy. He tests it us and it seems to work perfectly. He looks up and smiles widely. Holding up his finished project, he says proudly, “Ethan! Ethan! Look at what I did while you were away!”

Sam and I look around but see no one. We turn back to Tanner and Sam asks with fear present in his voice, “why do you think he’s here?”

Tanner points to the space between Sam and me and says, “He’s right there.”

We look to where he’s pointing and still see nothing. “Where,” Sam asks.

We, then, feel a cold hand on our shoulders as a familiar voice says, “Right here.”

We jump to our feet in fear as we hear footsteps walking to the doorway. Ethan appears in the doorway, arms crossed with five black tentacles swaying behind him. He glares at Sam and me for a few seconds and, if looks could kill, Sam and I would’ve dropped dead instantly. He, then, turns to Tanner and smiles brighter than I ever thought possible. He squats down on the floor and Tanner runs up and gives him a big hug. Ethan hugs back but glares at Sam and me. He mouths, “downstairs. In the kitchen. Now!”

He lets go of Tanner, smiles, and asks him, “can you make me something else while I talk to your new friends?”

Tanner nods as he runs to his desk and digs into a drawer. Ethan scowls at us as he walks out. I consider, for a moment, staying in here but quickly realize that that’s not an option when I see two black tentacles shoot out of the doorway. One wraps around my neck and Sam’s. It pulls us forward and we walk fast to keep up. When Sam and I reach the kitchen, the tentacle around our necks retract and go back to swaying casually behind his back. Sitting down in the nearest chair, he leans forward and says through clenched teeth, voice seething with rage, “Can either of you tell me how you came to be in my house?!”

I gulp and am unable to utter a sound and Sam seems the be the same way.

“Ahh. Quiet are we? Well I can fix that.” He launches two tentacles at Sam and holds him in the air with what appears to be a rather tight grip. His eyes glow as a drawer full of knives open and the knives begin to glow as well. He uses two more tentacles to hold me in place as the knives surround my head and neck. He laughs a little as he says amused, “So who will talk first.” Silence. “Okay then. Let’s do things the hard way.” The last tentacle that’s swaying casually behind him launches at Sam, covering his mouth as he squeezes him to death. Sam starts to scream but his screams are muffled and are hard to hear. He wills for one unusually large knife to press into the middle of my neck. The tip keeps going further and further into my skin and I then hear Sam go silent. Deciding that I couldn’t take anymore and that I want Sam to be fine, I say, “Okay! I’ll tell you! Just please let us go!”

He smiles triumphantly as the knives go back into the drawer and his eyes return to normal. He drops Sam on the ground behind me and lets go of me as well. I sit on the ground next to him and shake him until he wakes up coughing. I hug him and begin to cry a little.

“I’m waiting,” Ethan says impatiently.

I help Sam stand and he pulls out a stool and sits on it. He puts his hands on the countertop and lays his head on top of them. I sit on the stool next to him. Looking Ethan in the eyes while rubbing Sam’s back with one hand and my neck with the other, I say, “Kiersten helped us get here.”

His expression goes from impatience to fury as he slams his hands on the countertop, all tentacles pointed at Sam, their tips like spears. “Either you,” he glares at me, “tell me everything you know about that little devil or you’ll see your pathetic boyfriend suffer as he slowly dies. Your choice.”

I sigh as I begin, knowing that he’ll do what he says. “She came to me and Sam after….”