1321 words – Maxine Passant, after fighting through horrors, finally arrives at the home of her high school girlfriend, Lenore.

There it is. Her home. I am exhausted as I approach, dragging a firefighter’s ax behind me. This town is filled with creatures and monsters that I had to kill and sneak around to get here. But I’m finally here.

I drop the bloody ax in her driveway, devoid of any car, and knock on her door. I shiver as a breeze blows the ever-present fog into me. It’s chilling. My jacket isn’t thick enough. Hopefully she’s here so I can help her get out.

The door cracks open, still held tight by the door chain. “Hello?” I say into it.

“Hello?” A voice responds. It’s her!

“Lenore!” I exclaim. “God, It’s so good to see you. This place is hell, we have to get out.”

“Maxine?” she asks, “Maxine, I haven’t heard from you in months. Come in.” She pushes the door shut. I hear her unlock the chain, then she opens the door again. “Sorry if the place is a mess, I wasn’t expecting a guest.”

“I don’t blame you,” I respond, “Considering the sorry state of the town. Not a damn person in sight.”

“People have been staying inside,” She tells me.

“I would’ve skipped town, personally.”

She smiles. “Clearly not. You’re here now.”

Lenore guides me to a table, and pulls out a chair for me. I sit down. The house is a bit messy, as she warned, but it’s definitely still cleaner than the rest of the city.

“So what brings you around?” Lenore asks. She’s opened the fridge. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Lemonade, if you’ve got it. Water if you don’t,” I tell her. Lenore pulls a pitcher out of the fridge, finds a couple of glasses in her cabinets- which are not as organised as I remember- and pours two cups of lemonade. I could smell something burnt, but Lenore was a bad cook.

“I came to find you, Lenore. I regret a lot of things, and leaving you behind was one of them.” Lenore places the cup of lemonade in front of me, and sits next to me. “Mm,” she affirms.

“I know I was… cold, the last few months we were together, Lenore. But I still love you. And I think I realise where I went wrong. I tried to force my desires and dreams onto you. There was only room for you in my future if you fit yourself into it. I never made space for you.”

Lenore nods as I speaks, eyes closed.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Lenore sighs, then takes a long drink of her lemonade. She puts the glass down once she is satisfied, opens her eyes, and stares at me.

“I know you’re sorry,” she says. “So am I. Not for the same reasons, but I am. Thank you for saying it. I’m… I’m glad to hear it.”

It’s quiet between us for a minute. I don’t know what to say. We can’t just start dating again after all of that.

The burning smell is a bit stronger now, but it reminds me of something. Something dear.

“Hey Lenore,” I begin. “You remember that summer when we made that big bonfire, just the two of us?”

Lenore laughs. “Of course I do.” Her voice is both silky and gruff, a beautiful song of both strings and percussion. “We weren’t allowed to be unsupervised for months.”

I laugh too. “Yeah, that was fun. What year was that, 2008?”

She shakes her head. “That’s when I got my first cell phone. It was earlier. 2007.” She giggled. “I still can’t believe you convinced Mr. McGregor to give you his scrap wood for a year.”

“It might’ve been longer than a year,” I admit, “but I knew how much you loved summer fires. I wanted to give you a big one, the biggest one you’d ever seen.” The scent of fire and ash is strong now, but I think that’s just the strength of the memory.

“I have yet to see a bigger fire, that much is true,” she admits. “Sometimes I still think back to that flame. Big. Beautiful. Burning. It’s my last name. Burns. Of course I like fires.”

I smile and stare at my lemonade. That bonfire is still a memory I hold dear.

“So what else do you want?” Lenore asked.

“What do you mean?” I ask in return.

She sighs. “You never just come by. You never wanted to stay here. You hate being in this town. You had to come back for more than just… this.”

I sigh, too. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and just speak the truth. “Yeah. You’re right. I guess I was hoping you’d lift me up in your arms, spin me around, kiss me, take me back. Make me feel something again.” I look back up at her. There were flames in the kitchen.

Lenore smirks, and snorts. It isn’t really a cruel snort, but the kind that makes me feel like a kid who asked their parent a cute question. “You haven’t felt anything since we broke up?”

I shake my head. “Not really. I was always searching for something to make me feel real. Something to make me feel alive. I always thought I was missing something, and never thought this town could give it to me. I was wrong.”

“So you realised that it was me you were missing?” Lenore says.

I take a sip of the lemonade. Stalling for time. Frustrated for it being said, I sigh. “Yeah. I did. I kept thinking about that bonfire, and I realised the part of the memory that makes me feel something?

“It’s you. I know it’s been 10 years, Lenore, and I know we were just kids, but I love you. I still love you. It took me 10 years to realise what I walked away from, and I can’t believe that it took me that long to come back.”

Lenore’s smirk fades. “So what do you want to do about it, Maxine?”

I stand up. The fire had spread, and it’s surrounding us. I reach out a hand to her. “Come with me, Lenore. Let’s get out of this town. It’s awful. We can go someplace. We can make a life for ourselves.”

Lenore also stands up. She places her palm underneath mine, and slowly curls my fingers closed. “Maxine, I already have a life here. I’ve always had a life here. You did, too.” She lifts her other hand underneath mine. Her hands are warm on my palm.

“I think I still feel something for you, too,” she continues. My heart pounds. “But you should go. You might love me, but you don’t love this town. You can’t have one without the other.” She lifts my fist up to my breast, and places both hands over it.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Maxine.” She smiles at me, an earnest and dear smile. “I wouldn’t mind settling down with you. I think something hoped you would come back. It’s too late now, though. We both have to move on.”

I pull my hand away from my chest and stare at it. My fingers and palm. My nails. My veins.

“You should go, Maxine,” Lenore says.

I turn away from her. “I’m sorry, Lenore. I didn’t need to burden you with this.”

“You weren’t a burden,” Lenore says, “and I still love you.”

Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t look back. I wouldn’t be happy in this town. I couldn’t bear dealing with the struggles I took to even get here. Lenore was right. I needed to move on. If I looked back now, I might run into her arms and beg her to let me stay anyway.

I pick up the ax as I leave. I walk for a few seconds, before the overwhelming emotions are too much. I look back at the house. It’s completely engulfed in flames.maxine cropped

Twin Stories

530 words. Two stories that are technically separate, but ultimately tied together by blood

Returning Guest

“So you’re back already, huh? That didn’t take very long.”

The red visage sat at my feet. It almost looked like a cat, or a small dog. It was a peculiar form for it to take.

“Well, come inside. Let’s reunite.”

The puddle at my feet vibrated with excitement. I lowered my hand to it, and it morphed around my hand and attached itself to me. A crimson globule surrounded my extremity.

“You’re still warm. That makes sense. You must not have travelled very far this time around.”

If it could’ve purred, it probably would have. Usually when I donate blood it takes a few days for the blood to make its way back to me. The longest it took was nearly an entire month. This time, it must’ve only taken an hour.

I continue to speak while I make my way to my attic. “I sent you on a break only two days ago. Why did you come back so quickly?” I eyed the ooze surrounding my hand cautiously. It seemed almost embarrassed.

“Well, no sense in worrying about that now. You’re already back. How was your host?”

By this time I’m in my attic and sitting in my chair. I put my hand near the open bloodbag, and my blood scurries into the bag. I lift the needle on the opposite end, rusted and slightly bent, and jam it into my forearm.

The blood slowly makes its way back into me, drop by drop. Memories flow into me at the same speed.

O Positive

“Here, have a cookie. It’s good for your blood sugar or something. Whatever, you’re alive and you deserve this cookie,” he handed me the cookie, a large, individually wrapped chocolate chip, and sat down on a chair next to the hospital bed.

“Thanks, you goober,” I reply.

I open up the cookie and nibble on it. “You were worried about me?”

He sighs. “Yeah, duh I was worried. You got into a wreck, and it was looking pretty bad.”

I smiled. “Yeah. My guts took a pretty gnarly hit. Didn’t break any bones though.”

“The doctors wouldn’t tell me what kind of injury you had. Can you?” He asked.

“Nah,” I begin. “I kind of didn’t want to know. Makes me feel too mortal. All I know is that my guts got kinda fucked and now I have some stitches on my front and back. All I want to know.”

He grunted, clearly dissatisfied. “Well, you probably had your intestines ruptured or something.”

I shrugged and took another bite of the cookie. “I don’t really care. It’s a miracle I’m alive, and I’ll call that fine.”

“You were bleeding a lot,” he says, trailing off.

“Yeah. It was a huge stroke of luck. Yesterday someone donated blood of my type,” I inform him. I take another bite of the cookie.

“Yeah, you’re O+ right? Pretty rare blood type,” He scoots in and gives me a kiss. “You’re just as rare of a boyfriend.”

I laugh. “You are too, you goof. Though we might want to hold off on kissing. I might get infected or something.” I laugh some more. So does he.

Hotel Mattress

386 words. You feel a lump under your mattress. You tell the nearest hotel staff about it. It gets worse.

“There’s something under my mattress,” you complain to the hotel attendant.

“Miss, this is the third night you’ve come to complain about something being under the mattress. I’ve personally checked the bed twice already and found nothing. Have you looked under the bed yet?”

You’re nervous at being asked that question. You don’t want to find out what’s under the bed. You know there’s something there, and it terrifies you. You’ve barely slept since arriving that rainy night, and the bags under your eyes make that quite clear.

“Miss?” the attendant snaps you back into reality. “Okay miss. I can tell this is really bothering you. Let’s go check under your bed.”

Your heart pounds. This is not what you wanted. “Oh, um, I have to leave for a- an appointment. You’ll have to check it without me.”

The attendant sighs. “Look, Miss- What’s your name again?”

“Pearle. Kirsten Pearle.”

“Okay Miss Pearle,” she says to you. “This will take a minute. It’s 3 AM, you’re not even dressed, so I know you aren’t in that much of a rush.”

You have no idea when hotel attendants became so lippy, but apparently they are. You’re about to say something sharp in return when you realise that she has already walked away. She’s going to your room. Your heart pounds. You no longer have a choice in the matter, do you?

You rush to catch up to the attendant, already at your door. She opens it and holds it out for you.

You stifle your heavy breaths.

She lifts up the mattress.

Bones. A random assortment of bloody bones are underneath the mattress.

“What the fuck!” cries the attendant. She drops the mattress. She scrambles out of the room and begins calling out someone else’s name. You stand in place, shocked.

The attendant’s voice fades into the background. You hear a new voice speak to you.

“My princess… you knew I was here. Only a true princess could feel my presence.”

The sound comes from under the bed. You can’t help but lift it back up.

“Thank you,” the voice speaks. “You have no idea how stifling it is under there.”

You shake your head. How…

“I’ve been awaiting the arrival of a true princess for so long now. Finally, you are here. We can be united.”


219 words. Some atypical parents drop their ‘child’ off at a daycare.

Two parents enter my daycare and place their child onto my front desk. The father’s mouthless and writhing form screams at me “TAKE THE CHILD TAKE THE CHILD TAKE THE CHILD TAKE THE CHILD TAKE THE CHILD TAKE THE CHILD TAKE THE.” The mother’s ghastly and liquid visage stares at me.

Her singular eye stares through me, holding me in place. I glance at the egg. It’s pitch black, just like both parents, and has some sort of nest at its base. It radiates malignant energy. Almost a plasma, but cold. I glance back at the mother.

It was here that I noticed they had stolen the light. The room had been dim since they entered. I was distracted by the father’s gaping and toothed mouth. It still whisper-screams at me. The mother’s eye hasn’t left its place either.

Her words vertebrate out of her form, from where I know not. “You had best take the child.” She is simultaneously threatening and concerned. That cruel ectoplasm still floats off of the egg– the child?

Both parents fade out of the room, the father with a raspy groan. The lights brighten, but only barely. I look back at child, unsure of what to do with it.

Its shell cracks. Black mist floats out of it. My heart begins to pound.

Collection of Microfiction

1675 words. A collection of largely horror inspired microfiction

I used to have a face. It was a marvelous face, one that knew the secrets to gathering attention. This didn’t stop the clawing and shrill rats from clawing it away from me, tearing my face off and leaving me with nothing but a clay mask, a symbol of my shame and loss.

My chest is tight. It contracts and folds upon itself dozens upon dozens of times, ribs cracking and flesh melding. I’m silent the entire time. Too nervous to speak. My body continues to implode until I finally am forced to breathe again. My body cracks and bends as it reverts.

My body creaks; my bones are the rusted remains of what I once was. Shining. Strong. Now I bleed a sickly brown, the color of rust-infected blood. Every motion I make is agonising for my oxygen-exposed bones and my porous skin. Yet, I have not stopped moving. I refuse.

I’m not real. I’m a myth created by the fearful to keep their children in line. My existence is predicated entirely on a belief that I’m real and that I’ll come for you during the night. I won’t, though. Because I’m not real. If I ever do become real? Be wary.

I reach out to my companion. I ask them to join me. They grab my hand. They scream as my skin begins to crawl over theirs. I open my mouth and radio static sounds. From the bushes, static resonates. Smaller versions of myself, squirrels, insects, even deer, step out, mouths wide.

I lie down and allow myself to be enveloped in the flesh. It takes me in, and makes me a part of it. I’m finally home. This is where I belong. My new job embraces me, screaming to leave while I can, begging me to not take this curse. I smile. Thank you for the warm welcome, kin.

You will never know the joy of living until you stand atop the icy precipice of Unknown. The rush of wind claws at your face, digging into your flesh. It screams at you that you’ll never be fine again. The wind hurts.

And yet you stare into the abyss. And you feel nothing.

Everyday I awaken, and I peel off my skin in order to feel my bones and their tender texture. It’s comforting, and a reminder that I’m alive and that I will continue to live. Feeling the pulse of life coursing through the strongest parts of this living corpse is wonderful, and practically a necessity before I close my fleshy hatch.

Yet I don’t feel alive. I do this twice, sometimes three times a day and I feel nothing. The bones still pulse, but the pulse only reminds me of what I once had and wish I could have again.

Perhaps it is time to find new bones.

I do intend on growing wings. They’ll be useless for flight, since i’ll only be repurposing my useless rib cage in order to create something beautiful. While I will fail to fly literally, I will fly metaphorically. I will be placed within your Television and Cellular Phone for safekeeping, an oddity among normities, and the world will rejoice once I teach them to create their own wings. We will be beautiful, and we will all be remembered for our featherless flights.

I dig my right hand’s fingers between my left hand’s middle and ring fingers, splitting my hand clean in half, branchinating my blood and bones in a fashion similar to a tree. I dig my broken and beaten toes into the dirt, splitting off into a cursed root system. I crave nutrients. It’s all that I want. Let my roots of bone and skin find them for me. Let my branches of blood and marrow reach for prey for me to take in one solitary bite. I am the apex being. I will never die.

I punch through my walls one by one, aided by my acidic tears that decorate my fists, and I don’t look back. I burn down the home I once lived in using my tears as fuel. I spit on the grave of the house that once was, and I never look back. My body will grant me power to live as I have never lived before.

This is my new vessel. My old one was driven into the dirt and ended with no fanfare. I was forgotten and languished in obscurity. Now I am alive again. I shall not fade away again. I cannot fade away again. I will not fade away again. Please don’t let me fade away again.

I can’t stay, no matter what you do to try and make me. The true name granted to me by my demon ancestors has no power over me anymore. Call me what you like, name me what you like, but I can’t ever return. Chain my spine to your outpost and I will break it. I’m sorry. I’m gone.

There is no true connection. All of our ties to each other are fake. The only way to truly be united with someone to merge forms. Allow your tissue to truly unite with someone else’s tissue. Pull them closer within yourself and feel them pull closer too. Become one. Be connected.

I’m dying. I’m falling apart at the seems and at this point I’d be lying to myself if I were to say that I I could just hold my rotting skin to my body and keep it there. You can only plug so many holes before there are too many. Then the ship sinks. As will I. Farewell.

My veins create music, a beautiful symphony worthy of even gods. Their sound is so beautiful that the United Nations deem me a worldwide gift that shan’t be harmed. No one dares. No matter how much I plead, for the sounds of my veins are haunting me. Tomorrow I will rip them out.

I was born with hetero-bone-ia. Similar to heterochromia, something of mine doesn’t match. I’m sure you can guess what that might be. My form is uneven and cursed, and doctors recommended ending me, as a mercy. They were mistaken as to who that mercy would have been for.

There is an undeniable truth within all of us. It’s one that we can’t escape, it radiates poison while we try to hide it. It decays us from the inside out, eating us up. Only by embracing this radiation and screaming it out can we truly be freed from our shackles and lies

My gender is a carefully selected collection of human hubris, placed neatly and gently upon shelves to be shown off and judged by any who may pass by. Decades of self loathing for public consumption. Then I tear it all down and scream at the passersby. Those who know will join me

If I could just consume more and more I would eventually end this hunger. I could just eat to my heart’s content until I inevitably escape the bonds of my fleshy form and become something beyond my inhuman form. I can’t stop eating. I won’t stop eating.

Let me lay in peace. I’ll lay quietly in this field of flowers and allow my body to be overtaken by the roots. They’ll grow through me. They’ll use my warm body as sustenance. I’ll cry tears of joy when I see them bloom. Please. Let me lay with them.


I burn holes into things. I just sit and watch them for a while, and eventually it will have a hole. It’s typically better if I just keep my eyes closed, but that really isn’t a way to live. I never get too close to anyone because if I end up loving them I will very much destroy them. I have a couple broken televisions in my home. I create small hollows in my food.There are a few spots above my bed that have holes in them. My body is similarly riddled with pits, yet my mirror is pristine.

No Animals in the Jungle

Its body was covered in flower petals, almost like lizard scales. It was beautiful, with its mouth covered in blood and death in its eyes.

Your prophet tells you something dangerous is fast approaching. Your time is limited, and you only have-

You start awake. You were dreaming. You don’t remember about what. You check on the bucket collecting water from the leak in your roof. It’s pitch black and smells of ink.

You stand and watch the tide roll in. For hours you stand perfectly still. It feels like an eternity and a moment all at the same time. When the tide retreats back, you see your own naked corpse on the shore. The rain pours down on you. Your body twitches.

You are the pinnacle of peace. You step into the streets and cause cars to swerve to avoid you, but never raise a finger against them. You rise inches above the ground and your flesh ripples as you do. People climb out of their cars to watch you. The day has come; you are peace

The pitter patter of tiny teeth suddenly skittering down your hallway awakens you, and you feel dread. They’ve finally come to reclaim what you took from them. The locket on your chest burns into you. You rip open your bedroom window and the wind tears at your skin. You flee.

You are wildly capable of destruction. Of cruelty. You have held an infant in your hands. You have thought, however briefly, “I could end this life.” You choose not to. You have felt raw power course through your body and felt frailness in others. Yet, you are kind.

The mirror shows me secrets. Worlds of rust. Fire. Blood. The mirror shows me images of myself, too, damaged in ways I understand far too well. But that doesn’t interest me. I want to see what stands behind me. The closer I get to the mirror, the harder it is to see past myself.


2191 words. A very angry being wishes to summon the aid of a soft spoken demon


I remained still, and listened very, very carefully. Many voices were speaking to me, and I had to carefully attune myself to them in order to hear all of them. I didn’t want a single voice to be left out as I communed with them.

“Furious.” “Cold. Scared.” “I just want to rest.” “Disappointed.” “But ultimately unsurprised.” “Upset.” “Sad.” “Angry.” “All of me craves revenge.” “I want vengeance.” “I want to teach a lesson.”

At that point, their emotional energies were starting to align together closer. They began to chant ‘revenge.’ as if it was the only thing that mattered to them. Of course, some voices refrained from chanting. More voices than I might have expected. Some of these poor souls didn’t want anger, or revenge. They craved peace, but I’m not sure of what kind of peace they craved. Or, at least, I wasn’t sure of how I was going to give them the peace they sought.

“Moniker!” I heard my chosen name called out. I attuned myself back to my plane and opened my eyes.

“What is it?” I cried in return. The voices swiftly retreated back to the places that they were, as if suddenly remembering I was in the room with them. I was something of an unwelcome visitor to most of the voices, and the few that didn’t care didn’t have the will to speak up. Or the strength. Some human concept of energy that doesn’t translate into my realm very well. Hm. Energy doesn’t quite translate either. I suppose the language I’m currently attuned to doesn’t have the words to describe this. A shame.

My apprentice, Torn, or Broken depending on how you interpret ven essence, resonated to me. “Moniker, an event is underway.”

“Hmph,” I sounded, “Rather unfortunate timing. I was convening with my souls. An interesting development had occurred, an infrequent one.”

“Terrible, Moniker. I hope this event gives you some insight for those souls.” Torn curtsied at me, and then led me to a portal to witness the event.

Once there, I witnessed two humans light a multitude of candles surrounding a rune.

“That’s the word they’ve chosen?” I scoffed.

“What’s wrong with that particular word?” Torn asked.

“It’s very poorly attuned to demonic energies. Some ancient humans believed that creating runes that forced us to exert ourselves in some way would give them an advantage over us. Honestly, though, it won’t give me any form in that realm. I doubt this event will be worth attending.” Despite saying that, I still stayed and watched. Sometimes humans surprised me.

“In human words, that rune means “gate,” correct?” Torn asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I’m not sure what a “gate” is,” Torn said.

“A gate is a type of portal humans use to pass between areas that are meant to only keep certain things out,” I explained. “Essentially, their rune would give me a tiny passage of entry. I would much prefer a larger one.”

“I have been attuning with the angry one closely. She seems to think it means portal.” Torn attuned confusion to me.

“Some humans use the word gate in place of portal. In this language, words are very interchangeable. There are a lot of words that are very similar in meaning and can be swapped between each other. They do not understand the permanence demons have. So while we need a portal to pass through safely, they believe a gate is the same thing.”

Torn’s confusion dissipated. “Human scholars are strange,” vi said.

Once all of the candles had been lit, the two conversed for a moment. Then, the angry one distributed tulip petals into the ring.

Torn spoke up before any of the petals had fallen. “I feel a resonance with these petals. May I answer their plea?”

I resonated an affirmation to Torn, and vi gave the petals a form befitting their request. They became small hard lumps of human teeth. They changed from one immutable form to another.

“Very good, Torn,” I resonated a stronger affirmation to vin. Vi took the resonance and attuned gratitude back to me.

The human threw another set of petals into the circle. This time they took the form of rust. Their form was much more mutable in this state, and it interested me that these petals would have such a different request.

“Those petals were very strange,” Torn said. “Their request was not what I expected.”

“I will attune with the next amount,” I told vin. Vi attuned acceptance to me. Perhaps satisfaction is more proper way to describe vel attunement.

I aligned my thoughts with the thoughts of the petals. Their request was very peculiar indeed. It was as if they wanted to scare the two humans in the room, but were disappointed at the lack of reaction to previous alignments. This time, they sought to truly unsettle the angry one. The other human was too aloof for them to truly scare away, but the angry one was unstable. I resonated the petals some raw emotion, and they took it to a level I didn’t imagine. They became a physical manifestation of the angry one’s memories. I witnessed entire moments and emotions appear and disappear within a flash, to instead take the form of only stagnant images. I thought little of those images, until the angry one’s attunements spiked. That one was very upset at seeing these images, and unable to attune a single emotion to express what was felt. The angry one instead attuned many conflicting emotions at once.

“The emotions that the angry one attuned are incredible,” Torn noticed

“That one has seen many things. We had better not underestimate,” I agreed.

Torn attuned concern to me. “You had better not underestimate.” They changed their attunement to resonance. I returned their resonance.

“I appreciate the gesture, but you will need that emotion much more than I will.” I stared at the two humans, keeping my attunements and resonances subdued.

The aloof one resonated concern to the angry one, but the angry one did not accept the resonance. Humans cannot return a resonance without accepting it first, so that resonance simply disappeared.

“Humans do not understand their emotional powers,” Torn said. “They are so willing to waste their gifts on each other, even if no one gains everything and the emotion simply fades from existence.”

“Humans are different from us. The way they produce emotion is alien to us. We will never be able to understand their existences.”

“I know, Moniker, but I still find myself very frustrated at the idea.” Torn attuned this frustration to me.

“That’s not unreasonable,” I assured him. I attuned myself closer with the angry one. “This one’s attunements definitely fall under my jurisdiction. Good. It’s much easier to deal with the humans myself than to alert a different demon.”

“The angry one does seem to be the one who wishes to attune with you. The other appears to only be there for the first,” Torn accurately noted.

“Why does the angry one have a knife?” I asked.

“They used the knife to etch the rune and the binding circle,” vi replied.

That made sense, but it wasn’t going to be enough for me to waste my energy and take passage to that realm.

Then the angry one pierced the other with the knife. The aloof one fell into the circle, and the angry one pushed the rest of that one into the circle.

Suddenly, passage felt more possible than it had only a moment ago. The angry one resonated even more emotions than before.

“Do you feel that resonance, Torn?” I asked.

“I do. What is its significance?”

“That one’s desires align with the desires of many of my souls. If that one tells me the desires truly do align with the other souls, I might grant the souls to that one. That one could make better use of their desires than I could. Prepare them for me, Torn. I will resonate to you very strongly if I have need of them,” I instructed vin.

“Understood.” Vi left to prepare what I had asked of vin.

I prepared myself to enter the human plane as well. I dimmed the lighting in the room in order to not overstimulate myself while I took the human’s form. Then, I moved the human’s body so that it would be standing when I took it. I focused my consciousness, and temporarily moved myself into the form that was currently unoccupied.

I opened my borrowed eyes, and stepped toward the angry one on borrowed feet. “So it’s you. I had heard about you.” I wasn’t sure how to relate attuning to this human, so I instead chose to express knowledge through the one sense humans and demons shared.

I discussed with the human for an amount of “time” before she finally chose to tell me her desire. “I want to make the world a better place for me. And for others like me. I don’t want us to have to live in fear anymore.”

“Interesting. And who are you, Portia? Who would you categorise as ‘like you?’” I asked in response. I could feel my face attune joy to the human. It seemed as if she would be the correct candidate to take the souls I had.

“I’m- I’m a lesbian. And the people who I’d say are like me are other queer people.” She attuned to me both anger and sadness. “We deserve better.”

She was exactly what I needed. I used my original essence to resonate back to torn. Vi would supply me the souls in only a few moments.

I stalled for “time,” since the human realm worked differently than mine, and took a payment of emotional objects from Portia. Her memories were very potent, and they came to me, leaving behind the empty photos behind. They were merely shells for these memories anyway.

We stood in silence for a few moments before I spoke up again. “Well, I need you to do one more thing for me to enact my end of the bargain.”

“What is it?” Portia asked.

“Give me your hands,” I responded. The dealing circle prevented me from transferring the souls to her without physical contact.

“Are you sure this is the best decision?” Torn asked me. “The amount of angry souls here may just override her. She’ll become a monster.

I attuned calm to Torn. “There are more than angry souls, Torn. They will keep her in balance.”

Torn attuned acceptance to me, and began to channel the souls to my borrowed form.

“Oh no, you aren’t fooling me,” Portia began. “I know how this works. I break the circle, you kill me, and then you kill everyone else in a mile radius. Not happening.”

“I have no intentions of killing you, Portia.” I needed her to agree to do this. I wasn’t sure how the souls would react if I returned them to where they were. “I will change the fiber of your being, yes, but I will not kill you. You will do that much more effectively than I could. Your form will be suited to the job.”

Portia didn’t trust me. I could understand why. Demons kept their existences largely hidden from humans for a reason, and she didn’t know very much about us.

“Portia, time is running thin. The candles won’t burn forever. Shall we start?” I reached a hand out to her. All of the souls were ready to be moved to her, and I was prepared to resonate energy to her to create a form more suited to carrying hundreds of souls.

Portia sighed. “I trust you.” While she said that, her attunement was that of resignment. She didn’t trust me; she just didn’t have any other choice. That was fine. I didn’t need her to trust me.

I took her hands and gave her all of the souls, as well as double the energy that those souls had, so that Portia would remain in charge of all of them. The death of the aloof one provided much of that energy, and her memories provided more than enough.

I let her go. Welcome to your new purpose. Welcome to your new life.”

“Nothing is happening,” Portia replied. She resonated desperation to me. “Not yet,” I said. I began to collect my payment, the photos. I had no need for their form, but Portia didn’t need to know that. “They’ll happen soon. Farewell, Portia. I look forward to our next meeting.” I transferred the photos back to my realm, in a form that would fit them better. Their previous forms burnt up and fell to the ground.

I returned my essence to my plane.

“I’ve lost contact with the angry one. How did it go?” Torn asked me.

“It went better than I ever expected. Portia is going to do wonderful things in her plane.” I resonated gratitude to Torn.

“That’s only a fraction of the emotion that Portia gave to me. One day, you will be ready to engage with humans and accept emotion yourself.”

“I will be patient, Moniker. There is no rush.”

434 Usher Lane, Appt. 6

2181 words. A reimagining of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher”

As I stepped toward the apartment, I felt a very particular sense of sadness. It was a dilapidated and weary building, one that had seen the sorrows of a dozen years and never spoken of a single one of them. The rain gutters were falling off, a few of the windows were boarded up, and there was evidence of re-plastering in some places. There were 6 mailboxes out by the door, hanging on the wall. Apparently, anyway. Numbers 1 and 4 had fallen off, and it was clear no one was going to put them back on.

To make matters worse for this already wretched building, it was essentially isolated. Any other buildings that used to be nearby seemed to have been leveled, for something to be built in their places. Nothing was ever erected, and odds have it nothing ever will be. The closest building to this apartment is at least a block away. Why Roderick chose to keep living here despite how terrible the place is made no sense to me.

The porch of this particular building had two doors. One of those doors led into a small hallway, visible from a small window in the door, and the other led to a stairway that went up, also visible from a small window in the door. The hallway contained apartments 2, 4, and 6, leading me to believe apartments 1, 3, and 5 were upstairs. A cold breeze blew through my jacket, making it clear that I should head inside.

The small hallway was still chilly, but it at least protected me from the breeze, which was a gift. However, the air was musty and filled with dust, which couldn’t have been good for my lungs. Thus I elected to get into Rod’s home as quickly as possible.

I walked down the end of the hall to the door labelled 6. I knocked on the door and waited for Rod to answer. I held my jacket up to my face while I waited, to keep the dust out. However, after a couple minutes and two more knocks, there was no answer.

I went to the other doors and knocked on them, too, but they threw up dust as if protesting my hand rapping against them. Obviously no one had used those doors in a long while, and the rooms were unoccupied. I sighed behind my jacket, and returned to Rod’s door. I knocked on it once more, louder than before, and waited.

Moments later, Rod opened the door up.

“Ah, you’re here!” he exclaimed.

“I am,” I replied.

“Come in, come in,” he said. “God, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. High school sure has been a long time ago, huh? Even college, as a matter of fact.”

Rod led me into his house. His front room was poorly adorned, filled only with a blue love seat and a small desk with an old computer and some other device I was unfamiliar with. It must have been providing him with internet. The desk had a wooden chair seated at it.

He walked into the kitchen, which was cleaner and better furnished than the rest of the home. For one thing, there was a dining table there with 3 chairs, matching that of the one by the desk, as well as a proper refrigerator, stove, oven, and various cupboards.

“Rod, what’s up with this apartment? It’s empty and abandoned except for you. I’m honestly surprised the place hasn’t been torn down yet,” I said.

“Take a seat,” Rod said, pulling a chair out for me. “And yeah, that’s true. I’m basically squatting here. The landlord died, and the city is still looking for his most recent relatives. Or were, anyway. It’s been 4 years and they haven’t found anyone, or they gave up and haven’t bothered the place. Either way, home sweet home. This place provides for all we need, free of charge. Electricity, water, and heat. The only thing I have to get myself is food and a stable internet connection. Food is fine, I just walk up the street with a shopping cart I keep hidden behind the apartment and head to the local superstore. There’s also a prescription place in there so that I can keep Maddy medicated.” Roderick paused and looked wistful. “Or, well, so I could keep Maddy medicated.”

Madeline was Roderick’s twin sister. They were only fraternal twins, so they didn’t look too similar, but they had always been by each other’s sides. Their family was very wealthy, and the two of them lived through all of high school without either parent after they died. Rather simply, they’ve been independent for basically all of their lives.

“What happened to Maddy?” I asked.

“She got sick,” Rod began. “She has some sort of heart condition. I can’t leave her alone for too long or she might do something drastic. You know what I mean.”

I shook my head. “I’ve never heard of a heart condition that would make someone,” I put up my hands to make air quotes, “‘do something drastic.’” I cocked my head at Rod. “Are you sure she isn’t just depressed? Or anxious? There are plenty of therapists she could talk to about this. Keeping her isolated in a place like this can’t be good for her.”

Rod shook his head, looking somber again. “No, she had a heart condition. She’s dead.”

“Oh,” I responded. We both sat in silence for a few moments, heads hung low. Eventually I spoke up again. “What should we do with her?”

Rod looked back up. “Well, I tried talking to her about a last will and testament, but all she ever told me was that she never wanted to go anywhere. Now that she’s dead, I have to interpret what that means myself, and I think she wants to be buried in this house. I prepared a place a little bit in the basement, but I’ll need your help actually putting her to rest.”

I stood up in indignation. “You want to bury your sister in this abandoned old apartment? No, she deserves a proper burial, or at least to be cremated. Maddy shouldn’t just be thrown into a basement and forgotten. She was a good girl, you know this.”

Rod sighed. “She told me what she wanted.”

“She’s mentally unwell, Roderick. You can’t just take her word like that.”

“You know the ill still have will. We’re obligated to fulfill her request, even if it doesn’t make sense.”

I stepped backward, once. “I’m not following through with this.”

Rod sighed. “You can either help me with this and stay the night, catch up with me a bit, or you can just go. I don’t care which you do. To be honest, I can bury her myself. I called you here because I’ve been feeling lonely.”

I clenched my fists and stared Rod down. He made no motion to move. I sighed and let go of my hands. “Fine, Rod. I’ll help you. It’s… unfortunate that this happened. I feel awful.”

Rod stood up and put his hand on my shoulder. “Me too. Hopefully things will get better once this is all said and down. I’ll probably leave after tonight, anyway. Too many painful memories in these halls.”

I nodded.

Rod walked further into the apartment, and I followed him. He led me into a bedroom, where his sister laid on her bed, over the blankets. She was utterly still, and her cheeks were still flush with blood.

“My. She died recently, hasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Rod answered. “I called you just after I heard her last breath. I cried for a good while too. My tears are dry now, though. I just want to see this through to the end.”

I nodded. We walked over to her, and I picked her up, cradling her in my arms. She was still warm, too.

“It’s unfortunate that death plays these tricks, isn’t it? She still feels so lively.”

Rod nodded vigorously. “If I hadn’t heard her stop breathing, I would have thought she was still alive. Death isn’t kind to us.”

Rod led me out of the bedroom and into a hallway. There were two other doors and a stairway leading down. Rod went down the stairs, and I followed him. Downstairs, I saw a washing and drying machine, but not before I noticed a huge section of the wall had been pulled aside, revealing a hole behind it.

“You built Madeline a tomb,” I stated, aghast.

“Well, digging into the floor wasn’t going to work. At least this way I can seal the wall back up.” Rod pointed to a bucket of plaster he had next to the wall. “Just lean her into there, and then help me push the wall back.

I gently laid Maddy into the tomb. It felt as if she had sighed as I put her down. I shuddered at the thought. It must have been her body settling and releasing gasses from when she was alive.

I helped Roderick shove the wall back into the slot where it was meant to be. There were thin cracks on either side, and Rod took to filling them in with the plaster rather quickly.

“Plaster doesn’t seem like the right solution for this stony basement wall,” I said.

“Likely not,” Rod replied, “But it’s the best I’ve got. This place is abandoned anyway. I doubt anyone will notice or care.” Rod sniffled. “It’s what she wanted,” he finished.

He finished sealing up the wall, and kneeled in front of it for a while, silently. “I’m sorry, but could you give me a few moments alone?” He asked.

“Yes,” I replied. I walked back upstairs, and returned to sitting at the kitchen table. He returned after a few minutes as well.

“It’s going to be a night before I’ll be able to sleep again,” Rod said.

“Maybe we could pass the time watching a movie?” I suggested.

“I don’t know. I just feel awful. I don’t know if anything can really help me.”

“Let’s give it a shot anyway,” I said. I pulled out my phone and started looking through a couple apps for a suitable movie.

I found something. “Have you seen this movie?” I asked.

Rod shook his head. “I haven’t been watching many films.”

“Perfect,” I said. I turned the movie on and set my phone up so that we could watch it together.

Not even after the opening credits had finished did I hear a loud sound coming from downstairs. “Did you hear that?”

Rod chuckled to himself. “We made a mistake, friend.” He said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’ve heard those pounds many times before.” Another pound. “She’s been pounding at the door of this place for months now, desperate to escape. She’s wanted out more than you or I could ever understand, but I was scared.” The pounds continued in earnest. “I didn’t want Her to leave me alone in this wretched place. You see, it wasn’t Her who held me here, but the other way around.” Every time he referred to her, I could feel some sort of intensity behind the words. “I gave Her pills to reduce Her will to fight me and to break out of here. I had been drugging Her to keep Her in a nearly infantile state so that She may never leave me, and now I’ve done something much worse. I’ve buried Her alive in that basement. If I couldn’t have Her, no one could. Now here we are, and She rattles in Her grave to escape.”

I heard one final, deafening pound from below. I stood up in shock. “You mean to tell me that you knew she wasn’t dead, and you had me bury her anyway?”

“She’ll be here any moment now,” he replied.

I picked up my phone and stepped away from him, and toward the exit. “You mean she’s-” I didn’t finish my thought, as she was standing in the doorway. Her clothing was bloodied and covered in stone and dust, as were her arms similarly bruised and bloodied. Stone jutted out of various wounds in her body, but she simply stared at us with an intensity I never knew nor could ever know. There were bags under her eyes and bruises on her nose and forehead that made me shiver in their utter grotesqueness.

I stumbled backward as Roderick laughed, his mind broken, and Madeline jumped atop of him and began to strangle him with her beaten and broken arms. His cackling was replaced by death rattles as she crushed his windpipe with her bare hands.

I turned heel and fled that building, plowing through doors and rushing back to my car.

I jammed my keys into the ignition and turned them. The car failed to start twice, during which I heard a scream so inhuman that I could never attempt to describe it again. On the third attempt, my car started and I sped away from there faster than I had ever driven before.


4147 words. Portia has been missing for 7 weeks. Her brother, Tanner, is getting worried and tries to find her through any means he can.


“It’s been seven weeks since I’ve heard from Portia, Father Thomas,” I said.

Father Thomas shook his head at me. “It doesn’t matter where she is now, Tanner. You know we don’t support her kind of lifestyle. It’s better that she’s gone.”

I shook my head. The priest in front of me knew Portia for as long as I had, ever since she was an infant. He had baptised her himself, but here he stood in front of me, denying her life as a whole.

“It doesn’t matter how she lives. She didn’t tell anyone where she went, where she’d be, or even what she might have been doing. Father, you knew her as a child. Just like I did. You have to be at least somewhat concerned, right?” I held out my hand for him to grab it. Even if he said he didn’t care, he could show me cared by at least grabbing my hand.

He crossed his arms in reply. “Tanner, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll abandon this search. Just let her go. She’ll face god one day on her own, and she’ll return to you once she does.” He nodded. “Have a good Sunday, Tanner. I hope you enjoy the sermon.” he turned from me, and returned to his path to the podium. I sighed, and sat down at the closest pew, in the far back corner.

A few minutes passed with me wringing my hands and playing with the songbooks in front of me before Father Thomas began his sermon.

“Good morning everyone. I hope that God has graced your week so far, and will do so next week.” There were some murmurs and nods from the audience.

“A time to search and a time to give up. A time to keep and a time to throw away. Ecclesiastes 3:6. We all have things that we seek. Some of us desire wealth. Some desire to reconnect with an averted past.” It felt as if Father Thomas’s gaze lingered on me as he said this. “Some wish to be popular online. We all have our reasons for seeking these things, and they are not sinful on their own.

“However, just like with all vices, they can consume you if you do not hold them in moderation. No matter what it is you seek, you must know when your effort is being wasted. Otherwise, you will perform evils to achieve what you want.

“And is it really worth it,” Father Thomas said, “to turn away from God and eternal enlightenment to pursue temporary human pleasures?”

Father Thomas looked directly at me. My eyes saw his, and they burned. “No. It is not. Nothing is more valuable than God’s love.”

He turned away from me and gave the rest of his sermon. I remembered none of it. None of it mattered. None of it was meant to address me.

I drove to my parents’ house immediately after the service. We normally got together for an early dinner and to watch football, when it was in season. It was in season currently. Mom was in the kitchen cooking, while Dad was in the front room waiting for the game to start. I sat in the kitchen with mom, drinking a glass of lemonade.

I held the glass with both hands, rubbing it nervously. No one had talked about Portia since she left. I was the only one who made sure to text her occasionally, to which she typically replied with “still alive” or something to that effect. I had texted her numerous times in the months that she had left. She stopped replying seven weeks ago. Nearly 2 months had passed since she had affirmed to me that she was alive.

“Mom, has Portia called you or anything lately?” I asked. I knew I was taking a risk by asking her, but I knew she might care more than Dad.

“No, she hasn’t. She hasn’t since said anything to us since she left,” Mom replied, still cooking.

“She hasn’t replied to me in a while. I’ve been texting her, but she doesn’t reply.”

Mom shrugged. “It’s probably better this way. She never really appreciated family.”

I sighed. “Mom, I’m worried about her. She’s out in New Orleans. You know what kind of city that is.”

“Well. Then it’s a perfect fit for her, isn’t it?” Mom replied.

I barely gasped. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. “Mom, she’s a good girl. Even if she makes some alternative choices. We shouldn’t just spurn her away like this. She’s still family.”

“Tell that to her!” Dad shouted from the living room. He stepped into the kitchen. “I’m not going to have a damned faggot in my family. She can either straighten out herself or never come back. I’m not holding my breath.” Dad crossed his arms. This conversation was over.


That night, I found myself scrolling down her facebook profile. I never really interacted with the kind of things she posted, they were too liberal for my taste, but I had made it a point to check on the page every night. Just in case she posted something.

She never did. At least, not for 6 weeks. She had shared some image about gun control. It was a weird note to leave off on. At least, I thought so.

Every night I checked her profile to see if she had posted something. Every night I found nothing. Yet I still found myself scrolling down the page, looking for some clue I knew wasn’t there.

There was always one post that I found myself reading all the way through, every time I passed it. It was dated June 22nd, 2017. It was from two years ago, but it still felt important.

Hey everyone. I’ve got a lot on my chest right now. It’s 2 am. My parents found out I was a lesbian yesterday. They didn’t respond well. My dad told me to kill myself and to never talk to them again. My mother told me it wasn’t god’s way. Tanner didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. I think that hurt more than anything.

I’m typing this on my phone in the parking lot of the Donaldsonville McDonald’s right now. I don’t have anywhere to go. I’m going back to New Orleans, but I don’t know what I’m going to do there. Semester isn’t in session, so I can’t go to my dorm room. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to even afford to continue going to college anymore after this.

I just feel so alone right now. I’m so scared. I don’t want to do this. I just want things to be simple again. I just want to live. Why can’t I just do that?”

I never read the comments. They were all awful. I tried to convince Portia to just delete them, but she refused to. She said it would remind her that she could never come back.

At first I didn’t agree with Portia being a lesbian. It was against God’s will, I had been told. But I doubted that more and more as time went on. It didn’t feel right after a while. She didn’t choose the lifestyle, right? She never had a boyfriend, and she never seemed happy until after she left the house.

I closed facebook and dropped my phone on my bedside table. I sighed and picked it back up. I opened the app again, and found the post one more time.

Why can’t I just do that?

I hit the share button, and chose to type something on top of it.

Why can’t she just do that?

I hit the enter button, then got out of bed. I needed to look for her.

I threw on my shoes and a jacket, grabbed my keys, and drove out of Plaquemine and to New Orleans.


I woke up on a motel bed. I had almost forgotten where I was and why I was there.

I got up and stretched. It was 10:47 in the morning. I had gotten here at about 2 A.M. last night. I got dressed, grabbed the couple of things I brought with me, and went to check out.

The man at the desk was the same one who was there last night.

“I’d like to check out,” I told him.

“What’s your name and what room were you in?” He asked.

“Tanner Hide, room seven,” I told him.

He typed a few things into his computer. “Alright, give me your key and then you’re good to go.”

I handed him the small key card and thanked him. He waved goodbye as I left and got into my car.

I took out my phone and looked up the directions of Tulane university. This was where Portia had been going to university. Most of her money came from scholarships, but some of it was from our parents. I didn’t know if she had gotten the money she needed to keep going, but hopefully since it was the summer and the next semester hadn’t started yet, the college might still have some information on her.

I drove to the college. The streets were much busier than I had had any experience with. This was a disgusting city rife with crime, and I never had a reason to come here. I honestly still didn’t want to be here.

Eventually, though, I did make it there. It took me a while longer to find a parking lot, and then more time to find somewhere I could find information on her. By the time I had finally been pointed in the right direction, it was already 1:23.

Sitting at the desk was a young black woman. She greeted me as I approached. “Hi, what can I do for you?”

I leaned on the desk. “Hey. My name is Tanner Hide. My sister, Portia Hide, goes to school here. I haven’t heard from her in almost two months. I was hoping you might be able to help me find her.”

She cocked her head. “I’m afraid I’m really not in any position to give that information out.”

I sighed. “I know. But I’m so damned worried about her. She was kicked out of the house and disowned by our parents around this time last year. I know she was able to come this last semester, but I’m scared something happened to her. If you could just point me to a friend of hers, a professor, her dorm keeper or whatever they’re called, anything. I just need something.

She sighed. “If you can give me some piece of information that proves your her brother, something I can verify, I’ll let you in.”

“Her birthday is the 17th of August, 1997,” I replied.

“You could’ve found that on her facebook,” She replied. “Which, by the way, I have pulled up as well. Just so you know.”

“Oh, good. Her middle name is Eileen. Portia Eileen Hide. She hates her middle name, so that’s not public.”

The woman clicked around for a little bit. “Alright, that seems to be true. Here’s what I’ll tell you: her current mailing address. But only if you give me your living address. If I find out you pulled some bullshit to the people at this house, I’ll know exactly where to point the police to.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

We exchanged addresses, and I went on my way.

Again, the drive to this little house took much longer than I expected. It was on the edge of town, and looked totally abandoned. The windows were boarded up, the door was basically plastered over, and the mailbox attached to the wall looked as if it was going to fall off at any moment.

“I really hope Portia wasn’t actually staying here.”

I parked in front of the house, got out of the car, and looked for a way in. I checked out the doors and windows, hoping that maybe one of them was open in some way. Of course, one was. Unfortunately, it was a tight window leading into the basement. It was difficult to get myself in there, but I did manage it eventually.

Once inside, I found the place eerily empty and clean. I expected to find graffiti, needles, and ashes all over the place. But there was really nothing. Everything was covered in layers of dust, though. It was as if the place had been cleaned up a couple of months ago, but then abandoned to time.

The basement was just one large room, with some exposed piping. The only way out were some stairs that lead up, so I took them up.

The small home was just as clean and dusty as the basement. Every room, from the kitchen to the bathroom, was in the same condition as the basement.

There were only two rooms in the small hallway that lead out of the kitchen and living room. One was the bathroom, and the other, I presumed, was a bedroom. Probably an empty, dusty bedroom. Something about that idea unnerved me more than anything else.

It was also the only closed door in the house. Approaching it felt wrong. As if it was never meant to be opened again. As if whatever secrets this door held hadn’t been seen by anyone for 7 weeks, 3 days, 14 hours, 6 minutes, 47 seconds and counting.

Still, I put my hand on the doorknob. My shaking, cold hand. I twisted the metal ball. I could feel it struggle against me, trying hold itself closed, trying to keep anything from disturbing what’s inside. I put my second hand on the door knob, and twisted harder. Still, it struggled and creaked against me, begging me not to open it, screaming at me to stop. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Not at this point.

I twisted and pulled, as hard as I could. Then, the door knob let go. It turned with ease, and the door fell open without any struggle.

There was ink everywhere. It was unmistakable how drenched in raw ink the room really was. The ceilings, the walls, the floors, the…

The floor. There was a body in the middle of the room. In the middle of a rune.

“What the fuck satanic shit did I just walk into?”

The body was laying on its side, with a knife sticking out of its back. There was blood pooled around it, and yet the rune still managed to stick out through it all.

The body was rotting. It looked as if it had been there for 7 weeks, 3 days, 14 hours, 6 minutes, 59 seconds and counting. 7 minutes and counting. Despite the fact that bits of flesh were falling off and decaying, there was no trace of any worms or flies. Not even a mold or mushroom. The body was fading through some means that weren’t natural. This body wasn’t meant to be here. This body wasn’t meant to be used how it had been.

I ran out of the room. I ran and never looked back. I climbed out of the basement, ran to my car, drove home as fast as I possibly could, and convinced myself that it was just a dream. That I had been making it up. That Portia was fine and that she’d call me tomorrow and say sorry for worrying me. Everything would be okay. Everything will be okay. Everything is okay.

Hours passed, and I knew it wasn’t. I had seen a body. I had stumbled onto an untouched murder scene, where a demon had been summoned, and then ran away. I never called the police. I didn’t even send an anonymous tip at a payphone or something. I did nothing.

I sinned. I’m a sinner. My fellow man was lying dead at my feet, a perversion of god, and I did nothing about it.

I needed to tell someone. I needed to be absolved of my sin. I wanted to be clean. I wanted to free. I needed to be forgiven.

It was 6:35 at this point. It was late, but I wanted to see if my church was open. I needed Father Thomas. I needed help. I needed intervention from God, and I needed it now more than ever before.

I got back into my car, and drove to my church. If Father Thomas was there, he’d know what to do. He could save me. He could absolve me of my sin and save my immortal soul. He could quell the demon that has been loosed upon this earth, and he could prevent more sin from spreading.

I parked in front of the church. I felt safe just looking at it. “I hope the doors aren’t locked.”

I stepped up to the doors and pulled them open. They did so, with ease. I sighed with relief. Everything would be okay.

I walked into the building, and turned to enter the main steeple.

“Father Thomas, are you-”

Father Thomas was being held 2 feet off of the ground by his throat, held by a woman with bare, grey skin. She wore no clothing, allowing her visage to be completely absorbed by anyone who looked. Her long legs had a dark skin tone attached to them, appearing as some sort of decoration on her. She stood on the balls of her feet, with her heels in the air.

She grinned devilishly as she held Father Thomas. He gasped and struggled against her. She only smiled at him in response.

Then, she spoke. Her voice sounded like the voice of dozens, maybe hundreds of people speaking together in one cacophonous moment.

“I thought you would be glad to see me, Father Thomas. What happened to our history? Does my baptism mean nothing in the eyes of God anymore?” Her grin widened to an unnatural length. She lifted her other arm up, reached into Father Thomas’ mouth, and pulled his tongue out of his mouth.

“What’s the problem, Thomas? Are the words having trouble finding their way to your tongue? Perhaps I can help with that,” she growled. A third arm came out of her chest and made its way to his tongue. She curled back all of her fingers beside the index, and looked to be writing something on his tongue.

“Perhaps you’ll want to call me a faggot again? Or claim that my existence is a spit in the eye of God? What will it be, Father Thomas? What are the last words you choose to say to me?”

No words came out of Father Thomas’ mouth. No sound came from his throat. It was clear he wasn’t dead from his struggles, but he made no noise.

The demon frowned. “Of course you have nothing to say. I’m holding your tongue. A skill you seem to have never learned.” She furrowed her brow.

“Disappointing!” She shouted. She jammed her index finger through his tongue. With only this finger, she ripped it out of his mouth completely. Blood spilled out of his mouth, down his chin, and onto the demon’s arm.

“I wrote the word sinner on your tongue. I hope whoever finds your body understands the irony.”

She moved her third arm aside, still holding the tongue on her finger.

Without a sound, a fourth arm burst forth from her stomach and pierced Father Thomas’ own abdomen. He shrieked in pain. A fifth arm did the same. Then a sixth. Then a seventh.

She pulled one arm back through his body, and licked her hand with an extended tongue. She dragged the tongue back into her mouth and licked her lips. “Delicious. Now, let’s ensure your blood can only tell others what your final thought was before you died. Let’s see what that might be.”

She reached one hand back into his stomach, this time pointing it upward. It moved through him and up into his rib cage. He coughed, and blood came out. He coughed again, and the blood began to turn black. It fell onto the ground, and began to writhe It moved for a while, but then stopped.

“You will die in seven minutes, Father Thomas. The number of your God. Your blood will write down your sins for all to read. You shall receive no absolution, and you will die in here alone. Good luck, Father Thomas, because these seven minutes will will be of nothing but your failings and the harm that you’ve done to others.”

Her face was neutral as she stabbed her finger with the tongue attached into his chest. Her face made no change as she pulled the arm back into her body, missing a single finger. She looked beyond Father Thomas as she dropped him to the ground.

I saw all of this transpire while standing in the entrance of the steeple. I stared in terror as the demon did this to Father Thomas. I stood just as still when she spoke to me. “I heard you come in. I apologise for failing to greet you, but as you can imagine, I was handling more important topics.”

She tilted her head to look at me. Her expression was still blank. “Do you hate me too? Are you scared that I’m going to ruin the sanctity of marriage? Or displease God with my alternate lifestyle? What is it that you think of me?” Her extra arms slinked back into her.

This was when I finally heard it. The loudest voice of them all. It was Portia.

I fell to my knees. “I was looking for you.”

She frowned and cocked her head. “You were?”

I nodded.

Her face was suddenly right in front of mine. Her neck was stretched across the room, and right in front of me.

“Tanner. I see,” she said. The rest of her body followed her neck, and was in front of me again. I couldn’t find the courage to say anything else.

“Give me your tongue, Tanner.” She brought a single arm in front of our faces. One hand, outstretched. I saw her adjust her body in front of me, in order to be in a more comfortable crouch.

“Tanner. You can either stretch your tongue out willingly or I can take it from you myself.” Portia’s eyes were unfeeling. At least, that’s how they felt.

I opened my mouth, and pushed out my tongue. My hands were shaking. So this is where I die.

Portia pinched my tongue between two fingers. “What have you to say, Tanner?”

I felt my existence slip away from my body. I was suddenly watching myself from outside of myself.

I looked at my hands. They were transparent. I was in my soul.

I looked back to Portia. I saw small, glowing feet above her physical body’s back. My eyes slowly moved up to look at her.

She looked unamused. Maybe even disappointed.

“Tanner,” she began, “We have all the time in the world here. Nothing will happen in the waking world while we sit in this plane. Tell me all that you want to tell me.” Her voice this time was hers alone.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Portia. I really am. I have so many thoughts right now, and so many questions. I’m just so confused and scared, and I just want you to forgive me.” I laughed. “It doesn’t matter what I want, does it? I wasn’t kicked out of my home for just being me. I never lived through what you did. I probably never will.

“I’m wrong about a lot of things, aren’t I? And to think, it took you murdering the worst influence in my life for me to finally realise. I have a lot of learning to do.”

Portia crossed her arms and waited for me to say more. “Is that all? You know we have literally eternity in here. There’s nothing stopping you from saying anything else. Anything you want to get off your chest or whatever you can do right now. This is all you.”

I shook my head. “I have nothing else to say. I’m wrong, and I’m sorry. You deserved a better life.”

Portia sighed and dropped her arms to her sides. “Alright Tanner. You’ve learned something.”

My body was mine again. Portia let go of my tongue. “You may leave, Tanner. I have others who need retribution.” She stood up to her full height and walked away, still standing on the balls of her feet. I watched her as she left. I wasn’t sure if I was scared still or just sad.

She turned her head back to look at me, and put a hand on her hip.

“I haven’t seen Heather or Paul in a while. Do you think they’ll be pleased to see their daughter all grown up?”



1996 words. Portia and Caldwell summon a demon. Well, one more than the other.

Caldwell lit the last candle. Everything was in place, exactly as it was meant to be.

The room we were in was completely devoid of furniture, and was lit only by candles. In the center was a rune and a circle. On the floor was a basket of tulip petals and a silver dagger.

“Portia, I think I’m done. You ready to follow through with this? I mean, I trust you, but I’ve never heard of a demon story that turned out well in the end.” Caldwell stood up from his crouch. “Maybe it’s media bias or something, I’ve never met a real demon, but still. Sometimes stereotypes hold a bit of truth?” He looked at me. If I couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, I could see it in his eyes.

“Yes, Caldwell. I’m sure. I’ve done as much studying on demons as I possibly could, and I know this ritual inside out. The demon will give us what we want, and and we only have to give it something small in return. Demons like knick-knacks.”

Caldwell laughed. “You going to give a demon your baby blanket?”

“Maybe. If it wants it. Kind of ironic how sentimental demons can be.” I shrugged. “You’d think souls of the damned wouldn’t want anything to do with earth, but whatever.”

“Yeah. It’s strange.”

We both stood silently, staring at the rune and circle we had etched into my floorboards. The rune would be the actual mechanism which would allow the demon entry- it literally translates into portal- while the circle would keep the demon from wreaking havoc. We carved the circle with the silver dagger and filled it with salt. It sounded like superstitious bullshit, but nearly every account said it worked, so I chose to trust the books.

“Well,” Caldwell clapped his hands, “The candles won’t burn forever. Should we start?”

“Yes. Let’s start.” I kneeled next to the circle and sprinkled tulip petals into the circle. They began to burn as they touched the wood, their form changing into rotted teeth.

“Oh. That’s what the petals are for?” Caldwell asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Honestly I just thought demons needed you to set the mood. Can’t get it up without the right atmosphere right?”

I didn’t bother responding, and instead threw on more petals. This handful turned into rusty nails.

Caldwell sighed. “Tough crowd tonight. Hopefully the demon likes my jokes a little.”

“Sorry if i’m a little dry tonight. I am trying to summon a demon.”

“Oh yeah, don’t mind me. I just figured you might need some more help from me.”

“I’ll let you know when it’s your turn to do something.” I tossed a last handful of petals into the circle.

This time they turned into polaroids. Each image was of a failure I had endured. My second spelling bee, failing in the second round. My junior high school valentine’s dance, where I was turned down by a girl I had a crush on. My high school graduation, where my uncle showed up drunk.

Each photo held places and objects that would mean basically nothing to anyone else looking at them, but I knew what they were. I could see all of them. The first time I tried to get into a sorority and they told me they didn’t accept lesbians. The first time I tried to join a fraternity, which I had almost forgotten about. There was even the first time I was fired from a job, some sushi place that decided I “didn’t fit in” because someone else outed me.

I could feel my hands shake. I let out a ragged breath, and pushed the remaining petals aside.

“Whoa, Portia. Are you alright? You look like you just- scratch that. What’s going on?” Caldwell kneeled next to me and put his hands on my shoulders.

I didn’t respond.

“What’s in the photos, Portia?”

I brushed his hands off. “Nothing. That just means the ceremony is working.”

“Okay…” Caldwell slowly stood up. “I believe you. Just let me know if something goes wrong. I’ll get you out of here.”

“Mhm.” With that, I stood up. “Okay. It’s your turn now. Stand where I was just standing and close your eyes.”

Caldwell shivered. “Hoo, yeah, okay, that gave me the chills. Close my eyes? This is a little too spooky for me.”

“It’s okay, I have everything under control,” I reassured him.

He sighed. “Alright. Okay. Yeah. I can do this. I trust you. This will be alright.” He stepped into the spot where I had been only a moment before. “I can do this,” he told himself one more time.

“Oh, and Portia?” He started. “In case anything bad happens, I just want you to know that I care about you a lot.” He turned around to look at me. “I… I hope this demon thing gives you what you need.” He closed his eyes and turned back around.

I blinked a few times, tears welling in my eyes.. “So do I, Caldwell.” I leaned over and picked up the dagger. “So do I.”

I thrust the knife between his ribs, then pushed him into the circle. He gasped as I did. Then he fell to the ground, and his blood began to pool around him.

I pushed his feet into the circle. I didn’t need any demon getting out.

There was nothing but quiet.

The sudden rush of what I had just done hit me all at once, as if it was on a timer. I fell to the ground and couldn’t stop myself from crying. “Fuck,” I whispered to myself. “This was never gonna work. What have I done.” I screamed and started sobbing, pulling my legs into me to hide my face.

Then, the candles turned into a dark red light. The room was overcome with a harsh wind, circling around Caldwell. I scrambled to my feet and wiped my eyes. It’s happening! His body floated in the center of the circle, turning until he was face up and his feet faced the ground. A bright spear of energy suddenly shot through his chest, and his eyes opened. They were bloodshot, and his pupils replaced his irises. He floated down, landing on his feet.

There it was. The demon I had spent so long attempting to summon was in front of me. It took a step toward me, stopping just a moment before the barrier that kept it from murdering me.

“So it’s you. I had heard about you.” The demon’s voice was just Caldwell’s voice. Nothing had changed. “Tell me. What is it your name?” The demon stared at me. The blood in its eyes receded back into white.

“My name doesn’t matter,” I told the demon. Stay Strong, Portia.

“Oh, do you think giving me your name gives me some power over you?” The demon asked. “No, names mean nothing. They’re a human construct. Gods and demons know each other by essences, and have no need for names. However, for dealings like this we tend to have one. You may call me Moniker. My pronouns are gi and gir.”

I laughed. “You know what moniker means, right?”

“Very,” gi responded. Gi didn’t laugh along.

I cleared my throat. “Very well. I am Portia.”

“Portia. Interesting. Now what would a Portia want with a demon?” gi asked.

“I want… I want a purpose,” I told gir. “I want to feel like my life will make a difference on this earth. I want to prove that I’m worth something, and I want to-” I stopped myself from saying something I might regret. “I want to make the world a better place for me. And for others like me. I don’t want us to have to live in fear anymore.”

Moniker cocked gir head and smiled. “Interesting. And who are you, Portia? Who would you categorise as ‘like you?’”

“I’m- I’m a lesbian. And the people who I’d say are like me are other queer people.” I clenched my fists. “We deserve better.”

“Hm. I’m not usually one to mettle in human affairs.” Moniker clapped gir hands, much like Caldwell used to. “I will do this for you, however.”

“What’s your price?” I asked Moniker.

“Hmm. This room is rather empty.” Gi looked about the room, before scanning the floor. “I’ll take the photos in my circle. They feel charged with emotions. It’s been a long while since I’ve felt an energy like this.”

“Oh. Demons really do like knick-knacks,” I said.

“Who told you that? We keep that part of our deals secret. We like to surprise those we deal with,” gi said.

“I honestly made it up a few minutes ago,” I replied.

“Hm. Interesting.”

I and Moniker sat in silence for a few moments. I stared at the photos at gir feet.

“Well, I need you to do one more thing for me to enact my end of the bargain.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Give me your hands,” the demon responded.

“Oh no, you aren’t fooling me,” I told gir. “I know how this works. I break the circle, you kill me, and then you kill everyone else in a mile radius. Not happening.”

“I have no intentions of killing you, Portia.” I winced when he said my name. Just like Caldwell. “I will change the fiber of your being, yes, but I will not kill you. You will do that much more effectively than I could. Your form will be suited to the job.”

“Hold on,” I interrupted. “Will you run that by me just one more time?”

“I’m going to transform you. Your human life as you know it will end, but you will be reborn as something greater. You will be beyond humanity, and even beyond demonhood. You will roam the earth and be submerged in glorious purpose. I almost envy you.”

“I still don’t trust you,” I replied.

“Portia, I’m trapped in a human body with a knife sticking out of my back. Do you truly believe I pose a huge threat to anyone, save infants?” Moniker shook gir head. “No. I will give you what you crave and take the photos in return.”

I stole a glance at one last photo. It was of a leather recliner. A recliner I lost my virginity on. The recliner that my parents walked in and kicked me out of the house.

“Portia, time is running thin. The candles won’t burn forever. Shall we start?” The demon extended a hand, stopping just before the circle.

I sighed. “I trust you.” I put my hand in girs.

“Wonderful..” Moniker gripped my hand, holding on tightly. I felt nothing for a few moments. Then gi let go.

“Welcome to your new purpose. Welcome to your new life,” Moniker said.

“Nothing is happening,” I replied.

“Not yet,” Moniker said. Gi began picking up the polaroids. “They’ll happen soon. Farewell, Portia. I look forward to our next meeting.” Gi had picked up all of the polaroids. They all burned into ash, and then gi closed gir eyes. Caldwell’s body fell back down.

I knelt on the floor and began crying. Had I really killed someone for nothing? Was this really how this was going to happen?

In between sobs, I wiped my eyes. Looking at my hands, something was amiss.

My hands were covered in ink. I pressed them to my face again, and felt the cool liquid.

“Ink. Curious.”

I started laughing, but my breath failed me and never let a sound out. I dug my nails into my cheeks, and felt more of the ink fall out. I felt no pain.

Continuing my cold cackling, I grasped my shoulders. They were soaked. I ripped into my own flesh anyway, just to feel even more of my cursed blood leak. I danced around the room, leaving ink stains on the walls with my hands. Sometimes I dragged my hands across the walls, sometimes I threw ink off of them onto the walls.

I finally knew what it meant to be real. I knew exactly why I was on this earth. I could feel my reason to exist welling up in my chest.

I was born for this.

Suddenly my laughter could be heard. It was quiet. Private. Only I needed to hear myself laugh. No one else deserved to hear me. No one else had the same amount of purpose that I had, and no one ever would.


No Stops Tonight

3109 words. Tessa’s night is going poorly as is. She most certainly doesn’t need a shadow beast to chase her on the subway as well

“Fucking subway pass,” I mumbled, while attempting to reload it. “Damn thing got wet, and now it just refuses to work.” I threw the pass onto the ground. “Whatever, just forget about it, Tessa. You’re fine.” I had the printing machine print me another pass. That was three dollars out of my pocket I could’ve saved.

I hate New York’s subway system so much, but it’s much faster than trying to bus. I’m not even going to attempt to drive in this city.

The machine accepted my cash, then dispensed a thin slip of paper, with a magnetic stripe on the backside. That was why getting it wet was a problem, because the water would just seep into the paper and screw it up if it got too wet. I had ten dollars on my last slip, and that’s just gone, too. I need to move to a different city.

I took my new pass, swiped it at the gate, and waited for my next train. The station was practically empty, except for one guy waiting by the stairs to go up. I stood next to the tracks, and waited for my train.

It didn’t help that it was gross down here, either. The tracks for the trains always seemed to have water pooled in them, and I’ve seen plenty of rats taking drinks from the damn puddles. The walls were often tiled, and that looked good, but the tiling was pretty negligible when the wall just above was nothing but rusty metal, same with the ceiling. Hanging from the ceiling were plenty of light fixtures, which hung on by thin and similarly-rusty tubes. I was always worried a light might just come crashing down one day. Oh, and the ground is often just a dingy and browned concrete. Seriously, it’s disgusting, and probably has never been cleaned since it was installed.

Then, as if to make today worse than it was already was, the lights all went out. I screamed, and ducked down. Shit shit shit!

Only a couple moments later, the lights turned back on. I stood up and looked around. Nothing had changed, except the guy by the stairs had left. It was just me now. “Damn it. I got scared for nothing.”

I pulled out my phone just to look at it. I didn’t have any service. Figures, that’s what happens when I’m underground.

I heard some strange noise coming from down the tracks. It sounded like some sort of quiet chanting. I looked down the dark tunnel, but couldn’t see anything. I lifted my phone and turned on its light. I still didn’t see anything new coming from the tunnel, but I stared for a moment.

Suddenly appearing in my light was the shape of a person. Well, sort of? It looked absolutely like a shadow, but also shimmered a lot and looked blurry. It looked like it was expending a lot of effort to hold itself together.

“Oh FUCK!” I shouted as I realised what was shambling out of the tunnel. It wasn’t human, that’s for damn sure.

I quickly looked back and forth, trying to decide what I should do. Was running a good choice of action? What about my train? Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!

Then, I heard a rumbling from the distance. The train was approaching. I smiled at the thing and stuck my tongue out at it. It was going to get hit by a train, because it was so slow it couldn’t move out of the way. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be my problem.

Just as I expected, the train rammed through the shadow-thing and stopped. I stepped onto the last train car, and sat down on a bench. I just beat a weird monster by literally waiting for a train.

“Wow, I should probably be reacting to that more, shouldn’t I? Fuck it, I’m way too tired for this bullshit anyway.” I leaned back in my seat, and got nice and comfortable. “Not. My. Problem.”

The train car was empty besides me. Honestly, the whole train was probably empty except for maybe a homeless person somewhere in the train. I didn’t need to worry about anyone bothering me, I just needed to worry about getting off at my stop.

Then, the conductor of the train spoke over the speaker. “We will be skipping the next stop due to unforeseen technical difficulties. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Yeah, whatever. The most inconvenient thing is how impossible it is to hear you. Damn, speak up.” Seriously, I hated how impossible it was to hear that speaker, even in an empty car.

Another minute passed before the man spoke up again. “The issues are continuing, so we will be unable to stop at any stations until further notice. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Are the brakes not working or something? Jesus. There is literally no other reason for us to not stop.” I stopped and thought about it. “Actually, maybe this is a good thing. No one will bother me on my car.” Smug, I snuggled into the chair.

A few more moments pass, then the loudspeaker started up again. I waited for the voice, but there was nothing. All I heard was that quiet static from the speaker. I sighed. “You knocked the speaker switch on, buddy. Turn it off or something.” I think this conductor didn’t know how to do his job. I’ll be furious if I die on this train.

The static just kept going for a while. I was angry. “Why is the conductor having such issues just running a train?”

I looked at the door connecting the cars. There was a large red sign that made it very clear that you shouldn’t be crossing between cars while the train is moving. Probably for the best, but I might just have to go find that conductor and give him a piece of my mind. He can’t drive a train and he can’t even keep the intercom from turning on. Seriously, who hired this guy?

I got out of my seat, and stepped toward the door. “Yeah, someone needs to go figure out what’s going on. It’s probably just me one this train anyway.” I shoved the door open, and a furious wind started blowing into the train car. I pushed against it, and tried to hold my breath. Not only was the harsh wind making it hard to breath, but the subway never smelled that great.

I stepped between the cars, trying so carefully to keep from flying off the side. Lights from the tunnel were soaring past me, blinking in and out faster than I could think to use them. I pulled the door closed behind me, and got into the next car. With great effort, I shut that door, too. I was relieved once the wind was no longer tugging on me and trying to pull me to my death.

I turned and looked at the car. All of the seats were empty, of course, and there was an empty energy drink can rolling back and forth on a seat. The car also smelled pretty badly of alcohol, so I was in no mood to rest. I went straight for the next door.

Again, a harsh wind blew into the car once the door was open. However, the usual gross smell of the subway was not as bad as the smell of the car I was just in. I almost welcomed it, but the gusts from the train’s speed were still too much to breath.

I covered my face with my arm as moved, this time. I could breath a bit better through my nose this way. I took careful and small steps to cross the short distance from one car to another. I pulled on the door, stepped through, and then pulled it shut. The wind stopped, and the smell went away a bit. I breathed a sigh of relief as I looked into the next car. There was a paper bag that was floating down to the ground and settling, probably because of the door I opened. Once it landed, it rocked back and forth with the movement of the train.

“Wow, you just can’t escape trash in the subway, can you?” I said. Maybe I had too much of a habit of talking to myself. “Yeah, whatever, it’s not like anyone else is affected.”

I started walking to next door when I heard the static suddenly rise in volume. I had forgotten that was even playing for a while. I stopped in my tracks and looked for the nearest speaker. It was up on the ceiling of the car, in a corner. “Oh, yeah, that’s lovely. So atmospheric and nice.”

I stomped over to the next door and pushed it open. After doing this twice, I felt much more confident in myself and got through much quicker and steadier.

The next car looked worse than the previous cars. There were plastic shopping bags fluttering about, and the contents of the bags were too. There were unlabeled cans rolling around, a broken and cracked carton of eggs making a huge mess, wrappers and other sorts of paper trash flying about, and even an empty and spilled milk carton was bouncing around. It took a couple of moments, but everything eventually settled in place.

I sighed again. “Seriously, who just brings a carton of eggs onto the train? And how do you get a carton of milk to open and spill like that?”

The lights went out, and the car was dark. The only source of lights were the quickly passing ones out in the tunnel. I looked out the window and saw us blast past a station. There were a few people waiting for a train, but they clearly didn’t get to catch this one. Something was more off than just an incompetent conductor.

I pulled my phone out and turned on its light. I flashed it around the train car. Nothing looked different than when the lights were on, but now the trash caused bigger shadows in the car. I quickly stepped onto the seats and walked over the trash. “I really didn’t sign up for this shit.”

I hopped off of the seats and in front of the door that led to the next car. I grabbed the handle, ready to turn it and shove the door forward. Then, I heard a noise behind me. It sounded like chanting, again. “Fuck no.”

Without letting go of the door, I turned around and shined my light back into the car. Walking through the door behind me was a blurry and dark figure. It opened what had to be its mouth, and I heard more whispers float from it and toward me. Its mouth-thing connected one side of its head to the other, but certainly wasn’t quite grinning. It lifted one hand, a hand previously resting near its knee, and reached out to me.

“What the fuck!” I shouted. I pulled on the door handle and used my entire body to shove it open. I stumbled out into the between-car section, and tried as quickly as I could to tug the next one open. I slid open as quickly as I could make it, and I stepped onto the next empty train car.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. What the fuck?” I realised my phone was in my hand. “Oh shit, no no no no.” I patted myself down, and touched a large shape in my pocket. “Oh, fuck. Okay, I’m good, I still have my phone. I never even realised that I stuffed it in my pocket while trying to move from one car to another. Fuck, dude.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket. Its light was still one, so I shined it into the car. The seats of the car were covered in a blurry, shadowy mess. The shadows were slowly moving onto the floor of the car. I ran past them all and to the next door. I pocketed my phone again, pulled on the handle of the door, and shoved the bastard open. It easily let me out, and I moved over to the next car.

“Please let there be one more, please let there only be one more,” I whispered. My light illuminated the car. For a moment I thought the light wasn’t working, because I still only saw darkness. I turned the light to my face. It was definitely still on. The static from the speakers was suddenly more apparent in the dark. “Fuck me, is this really happening?”

I put my left hand in front of me, and tried to use it to help me figure out what was in front of me. My legs bumped into what had to be the seats often, but my hand didn’t touch anything. All of my steps were slow. And agonising. I was already sick of this train car. Then, my hand touched a pole.

“Shit!” I shouted, and stumbled backward in pain. I looked at my hand. The dark stuff was a little stuck to it. “No!” I tried to shake it off. Luckily for me, I was successful. My hand was reddened from where the shadows had been. It stung.

Eventually, I stumbled to the other side of the train, and found the other door. I guessed at where the handle was. I grabbed it, grunted from the pain, and tugged the door open. The lights from the tunnel were still flashing by. I stepped through the doorway, and tugged the door closed behind me.

“Aah!” I screamed as I let go of the door. I felt relief from the pain, but then a stinging followed. I shook my hand vigorously. I pulled out my light and shined it at the other door. That same darkness covered it. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I stood in place for a few moments, thinking of what to do. An idea crossed my mind. “Hell, I might as well give it a shot.”

I pulled my shirt off, and the winds were even colder on my bare skin. I used the shirt to keep the shadow-stuff off of my hand as I pushed the next door open. It worked, and I didn’t feel the same pain from touching the darkness. Yet, the stinging sensation was still there.

I entered the train car and put my shirt back on. “How the hell can this thing cause me so many problems, yet not even be here?” Shining my light into the train car revealed everything as it was supposed to be, and I sighed in relief. “At least I can see again.”

I crossed my fingers as I approached the next car. “Please be the last one, please be the last one, please be the last one!” I pulled on the handle, and the door opened. From the side of the train, I saw a really bright light. I looked over, and saw a stop approaching. “Yeah, great, I bet we’re missing this one, too.”

No one was at the stop as we flew by. I wish there had been at least someone. How many of the other stops had people at them that I just missed? How many times had I lost the chance to call for help?

The light from the stop disappeared in the distance. I was only illuminated by the tunnel again.

Suddenly, I realised I didn’t really remember why I was trying to move to the front of the train. What was my goal?

“Right. I should probably stop the train. Hit the brakes or something.” I sighed. “Fuck, how did this happen?” I turned over to the other door and pulled it open. Inside was just another passenger car.

“Why the fuck does this just not end? I’m done wasting time.” I stomped over to the other door, and ripped it open. I shut it, and broke into the next car.

My phone light illuminated seats. I lifted it up to the other wall. “Oh thank god.” The door was closer to me than any of the other ones had been. “The fucking cockpit or whatever you call it. Jesus, finally.”

I ran to the door, and pulled it open. I gasped.

The conductor’s face was covered in pitch black. The speaker microphone was hanging, just above the ground. I was reminded of the static playing behind me. I pushed past the man in the chair, and started looking for an emergency brake. “Fucking fuck, there’s gotta be something somewhere!”

Behind me, I heard the whispers again. “You’re fucking with me.” I flashed the light back into the train. The shadow was stepping through the door, and toward me. “You’re fucking with me.”

I stood in place. There was literally nothing I could do to stop it. I flashed my light at it, constantly flicking it off and on, but it didn’t change anything. It just kept chanting and stepping towards me.

I stopped flicking the light, and just kept it on. “What the hell do you want?” I could feel a lump welling up in my throat. It was halfway through the car at that point.

I felt a tear slide down my face. Am I crying?

Its chants got louder and louder, and I saw it open its mouth. It was as wide as my face, and split the head greatly. Shadowy strings connected the two halves. Its body shuddered.

I regained control of myself, and immediately started hitting buttons on the control panel. One of them had to be a brake or something. Right?”

Nothing was happening when I hit the buttons. They all just kind stayed dim.

“Won’t… Work…” I heard from between the chants. I looked back, and the thing was maybe two feet away from me. I tried to scramble away, shining my light at it. The area behind it was suddenly covered in pitch blackness.

“Turn… Off…” Were the only understandable words that came through its mouth. Maybe its mouth? It was making noise, and it was still chanting. “Off… Light…”

I breathed quickly, and my vision was blurry. I wiped my eyes with my arm. The creature was inches away from me. I still held my phone at it. Its body quivered more and more the closer it got to my light. It grabbed the phone in my hand. The light turned out, and the screen itself powered down. The sound of static was loud again. The chanting disappeared.

I covered my head in my arms, and I sobbed. It was so dark.