 
La Verne Writers' Group

2019 Anthology

Lisa Griffiths

Sherri Cohen

Tamara Miller

Toni Eastwood

Holly Scott

Carol Elek

Scott Skipper

Guests authors

Serena Lin, & Sherban Cira

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2019 La Verne Writers' Group

All rights reserved.

ISBN 9780463416709

Cover design Holly Iris Scott

License Notes

This free eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment it may not be sold

Table of Contents

A Simple Choice by Scott Skipper

Alienable Rights by Sharri Cohen

Arizona Dreaming by T.L. Eastwood

The Big Picture by Holly Scott

Called to Connect by Serena Lin

Finding Redemption by Tamara Miller

The Future's Uncertain by Scott Skipper

The House on the Hill by Carol Elek

Learning to Drive a Stick Shift by T.L. Eastwood

Murder in Palm Springs by Tamara Miller

The Naiad's Tale by Scott Skipper

Puff Went Up In Smoke by Sharri Cohen

Secrets and Whispers by Tamara Miller

The Seagull and the Stoplight by Sherban Cira

Sleep of the Kinda Dead by Sharri Cohen

The Universe Speaks by T.L. Eastwood

Wen-di-go by Lisa Griffiths

Angel of Light by Timothy Coupland

About the Authors

A Simple Choice

Scott Skipper

The Santa Ana condition blew the brown air of Southern California beyond the horizon. From the perspective of eleven thousand feet, through the lens of the clear air, Catalina Island seemed to float just out of reach. He watched the great orange ball of the sun settle onto the flat edge of the water. As the circle diminished, the hue deepened until a diamond of white winked out of existence, and a second later, an emerald fire flared above the horizon and then was gone.

The man's quest having been fulfilled, he began the descent from the barren mountaintop on the zigzag trail that traversed the gravel slope. The azure sky deepened and would make the trail treacherous if he didn't cross the straits known as the Devil's Backbone before darkness fell, and the full moon rose. It would be perhaps twenty minutes to reach that narrow ledge with a vertical wall to the left and a sheer drop to the right. Twenty minutes was about all the light that was left in the day.

His thoughts turned to his wife who should have been with him but woke with a migraine. She implored him not to hike alone, but the draw of the pristine air and the impending moonrise was too strong. He had assured her that he would be fine and that surely there would be others on the mountain on such a fine day. Oddly, there weren't. He was the last on the summit. Everything would be fine. He had a light, and that full moon promised to be spectacular. Still, his thoughts returned to her almost frantic insistence that he not do it alone. He hoped that there wasn't some omen in her pleading.

The canyons below were obscured in blackness. Crepuscular light lingered only on the peak, and the margin of darkness rose steadily toward him. He shrugged the pack off his shoulders and unzipped the pouch where he had stashed the flashlight. The murderous stretch of trail was now before him, constricted and paved with decayed granite and marble-sized pebbles. Difficult and unnerving in the full sun, in the nearly absent light it was intimidating. The circle of light at his feet guided each step as he watched the ground and not the trail ahead.

He shone the penetrating light into the abyss, and his innards dropped. The beam could not detect the bottom of the declivity. While he was paused, he momentarily lamented not heeding his wife's entreaties—too late for that. Wryly, he wondered that the most paranoid and intrusive state in the union hadn't insisted on building a guardrail here. He looked toward the end of the awful path perhaps another twenty feet distant, and there were eyes. Two eyes glowing green in the last trace of twilight.

His heart rate spiked as he panned the beam of blue light from the depths of the canyon toward the end of the precipice. It fell on the face and muscular shoulders of the giant cat. The face was strangely beautiful, but it contained a dispassionate resolve—he was prey. The conventional wisdom of a myriad of trail guides told him to remain calm, not run, and try to look imposing. The last thing he felt was imposing. It was also suggested to throw things at the beast. Try to hit it on the nose. Throw what? There was nothing in sight any bigger than a walnut. Throwing the flashlight did not seem to be a good option. Retreating offered no refuge, up was impossible, and down was unknowable. If by some caprice he turned the monster, it would only be lying in wait somewhere in the dark beyond the spindly trail—somewhere where the feline had sure footing.

That thought tantalized him with an option. When the beast attacked, could he somehow fling it over the edge? Would they both go over the edge? What would be the consequences of that? Certain death from the look of it, quite probably for both hunted and hunter. There was not a lot of comfort to be derived from that.

Seconds crawled past. The lion remained frozen in the torchlight while the man's mind raced for a solution and agonized over the decisions that brought him to this impasse. He saw his wife's agonized face in the light of his demise. How many days would she have to wallow in despair before his body, whatever remained of it, was recovered? And what about the kids? Both were now old enough to understand the primal terror of being eaten alive—their father not just dead but devoured. He'd found a deer's carcass once that had plainly been the meal of a mountain lion. It was a set of clean and still articulated bones. Only the head was uneaten. The image of his face still attached to his naked skeleton shot a shudder through his frame. Would his wife be made to look on such a spectacle? What if there were cubs? Maybe his mangled corpse would be hauled to a den and feasted on by the family, or dragged into a tree for safekeeping from the coyotes.

How long could this showdown last? What about rescue? Could his phone possibly have a signal? He removed the pack once more and found the phone. Afraid to take the light out of the eyes of his menace, he passed the screen into the beam. Was that a trace of a bar? He tapped the numbers and prayed.

It rang. "Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?"

"I'm trapped on Mount Baldy at the Devil's Backbone with a mountain lion staring at me."

"Hello. Hello? What is the nature of your emergency?"

"I'm trapped on the Devil's Backbone by a mountain lion."

"Can you hear me? Hello." The line went dead.

The cat took a cautious step forward. The man stepped back and looked into the blackness below him. When the beast crouched to spring, he didn't hesitate. He slipped off the brink committing himself to the sluice of loose gravel. His slide accelerated, and occasional outcroppings of stone tore his clothes and skin. Neither time nor pain meant anything. His fate was out of his control, and nothing but fear existed until there came blessed oblivion.

***

A bright light, loud noise, rude movement, and a sensation of rising through deep water seeped into his consciousness. Shadows and shapes crowded over him. A beam of light shone into each eye, and the pressure of straps across his chest and legs began to mean something. His eyes focused. The men wore yellow jackets. The ground was a flat pebbly moraine of granite and shale. The blinding light was from a helicopter, it wasn't heaven, but thankfully, neither was it hell.

#  Alienable Rights

Sharri Cohen

Anna sprinted into the nondescript gray brick building, out of the murky citron-colored haze. She pulled off the antiviral face mask to breath in the hermetically sealed, purified air blowing through the wall and floor vents in the building. With the mask hanging around one ear, she took a deep cleansing breath before she headed to the interrogation room. Her long legs flew down the hall, blond hair flying out of its hazard bun, whiskey-colored eyes snapping with barely controlled emotion.

"Just another lousy day in paradise," she muttered in a disgruntled undertone. She hated this city. She hated it from the day she transferred here. It had the largest population of 'visitors' in the country.

"Visitors," she sneered. "One day they showed up, offering interplanetary friendship for a 'temporary' home, and they never left. They were a species unlike anything seen before. They were humanoids who could transform into various types of mutant animals. Their planet had been dying for years as the population dwindled. They found that Earth had a similar environment and... They landed here faster than a spinster aunt at a family dinner and have been staying ever since. What was the saying?" Anna mused. "Oh yeah. There are many roads to prosperity. They took the road to earth, and never looked back." Shrugging her shoulders and letting the mask fall to the ground from where it had dangled over her ear, she continued toward her objective.

A perp was being restrained in the interview room waiting for Anna and her partner. The building they were in was run by the secret anti-mutant organization. Both she and her partner, Bob, were in the group that worked outside the legal system to specifically shut down the illegal activities of the mutants. As a general rule, the visitors were not more criminally inclined than the native earth population, but they required different handling due to their unique capabilities.

Shoving open the green painted door, Anna by-passed her boss gesturing frantically to her from the doorway of his office.

"Later, Ron. I'm kinda busy right now." She stepped inside the interview room to confront the perp. Seeing her partner already there, she marched over to the visitor who was shackled to the metal chair.

He had a smirk on his lizard snout as he sneered at her."Well, well. This is a surprise. Who are you my lovely little lady?"

"Who am I, you ask? Well, I'll tell you, my friend. I am your worst nightmare. The very core of your night terrors. You thought that you guys, aberrations of nature, were terrifying?" Sniffing mockingly, she continued," You are a white fluffy", she leaned in close, "blue-eyed," shoving her face next to the now petrified captive's ear, "cotton-tailed, sweet-natured Easter bunny, next to me." Anna Smith balled her fist and planted it into the Komodo dragon-faced mutant. He went slack with his forked tongue falling out of his mouth. At the prisoner's "arrest"—some might call it a kidnapping—they had put the non-transforming electric collar around his neck, so he could not change into his human form. He would be in his lizard form until they removed it.

"Lana..." began her partner mollifyingly.

"It's Anna you cretin," she snapped at Bob.

"I'm surprised it's not 'viper,'" he muttered.

"What did you say?"

He stood at attention and stated loudly, "I said, if you'd hit him much harder, he'd need a diaper."

Anna marched to the two-way glass mirror along one side of the interrogation room and peered at her reflection. Looking closer, she wiped a smudge of lipstick that had slipped outside her lips liner with her thumb. Before rapping impatiently on the glass she shouted, "Hey! We need a medic for the freak...make it a lizard vet. The guy is going to be needing a transfusion. Just give me a minute."

"Hey, Anna! The perp better not be needing any extra medical attention. You remember what happened last time? We had trouble getting rid of the body. Let it go." warned Bob.

Walking to the door past the trembling perpetrator, Anna kicked his chair in annoyance and motioned to Bob to meet her in the hall. She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the women's restroom, much to Bob's protesting horror. Then she turned to twist the lock to the closed position.

"Shaddup! Quit your yapping. This is the only place we can talk privately."

"Let go of my arm. You're gonna leave bruises that I'll have to explain to my wife. She still thinks I'm an insurance adjuster. Why can't we go to the broom closet like normal people?" Bob complained. "I like urinals in my bathroom. I can only pee against a wall in a public restroom, not locked up in a little room."

"We are not here to urinate. We need to talk privately, and I don't trust everyone in the organization. We both know that no one outside this small group can even suspect we are in the mutant task-force since it has been outlawed. It is unfortunate that my face is plastered all over wanted posters. They are taped on every telephone pole and street light pole in Washington, DC. Right next to the missing dog notices that are everywhere. And, can you please tell me why people cannot keep track of their dogs?" Anna swung around to respond to pounding on the bathroom door, yanking her partner with her.

"Hey, go away! We are busy in here," she shouted next to Bob's ear.

"I'm deaf," Bob wailed pitifully.

"Is that a man I heard in there?" hollered the astonished woman hammering on the locked door. "I gotta go. Now! Open this door."

"Shaddup! There's plenty of space in the men's room. We are busy in here."

Bob wrenched his abused appendage from Anna's vice-like grip and leaned against the sink, cradling his elbow protectively. "I realize, Anna, you have had a bad experience with a mutant—"

"Bad experience!" She emitted a high-pitched shriek.

Bob slapped his hands over his ears. "Oh my God! Dogs must be howling all over the city right now. Are my ears bleeding?"

Anna ignored his whining to continue her rant, "They murdered my husband. They sucked his brain out his nose! Literally pulled it out like so much snot. So now, because I want to make those rat bastards pay the price of my revenge, I am wanted by the law, a criminal," she sneered twisting her lips. "I face a prison sentence because I follow my heart."

"Well, to be honest," Bob said hesitantly because it never paid to be honest with his partner if it went against her reality, "that was a small criminal faction at work. They were caught and prosecuted. We are in a group that is recognized by the world as a crime consortium. We eradicate people because they are different from us—that is racist behavior. We target this particular group, mutants, not because they have broken any laws, but instead, eliminate them for a political reason and to create full human supremacy. That makes us terrorists. Also, because of the fact that we are purging an entire group of individuals, we are committing genocide. In light of that, we are understandably considered criminals ourselves."

"It makes us discriminating, you spineless half-wit. Use the right word. We belong to a group that is striving to bring back the human race as the leaders of the world. I am willing to face the consequences to lead this organization into the future by squashing every non-human monstrosity that dares to inhabit my world. We will not always be stuck in a basement in Washington, DC. We will grow, expand, and spread..."

"Like mold?" questioned Bob. "Or maybe a virus?"

"You are not funny. Get with the program or get out. We need to make the world human again. Great again. There is no other way to do it. It is not like we can build a fence big enough or wide enough to keep them out. Let's go back and grill the lizard for his hidey-hole where the rest of his buddies congregate."

"You mean their lounge?" questioned Bob.

"What?"

"A group of lizards is called a 'lounge'. Cool, huh? It pays to be informed, Annie," her partner smirked.

Anna resisted the urge to smash Bob in the face, which wasn't easy. He could be pretty obnoxious and not always as afraid of her as she would like. But right then, she had an immediate goal to accomplish. She was trying to save the world regardless of popular opinion.

"Come on. We gotta pull the tail off that Komodo." She hurried out of the restroom pulling her partner behind her. "Shake a leg. What do you think the guys would say if they found you in the women's bathroom? They'd be calling you Babs from now until eternity."

#  Arizona Dreaming

T.L. Eastwood

Wispy clouds in skies of blue

Sunrise and sunset of vermillion hue

Meadows of green, cactus grow high

Pines and Manzanita that touch the sky

Mountains tall, sides of white

Leaves that sparkle in the light

Deer and elk free and at ease

Condors and ravens float on the breeze

People of white, red, and brown

Live freely, safe, and sound

Warm and inviting with room to roam

Heavenly place that I call home.

#  The Big Picture

Holly Scott

"I came as fast as I could. What happened? They wouldn't tell me over the phone. Is he dead?" I said anxiously as I entered through the glass double doors of the company where my ex-husband worked. I couldn't imagine why I'd been called by the police to his company in the middle of the night. I had the feeling that my life, and the life of my children, was about to change forever, and I was frightened.

"No, Ms. Lester, he's not dead."

He motioned to the chair for me to sit down.

"Ms. Lester, my name is Jacob Bui. I'm a psychiatrist retained by the police department. They requested my presence because they weren't getting anywhere with your ex-husband, and, frankly, neither am I. Tom is having a breakdown. He started shouting your name and phone number over and over again, so we thought we'd give it a try. I need to find out how to reach him so that we can figure out what happened and why. Can you give me some background information on him?"

Tension was all around me. Something dreadful had occurred, but what could it be? Years ago, he told me that he hated me and never wanted to see me again, so why would he be shouting my name? I despised him sometimes, but he was still the father of my children, and I wasn't giving up any information until he told me what was going on. "Please tell me what happened first."

Dr. Bui looked away. I could tell he was trying to choose his words with care. "It appears that Tom killed his supervisor, Eliza Shellstein."

"What?" This was unbelievable. "He's never been violent. I just don't understand why you think he did this. It can't be Tom."

"He confessed."

I stared at Dr. Bui in shock. "Tom is many things, but he's not capable of killing anyone! He's a gentle man."

Dr. Bui looked away. "Why'd you two divorce?"

My eyes blazed with anger. He had no right to question me like this. He gently reached over and touched my arm. "Ms. Lester, I'm not judging you or Tom. I need to know."

"Why is it so important that you know that?"

"Ms. Lester, if I can't find a reason why your husband killed that woman, he could face the death penalty. He stabbed and sliced her with a box cutter and beat her over the head with a hammer until he crushed her skull. She died in agony."

My stomach churned loudly as the atrocity of what had been done registered. Tears poured out of my eyes, and I shook violently. I bit the skin between my thumb and forefinger to keep the contents of my stomach from rising into my mouth. I couldn't think.

He gently touched my arm again, and I jerked out of my shock.

"I know this is a lot to handle, but I need you to help me understand how a gentle man is capable of this level of brutality. Usually, people who commit these kinds of crimes have a history of violent behavior. He doesn't even have a traffic ticket on his record."

I chuckled a little through my tears remembering how he used to drive. He was always the slowest person on the road. "Tom was such a slow driver. It made me crazy sometimes."

Dr. Bui watched me as I stood up shaking my head and rubbing my fingers through my hair. I just didn't get it.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"It's just hard for me to accept. "

My mind went to our children. How could I tell them such dreadful news about their father? I covered my face contemplating the reaction of my girls. Mattie, the oldest, was a daddy's girl. Taya was a momma's girl, but they both loved their father.

"How do I tell my children?"

"How do they feel about their father?" asked Dr. Bui.

It was time for me to try and put some sense to what happened. I believed in the death penalty but not for Tom. He wasn't a murderer. Something happened.

"He had blue days where he'd retreat to his bed. It drove me crazy when he was down because he drank more and would be obnoxious. Like I said, he wasn't violent, but he'd pick fights with me, which usually ended in yelling matches. Many times, I threatened to leave him if he didn't get help, but he wouldn't do it. I'd let it go because he'd start acting better. But it was never long before the Old Tom would come back into our lives. He'd lose jobs often because he wouldn't go to work regularly. Money was a constant concern. We even filed bankruptcy at one time because he lost his job, and I didn't make enough to pay our debts and provide the necessities. He's had this job the longest since I've known him."

"What was his childhood like? Do you know?"

Sharing my husband's horrible past seemed so wrong, but I had to help Tom any way that I could.

"It wasn't good. His mother spent most of her life on drugs, in jail, or in rehab. She died young. Tom was the result of a hook-up during a drug binge, so he never knew his father. He went back and forth between foster care and his mentally unstable Aunt Terry. I've always felt that something bad happened when he was with her, but he would never tell me what it was." He listened and nodded in response. "He'd have terrible nightmares. He told me that his Aunt Terry abused him physically. I asked him if she sexually abused him, too, but he wouldn't answer me."

"Why did you ask him about being sexually abused? Did you notice anything that made you think he was?"

"I noticed that he was overprotective of the girls. He didn't trust adults around them, especially women. That was very strange to me. One time, we went out to dinner and an older couple sat in the booth behind us. Taya was smiling and cooing at the older lady, so she started talking to her. Tom looked at the old lady like she was a predator. When she got up to leave, she tried to innocently pat Taya on the head. Tom grabbed her arm and squeezed it so hard that she cried out. I had to pry his hand off of her arm. Later, I asked him why he did that, and he said, 'not even old ladies were safe.' That incident and many others made me wonder if he'd suffered more than physical abuse at his Aunt Terry's hands, but as I said, he would never admit to sexual abuse."

"I see."

"Truth is, we were too young to get married. If I knew then what I know now, I would have never married him. He was fun and crazy when we were dating, but I never saw the dark side of him until it was too late." Tears filled my eyes.

"I left him because I couldn't stand it anymore. I tried to make it work for twelve years. I begged him to get help, but he refused. I was tired of struggling financially and raising two children by myself, because my husband was a mental train wreck. I never told him, but I had to take antidepressants just to cope with being married to him."

"Have you seen a therapist?"

"Yes, and it helped me to make the decision to leave and provide a better environment for me and my kids. I remember that day. I came home early from work because I wasn't feeling well, and I found him snoring away in bed with the windows closed and the shades drawn. When I asked him why he wasn't at work, he told me that he had lost his job a week ago and was going to tell me that day. I flew into a rage. I asked him how we were going to make it, and he told me not to worry, because things always worked themselves out. I couldn't believe it. The only reason we got by was because I took on more work every time he lost his job. Can you believe I had three jobs at one time?" I shook my head as I recalled the past. "That's the day we left."

"You and the girls?"

"Yes. I could only see one way out. He had no clue that we were gone until later that evening when he finally got out of bed. I didn't leave a note or any clue where we were." I felt ashamed.

"Did he try to find you?"

"He called. I told him that I didn't love him anymore, and I wasn't coming back." I felt awful. Dr. Bui touched my arm to comfort me. The words that felt so good to speak then were a pain in my heart now. I was mean, and I enjoyed it. He hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him back.

"Please go on."

"He told me that I didn't have the right to take his children. I told him that he didn't have the means or emotional stability to take care of the family. He told me that he hated me and never wanted to see me again. I hung up on him."

I sadly replayed the low-down way I ensured that I would be granted full custody of our children. At that time, I didn't care what happened to him as long as he stayed away from me and the kids.

"After several angry court appearances, it was decided that he could have supervised visits until his mental state improved, and he could provide for his children. He promised to keep a job to support them. He's been at this job for the last five years, and he gives the girls as much money as he can afford to pay. Now he's a good provider. It took a divorce to get him out of that bed."

"Has he ever tried to come back into your life?"

I hung my head remembering that day. I wasn't mean, but I was cold. "Last year, he brought me flowers when he dropped off the girls. I asked him what they were for. He told me he'd like to talk about us being a family again. I told him that he was the father of my children, but nothing more to me. Mattie overheard us. She wouldn't speak to me for a week."

"I see. Did Tom ever tell you anything about the problems he was having with his supervisor, Eliza Shellstein?"

"No. He tried to talk about his job a few times, but I didn't want to talk to him about anything personal. I knew I'd hurt him, and, I tried, for the sake of my children, not to do it again. So I avoided conversation with him unless it was about Mattie or Taya."

"I understand. We've isolated Tom in the conference room, and the employees that were on staff during the attack are in the other room. We're questioning them one by one to get a full picture of what happened. One of the employees stated that some were cheering Tom on during the attack.

Could this situation get any worse? Who would cheer on a murder?

"That same employee said that Eliza begged for help, but no one tried to help her."

"My God!" My head was throbbing as I wondered if the details of this story could get any worse. I knew Tom had problems, but I just couldn't understand why he killed her.

"Ms. Lester, would you be willing to help me with Tom?"

All I wanted was to run out of the door and never look back. I didn't kill her, but somehow I felt I bore some responsibility. It was like Tom had been standing on a ledge, hanging over a deep chasm, with the people in his life—from his mother down to me—prodding him to the edge until he toppled over it.

"I'm asking a lot, I know, but you might be his only hope. No doubt, Ms. Lester, he's going to spend the rest of his life behind bars, but due to his mental state, I don't think he deserves the death penalty. There's a chance to save him."

What about my children? I could live with their father going to prison, but I couldn't live with him going to his death, especially if I could stop it.

"Yes, I'll try to help."

Dr. Bui stood-up and gave me a reassuring glance, but I could see in his eyes that this was an agonizing mess, and it would be the longest night of my life.

We walked on plastic that had been placed in the hall to protect the crime scene. As we rounded the corner, I stopped in my tracks. There she was lying in front of her desk with a sheet covering her body. Her exposed hand rested on the carpet. Forensic photographers were taking pictures of the horrific scene in her office. Dr. Bui took me by the arm, and we rounded another corner. Where Eliza ran to escape her killer, she left bloody handprints on the walls.

"Don't look. Close your eyes, and I'll lead you into the room."

I closed them tightly. We stopped in front of the door where Tom was being kept. I opened my eyes.

"Are you ready?"

No, I wasn't ready! Who's ever ready for something like this? But I had to do it. I nodded.

Dr. Bui entered the room, and Tom stared blindly at the floor. I walked in quietly, looking at him. I tried hard to see a murderer, and I still couldn't see it. The police officer guarding him stepped close to Dr. Bui as he approached.

"Tom. Tom, it's Dr. Bui. You said you wanted to see Cheri, and I brought her."

I stood against the wall shaking, half hoping he would stay in a stupor so I could run away, but Tom heard my name. He first looked at the police officer guarding him, and then Dr. Bui, and then he slowly turned to look at me. I tried to smile at him, but the stress and shock left my body uncooperative. I heard my mouth whimper out his name. "Tom."

Sobbing loudly, he said my name over and over again. I sat down next to Tom and held his hands.

"Cheri, I'm sorry. I tried to keep my job, but she fired me. I tried so hard. I tried so hard," he sobbed. "I did something really bad."

"What happened, Tom?"

"I killed her."

I shook my head violently, and he repeated himself as if I hadn't heard him.

"I killed her!"

My stomach twisted and turned. I didn't know how much more I could take.

"Why did you kill her?"

"Because she hated me. I tried to make her happy, but I couldn't do it. I never missed work, and I did all of my assignments, but she didn't like me. I told her if I lost my job, I would never see my kids again. She laughed. She said that I wasn't a good father, and she said she hoped I lost my kids because I was a loser."

"She said that to you?" Dr. Bui asked.

"I'll only talk to Cheri!"

I looked at Dr. Bui, and he nudged my arm for me to ask him.

"Eliza said that to you?"

"Yes. She tortured me."

I was distressed that anyone would say something like that, but hadn't I been mean too? I hadn't forgotten my own guilt.

"Cheri, ask Tom if he ever reported her behavior to Human Resources."

I acknowledged Dr. Bui's request. "Tom, did you report her to Human Resources?"

"Yes, but they said that I should ignore her. They told me that they were not here to babysit the employees. Several people went to them, but they didn't help us."

"When's the last time you went to them?"

He kept his eyes on the floor. "Two months ago."

"What happened? What did she do?"

Tears fell from his eyes.

"She touched me."

"Cheri, ask Tom where she touched him," said Dr. Bui.

He started sobbing and shaking his head back and forth. "Where did she touch you?"

"I can't! I can't!"

I comforted him the best that I could. The puzzle pieces that lay fragmented during our whole marriage were forming a picture that made me want to scream. Emotionally, I was spent, but this was far from over.

"You have to tell me."

"It hurts too much."

"I know." I spoke gently as I took him into my arms. "Please tell me what happened."

"I don't want to talk with him in here."

I knew Dr. Bui had to stay. "Tom, he sent for me because you asked him to. He's on our side."

He shook his head acknowledging that Dr. Bui had helped him. "You're right."

"What happened?"

He looked away, and I gently turned his face back to mine.

"Aunt Terry would put her hands in my pants, and I hated it. She made me feel dirty. I hated foster care, but I hated being with Aunt Terry more."

For the first time, ever, I felt pity for him. No wonder he spent so much of his time hiding from the world. For him it was a cruel, dark place overgrown with pain and fear.

"Oh, Tom, why didn't you tell me? Why did you keep this inside so long?"

"Because I'm ashamed. I could see sometimes that you hated me, and I didn't want to make you hate me more."

I couldn't deny it. There were times I hated him and wished that he would disappear. I thought I hid it so well. I guess it takes a fool to believe that all the other fools are oblivious. "There were times that I was very angry with you, but I would not have been angry with you for telling me what happened to you."

I hugged him tightly. I tried to think of ways to ask him what Eliza had done.

"So, Tom, did Eliza touch you like Aunt Terry did?"

He nodded his head. "Two months ago, when me and a few other employees were working late on one of her projects, she grabbed me in the copy room. I told her that I didn't like her that way, and I didn't want her touching me like that. She was angry, and she told me if I told anyone I'd get fired. At first I didn't tell, but another employee who saw what she did, told me that I had to tell. So I told Maris Cole, the Human Resources Director," he said hanging his head.

"What did she say when you told her?"

Tom wiped his eyes, struggling to find the words. "She asked me what kind of man would complain about a woman touching him. Then she asked me if I was gay. I told her that I wasn't. She told me to let it go and that complainers didn't last long at the company."

He hung his head in shame. I was furious. I couldn't believe that the company failed to protect him and their other employees from this kind of abuse. Their actions were unforgiveable. The horrible events of his past and present transformed this gentle, mild-tempered man into a murderer.

"Why didn't you leave?"

"Because I love my children, and I need to take care of them."

My heart was broken. The cruelties of life groomed him for the horrors of that very day. So many people had betrayed and used him. So I made a decision, then and there, that I was going to look after him the rest of my life. As he served out his sentence, I was going to make sure that he felt loved.

"Cheri, I want us to be a family again."

I chose my words carefully. "We'll always be family. Whatever happens after this, I will help you as much as I can."

Dr. Bui cleared his throat, and I looked at him.

"Cheri, ask Tom what happened today?"

"What happened?"

Tom smiled. "You came."

"Yes, I did. But tell me what happened to make you mad at Eliza?"

He took a deep breath and looked at the floor. "She found out that I reported her two months ago, and she's been trying to fire me ever since. She wrote me up a few times for stupid things like forgetting a punctuation mark in a letter, spending too much time away from my desk during bathroom breaks, and she blamed me for a major mistake on a report. I didn't do it, but I don't have proof. The report was deleted from my computer. This afternoon, she told me that I was incompetent and was going to get fired."

He shook his head as tears came to his eyes again.

"Go on, Tom," I encouraged him.

"Okay. So I told her I'd get my things and leave. She told me that she could save my job if I wanted her to. I told her that I wanted her to help me keep my job. She came close to me. I hated her getting too close to me. I knew she wanted something."

"What did she want?"

"She put her hand in my pants again, and I lost it. I remember reaching for the box cutter on her desk, but I don't remember anything else. I heard clapping and cheering, but I didn't know where it was coming from. When I woke up, I was sitting on the floor handcuffed. I'm so sorry, Cheri. I wouldn't hurt a fly. You know me. But I know I did this. Please forgive me."

He wept pitifully. Dr. Bui touched my shoulder, and he motioned for me to step out into the hallway.

"Tom, I need to step out of the room for a minute. I'll be right back."

He looked surprised. "You're not going to leave me, are you?"

"No, I'll be right back."

Dr. Bui was waiting for me in the hallway. "Ms. Lester, you've been a tremendous help. I think we can handle it from here." The desire to run away was gone. He needed me, and I wasn't going to abandon him. "But if you want to stay, I'd be very grateful for your continued assistance."

"I want to stay."

Before we could go back into the room, a tall, skinny, blond woman dressed in a pants suit approached us in the hallway.

"Dr. Bui?"

"Yes."

"I'm Maris Cole. I'm the head of the HR Department."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Cole." He shook her hand.

"I heard about Eliza from the employees. I have hundreds of tweets from them. I'm so glad I wasn't here. I told Eliza that Tom was a time bomb. I hate to say it, but he was a loser, and she should have fired him a long time ago."

My emotions were volatile. I couldn't believe my ears. Anger gripped my whole body, and I trembled from the intensity of the hatred for her that overwhelmed me.

"Ms. Cole . . . ," said Dr. Bui.

"Please call me Maris."

The heat of anger formed beads of sweat under my eyes and behind my ears. I was losing it. I started backing away so that I would not have to listen to her put Tom down or the heartless way that she discussed such a horrible tragedy that could have been avoided, if she had done her job.

Dr. Bui motioned to me indicating that he wanted me to stay right there. I wanted to get away from this horrible woman and her cutting assertions. "Maris, did Tom report to you that Eliza was sexually harassing him?" Maris looked at him in surprise. She smiled, then chuckled and then laughed. He smiled slightly. "Did I say something funny?"

"Dr. Bui, what kind of man reports that a woman is sexually harassing him? Don't you think that's a little petty?"

"No, it isn't."

Maris put her corporate face back on.

"Eliza was our best salesperson. This company thrived with her onboard. Tom needed to look at the big picture."

That was it! I advanced toward Maris in the heat of anger and slapped her as hard as I could. I reveled in the thought that she didn't even see it coming. She fell to the floor in a daze. She looked up at me standing over her in shock. The threat of a second slap hung in the air. Her eyes stared wide, and frightened. Dr. Bui gently grabbed my arm. My anger subsided, and I backed off, but kept my eyes on her. I looked at him expecting reproach, but there was a smile on his lips. He pointed toward the door.

"Go take care of Tom."

I went back and stood in the doorway, waiting for Dr. Bui.

"She assaulted me!"

Dr. Bui bent over so that he and Maris were nearly face-to-face. "A cold slap is the least of your problems. You allowed Eliza to prey on the employees in this company, including Tom. You're personally liable and so is this company for allowing illegal misconduct that played a role in a murder. If you think this company will not try to minimize their liability by throwing you under the bus, you're a fool. That's the big picture."

#  Called to Connect

Serena Lin

With the world pulling us in every direction

More than ever

We need deeper connection

In a nation

Chock full of information

I challenge you to

Find joy in knowledge

Both in the classroom

And outside

Where the flowers bloom

In this society

Everything seems airbrushed

People, always in a rush

Where beauty seems only skin deep

I challenge you

To inspire a deeper beauty

In this society

Where technology

Has become a wall builder

Instead of a bridge maker

I challenge you

Talk to someone who's alone

Get off your phone!

Step out

Of your comfort zone

#  Finding Redemption

Tamara Miller

Dear reader, how many times have you seen a small group of developmentally disabled adults riding on a bus or at your local restaurant? Do you engage in a conversation with them? I suspect the answer is no. If there was only one seat left on the bus next to someone who looked like they had Down's Syndrome, would you take it or stand up in the aisle? I hope you would take the seat, smile, and say, "Good morning."

Did you know that disabled people don't really want to go on the bus because people stare at them, which makes them feel uncomfortable? Riding on a bus and eating at a local restaurant are part of the caregiver's job to integrate them into the public to learn social skills.

I hope this story will make you think twice the next time you see a mentally challenged individual and will take the time to give him or her a smile and say, "Hello."

***

In my neighborhood, a caregiver purchased a three-bedroom house across the street from me. The gossip was that the buyer had a special use permit and was going to license it as a six-bed facility for developmentally disabled adults.

One morning, Mr. Hodge who also lived across the street, met me at my mailbox. "Did you hear that there are going to be retards moving in next door to me?" he asked.

"Yes. I heard that rumor, but they are not called retards," I said.

"Whatever. I called my son and had him go to the city to see if he could stop the sale. But there was nothing he could do. They are going to be nothing but trouble, and I'm not going to be a good neighbor."

"You don't know that. They might keep to themselves and not bother anyone."

"Harrumph!" he responded and walked away.

Mr. Hodge was a retired, seventy-five year-old widower. He spent most of his time sitting on his front porch watching the neighborhood. He closely watched people who walked their dogs by his house. He would go out and stand on the edge of his grass to make sure the dog did not stop on his lawn and leave a deposit.

Three weeks went by, and the moving van showed up next door to Mr. Hodge. He was glued to his porch to see everything that was being moved inside. He stood up and walked down his front steps when the caseworker showed up with the new tenants. There were four ladies and two young men. He gave them, and the caseworker, an unfriendly glare.

One day the two men, Bud and Roger, were playing ball in their front yard, but after a few tosses, the ball ended up in Mr. Hodge's yard. He hustled down his porch steps and yelled at the two men, "Keep your ball off my lawn!" and then threw it very hard at one of them. It bounced off the man's leg and went into the street. Bud started to get it when Roger shouted, "Don't go in the street!"

The caregiver, Ted, heard Roger and came out. He retrieved the ball and told the men to go to the backyard to play.

"I don't want any balls coming into my yard," Mr. Hodge hollered to Ted.

"Sorry, sir," said Ted, and went inside his house.

The next day, Mr. Hodge heard voices from his bedroom window that were coming from the neighbor's backyard. Four of the residents were playing catch. As he watched, the ball came over his fence and into his yard. Mr. Hodge went to get the ball and took it inside his house.

Bud went inside to tell Ted what had happened. Ted then went to Mr. Hodge's front door to apologize and get the ball back.

"I told them I don't want the ball in my yard," said Mr. Hodge.

"I'm really sorry, but you need to return it to me."

"No," said Mr. Hodge and slammed the door.

To get the ball back, Ted had to call the police department for support. When they showed up, Mr. Hodge was argumentative but finally gave up the ball.

Day after day, Mr. Hodge watched his neighbors from his bedroom window or from his porch.

One morning, when I was out in my yard watering my plants, I saw Mr. Hodge pulling out of his driveway. Three of the residents were outside and extended a friendly wave, but Mr. Hodge ignored them.

I didn't see Mr. Hodge return, but I heard about it later. As he was walking up his front steps carrying his groceries, he tripped and fell, hitting his head. The groceries went everywhere. He tried to get up but was too dizzy.

"Help! Help!" he yelled. No one was around but Bud and Roger. Hearing his plea, they went to his aid.

"Mr. Hodge, let us help you," said Bud, reaching for his arm. Mr. Hodge jerked it away and lost his balance. Even with his grumpy attitude, he realized he needed their help.

"Go get Ted," said Bud, "I'll stay here till you get back."

Mr. Hodge didn't know what to do. He sat with Bud until Ted and Roger returned.

"Do you think anything is broken?" asked Ted.

"No, no. I'm just dizzy," said Mr. Hodge.

"Let's take him inside," instructed Ted.

He was astonished when Bud picked him up in his arms and carried him into his house, placing him on the couch. Bud and Roger went back outside and picked up the scattered groceries. Bringing them inside, Mr. Hodge watched closely as they placed the items on the kitchen counter. He was grateful for the help he received but was lost for words to express it.

In a stutter, he said, "Thank you for helping me."

Bud and Roger looked at Ted and then said with a smile, "You're welcome."

"We helped you," said Roger to Mr. Hodge. "That was a good thing."

"Yes it was," he acknowledged. "Thank you."

"Do you think you need a doctor?" asked Ted.

"No. Just let me sit here a minute, and I'll be fine," said Mr. Hodge.

"Here's my card with my phone number," said Ted, handing him his business card. "You can call me anytime."

"Thank you."

"Let's go boys," said Ted. "It's time for dinner, and I think you are in charge of setting the table."

That evening Mr. Hodge called his son to tell him what had happened. "I'm a little ashamed about the way I have behaved. I don't know what I would have done if they hadn't been there to help me," he said.

"You're right, Dad. You were lucky they were there."

***

A few days later when Mr. Hodge was sitting on his porch, he watched the men play catch. Bud missed the ball and ran after it as it went into Mr. Hodge's yard.

"Sorry," said Bud, afraid to look up at him.

"That's okay," said Mr. Hodge with a wave.

The next day as he backed out of his driveway to go to the store, he saw his neighbors in their front yard.

"Good morning, boys," he said with a friendly wave.

They waved back yelling "Good morning, Mr. Hodge."

***

From my front room window, I witnessed the change of attitude that had occurred. In fact, Mr. Hodge waved to me too, as he drove away.

#  The Future's Uncertain

Scott Skipper

The night burned with mystery. There was a band shell at the bottom of the grassy slope on the foot of Mont Royal. It was late summer, and the cover band of geriatric rockers was to be the last concert in the park for the season. In the morning, I was flying home, so with nothing better to do, I thought I'd try the free event in case it happened to be worthwhile. Most cover bands do the Beatles and other fluff. These five old geezers did songs from my youth that I had never heard a cover band do, and they were damned good. They had a lead guitarist, a bassist—who sometimes picked up a saxophone—a kick-ass organist, and of course, a drummer, but it was the singer who lit the stage on fire. The guy sounded like the genuine article. He acted the part as well.

I wandered closer to the stage to watch the man more closely. Under the lights, I perceived the same square jaw and wicked smile. Of course, his hair was gray and an age appropriate length. He'd been singing for an hour and a half but wasn't flagging one bit. Women in the crowd from a quarter his age all the way to his contemporaries were cavorting like teenagers. The man had the magnetism of the long dead original. I was amazed at his stamina, but I was more astounded at how closely his performance mimicked the real thing. Of course it had been fifty-some years, and my memory had suffered the loss of an embarrassing slew of neurons, but that music and the person who made it had presided over my individuation from youth to man. It still reached me, and I wondered what if.

Between songs, he bantered with the crowd in English and French. I didn't have much French, but the English put me in mind of the crowd baiting I'd heard in places like Cleveland and Detroit when hordes of fans rushed the stage, and police got their jollies flinging girls back into the mob while bashing heads with Billy clubs, all the while the satyr hanging on the microphone stand exhorted the crowd to mayhem. The somewhat more mature Montreal audience, though raucous enough, refrained from storming the fragile looking bandstand.

At the end of two hours and one encore that got the crowd to its feet, although as much to stretch their kinks as cheer the band, the lights dimmed, and people gathered their blankets and picnic baskets. While the band busied themselves with stowing their gear into a van, I sauntered next to the singer who regarded me with a wary smile.

He extended a hand and said, "Ça va?"

"You're really him, aren't you?" I said while shaking his hand.

"C'est moi. C'est qui, lui?"

He was my coequal in height, which was right, but it was that jawline that convinced me. "How did you do it?"

"Je ne parle pas l'anglais."

"Bullshit. You don't even have an accent."

I thought he was going to play the French rude card and ignore me, but he fixed those penetrating brown eyes on mine and slowly smiled. "Man, you have a vivid imagination."

"You're too perfect to be an imitation. You are really him. How did you manage it for all these years?"

"Mon ami, I think of shit you're full," he said and turned toward his task.

"Wait." I touched his arm and he jerked. "It was a great show. Let me buy you a beer."

He scowled at me for seconds, then said, "Let me finish loading the equipment." When the van was packed, he conferred with his bandmates in French, then to me said, "Okay, let's get a beer."

The opposite side of the street defining the limit of the park was lined with multi-story apartments beneath which were retail stores, restaurants, and bars. We jaywalked through the stalled traffic in silence and took a sidewalk table as a couple vacated it. A waiter quickly cleared and wiped the dented metal top.

My guest said, "Deux Molson." He looked at me. "Is that good?"

"Perfect."

"What is it you want?" His tone was matter-of-fact, not challenging.

I pondered exactly what it was that I did want while the waiter set two bottles on the round tabletop. "To know the truth, and why?"

"Have you been smoking that Moroccan hash that's been here all summer?"

I laughed quietly. "Not in forty-some years."

"It's not bad. Anyway, I'm good at what I do. That's the end of the story."

"You're way beyond good. You're perfect. You look like him. You act like him."

"That's just it. It's an act."

"I still play your stuff—loud—when the wife's not home."

He tilted the beer bottle up and drained it. "I'm switching to whisky. I'll get the check."

"No need. I'll join you." I snapped my fingers in the air for the waiter.

He meandered to the table. "Oui?"

I wasn't drunk enough to risk French. "Two single malts—neat." But I did add, "S'il vous plaît." My unwilling companion smiled. It was the same shy smile I'd seen on a younger face half a century ago. "That's his smile. Don't try to tell me you're not him."

"Okay, I won't try to tell you anything."

"How long has this group been together?" I asked.

"We've been doing this about ten years. We play half a dozen gigs in the summer. In the winter, the whole place shuts down—it goes underground."

The waiter dropped two glasses on the table with a metallic clunk. "So, you live in Montreal?"

"I've got a flat in Westmont, but I usually beat it to the south of France when the snow starts." He raised his glass to me. "To delusional people."

"I'll drink to that." I touched glasses laughing.

He knocked it back in one swallow and waved it at the waiter.

I took a generous mouthful and savored the smoky taste and gratifying burn. "You drink like him."

"How would you know?"

"There was that movie."

"Shit. That didn't tell half." The waiter, spotting a mark, hustled back with his refill.

"So, tell me how you did it," I probed.

"Hmm." He sat back looking thoughtful. "It wouldn't be hard if you had a little money. Anybody could do it—not that I'm saying anybody did. How would you do it?"

"I suppose I'd bribe a cop and the coroner, then have a quick funeral with a closed coffin."

"There you go." He drank half of his new drink.

"Yeah, but what about afterwards? And what about her?"

"She'd have to be in on it."

"But she didn't drop out of sight."

"Maybe she didn't want her family to think she was dead. Some people care about family. Maybe the person you have me confused with didn't."

"I heard that was the case."

He grunted, took another swallow of scotch, and sat back in his chair looking sulky.

I said, "Yeah, but a year later she was supposed to have died in a car crash. Was that a lie?"

Looking at the passing traffic, he said, "No, the woman drove like a maniac—couldn't keep her eyes on the road."

That nailed it—as good as a confession. "So, did you remarry?"

"Remarry? I've been married a few times. Seems like I find it hard to stay that way."

"Do you have any kids?" I finished my drink and flagged the waiter. I pointed at the table and held up two fingers. He nodded.

"Now, you're getting personal."

"Do they know?"

"Do they know what?"

"Who you are."

"They know I'm their father—most of 'em, I guess." He smiled his shy, one-sided smile again.

I could see in that trace of vulnerability what drew the women. "But why do it at the height of your success?"

The waiter placed two fresh glasses and cleared the empties. He held his new glass aloft and admired the golden nectar in the scant light of the votive in the center of the table. "Too much success can kill a man for real."

"There was that court thing."

He cocked his head, took a sip, and said, "That was shit. Money would have made it go away."

I had him on a roll. "So, how long did you stay in France?"

"France? I told you, I go to France most every winter."

"I mean right after it. Did you hide out in France? Some place people didn't recognize you."

"I lived in France off and on for a few years. That's when I picked up the lingo. Where do you get off with this third degree?"

"Come on, man. You've all but signed a confession. Why not come clean? I'm just thrilled to make your acquaintance."

He got that disarmingly guilty look again. "Nobody will believe you."

"I don't plan to go public. Hell, my wife will accuse me of being a gullible drunk."

"Maybe you are a gullible drunk."

"Did you ever contact the rest of the band?"

"That might have caused some bad blood, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I suppose it would. But you were such a prolific songwriter. How could you give that up?"

"Who said I did?"

"Hey, your style was unique. If somebody started recording things you wrote ten years later, everybody would have known where it came from."

"From beyond the grave." He grinned behind his glass while taking a mouthful.

"So, you just wrote stuff and left it in a drawer?"

"I never could find somebody with just the right, uh, je ne sais quoi to pull it off."

I had passed a certain degree of inebriation, and I felt like we had bonded. "Je ne sais quoi—merde. You mean mojo."

That got a full laugh out of him. "Mojo. Yeah, that's what I meant—no mojo risin'."

"Why didn't you assume a new identity and record it yourself?"

The look of mirth turned to disgust, and he ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "First, you made me in the dark across a city block, second, I needed a band, third, I was tired of it, and besides, I did assume a false identity. I just didn't screw around making records."

"Do the guys in your group now know?"

"Maybe. We don't talk about that kind of shit. We just play music."

"Do you ever do stuff you wrote after—you know?"

"After I died? Yeah, once in a while."

"How did you survive all those years?"

"Christ, you're a nosy bastard. I had a secret stash. I invested it." He turned in the wire café chair to signal the waiter. When he turned back, he sighed. "It was a lot better then."

"Have you ever gone home?"

"What? You mean to the states?"

"Yeah."

"Sure—just to look around. It's a hell a mess these days."

"No shit."

He drummed his nails on the metal table while the waiter placed the next round. I didn't need another one, but I emptied my old glass and gave it to him. "I've been thinking about going home and using my name—my real name—to try to do some good."

"Like what?"

"Like try to unite some people."

"You mean rally the left? Do they need any help?"

That earned a piercing look. "People, all people. One side's board-up-the-ass rigid, the other side's crazy."

"But you're brand of demagoguery was all about sex, drugs, and rock and roll."

"Hey," he jabbed an index finger at me, "I hated Nixon and the war as much as anybody, and I spoke out against what the pigs did in Chicago—and Kent. I brought people together. I could do it again."

"Have you moderated over the years?"

"Everybody does," he said sullenly, "well, everybody with a brain. Think about it. I could return from the dead to put people back on the path." He ended with a grin, then he offered to toast again. "Here's to my resurrection."

His second coming never got to happen. A car careened off the street crashing through the wall of glass behind where he was sitting. The impact threw him across the table, both it and he landed on me toppling my chair and banging my head on the cement. That was what saved me from the blast that followed a second later. Shrapnel from the bomb perforated his body killing him for the second time. I saw it when I crawled from under the debris, but while he was lying on top of me bleeding, the last thing he said was, "...and the end is always near."*

***

*From _Roadhouse Blues_ words and music by Jim Morrison.

#  The House on the Hill

Carol Elek

The old house on the hill had been vacant for so many years that no one in town could remember when it was last occupied or who had ever lived there. It was just outside of town and rather isolated, being on a dirt road which ran through vacant farmland. The only things that grew there now were weeds and scrub brush. It was inhabited by rats, squirrels, possums, raccoons, and an occasional coyote.

The house itself was incapable of being lived in by any human or animal who may have given thought to moving in. The floorboards throughout the entire house were rotted through, and, in some places, were completely missing. No living being could have placed even one foot on any board without falling through to the basement. Wallpaper, what was left of it that is, had once been a pretty pattern of rosebuds, but now hung in strips from walls that had gaping holes through which one could look into the adjoining rooms.

There were two stairways in the house; one went up to the second floor and the other down to the basement. Any person in their right mind would never attempt to use either set of stairs, as most of the steps were completely missing. However, there was no need to use the stairs anyway, as one could merely look up through the holes in the ceiling or down through the holes in the floor to see what was in either place.

Most of the windows were either broken or missing, the frames dangling against the walls. What glass that was left was so filthy that no matter how bright the day, it would still be dark as night inside.

Outside, a porch running across the front of the house was in the same shape as the inside. The railings were either falling down or missing entirely, as were the steps leading up to the floor. There were shutters at all of the windows, or rather, what was left of them. Some were hanging loose and would bang against the side of the house in even the slightest of winds. On the roof, most of the shingles were gone, leaving large holes in the framework. What had once been a stately brick fireplace and chimney was missing bricks and leaning precariously from the siding, threatening to tumble to the ground at any moment.

At the entrance to the overgrown, rutted driveway stood a weather-beaten sign, which no one bothered to read. It said:

WARNING!

NO TRESPASSING!

DANGER!

It was Halloween Day in Spirit Hill, Massachusetts. All the trees in town had just burst into the brilliant autumn colors of red, gold, orange, and yellow. It was a beautiful sight to see. But, there was one part of town that created a blight on the brilliance—the area surrounding the hill itself was brown. The fields around it all the way up to the house were a drab, dead brown.

Normally, no one paid much attention to the house, but this year was different. A few of the residents reported seeing a strange light in the house after dark. They all said it would start on the first floor and would slowly move up to the second floor, linger there for several minutes, then would suddenly disappear. The Police Department received calls from the folks who had seen the vision and told them that they would send a patrol car out to check on it. The first officer who "checked" on it, reported that he saw nothing unusual at the site. The next time they received the calls, two officers went to the site, and they, too, reported nothing unusual. Actually, none of the officers could see anything unusual because none of them had gotten out of the car; they had just driven quite hurriedly past the house and "saw nothing"!

Halloween evening, all the children dressed in their scary or pretty or funny costumes and went on their usual "trick or treating" routes. They knew who gave out the very best treats and who didn't. As they went along their route, two boys, aged ten, dressed as a zombie and a vampire, watched the house on the hill while collecting their treats. Then they saw it! A light moving along the first floor of the house on the hill!

Jeremy, the zombie, and Kyle, the vampire, looked at each other, their eyes big as saucers. Their parents, as every parent in town, had very explicitly warned their sons to never go near that house on the hill. EVER!!! Of course, they always obeyed their parents and would never even dream of doing anything that they had been told not to do.

Finally, Jeremy spoke the words, "Want to go to the house on the hill?"

And, of course, Kyle answered, "Let's go!"

The two obedient boys looked around to see if any of the other children were near them. No one was around. So, quickly they darted up the dirt road toward the house on the hill. The road was nearly in as bad shape as the house, with ruts and holes where little animals made their homes. There was the sound of a myriad of tiny feet scurrying away in the darkness. "Who are these creatures who are disturbing our homes?" they asked themselves.

Undaunted by the sounds and condition of the road, the boys kept going up the hill and finally reached the top. They stood at the place where the "no trespassing" sign warned them of impending danger and surveyed the area. It appeared quiet with no sign of any occupant who might welcome them with a shotgun. The house was completely dark. A light breeze had come up, and the only sound the boys heard was that of the shutters rattling against the side of the house.

"Okay! Here we are," said Jeremy. "Looks different up close. More rickety, I guess."

"Yeah. Do you want to go inside?" Kyle asked.

"Uh, yeah. I do, do you?"

"Since we're here, we might as well check it out. Did you bring a flashlight?"

Jeremy reached inside his plastic pumpkin and pulled out a small penlight. He turned it on, and it emitted a narrow path of dim light that flickered on and off.

"Oh, oh, the battery must be going! Don't you have a light?"

"No, I forgot to bring it. I really didn't even think about bringing one. I had no idea we would be doing this!"

"Oh well, we'll just have to be careful about where we walk." Kyle was anxious to get inside.

"Okay! Let's do this. Follow me and stay close." Jeremy said.

The boys got to the porch and looked at the steps. "Just try to avoid the missing boards, Kyle. I sure don't want us to fall. What would we tell our folks if we came home with scrapes on our legs?"

Slowly, the two made their way to the porch floor. A couple of the boards ahead of them were rather fragile-looking, but there was one which looked pretty sturdy. Jeremy went first and gingerly stepped on the good one. It held, so he turned and gave Kyle his hand. Both boys stood on the "good" board. Kyle was closest to the door, so he reached out and turned the knob. It came off the door, and Kyle was left holding it in his hand. Pushing the door, it swung open, and the top hinge gave way. Now the door was tilted on an angle, but was open far enough that the boys had room to enter.

They stepped inside, and the old house groaned with the weight and movement of them. Looking about in the darkness, they couldn't see very much of the room. There was the smell of decay hanging heavily in the air, and the sound of the rodents scratching around the floors filled the emptiness with sound.

"Have we seen enough of this place?" Jeremy asked. He was visibly shaking and tried to calm himself.

"Not yet. I want to see what's upstairs."

Suddenly, the two trespassers heard a different sound—it was a sound like a long sob, quivering and coming from the basement. Then a loud thump and then footsteps coming up from the basement. Kyle grabbed Jeremy's arm and dug his nails into it. Jeremy let out a sharp cry of pain, and Kyle let go.

Then they saw it! A faint light moving up the basement stairs, seeming to float in the air. Kyle took off running toward the door, but his foot went down one of the holes in the floor, and he screamed to Jeremy to help him. Jeremy had reached the door and turned to help his friend, but stepped on a weak floorboard, and fell to the basement below where he lay whimpering in a crumpled ball of pain.

The light moved closer and Kyle noticed that a misty shape was holding a kerosene lantern high in the air. As it came closer, the shape became the form of a young woman shrouded in the mist. Kyle held his breath, shivering in fear, as the vision came to him.

"Why are you here? Didn't you read the sign?" The apparition spoke in a quivering, eerie voice. "There is danger here! I cannot help you. The others are coming!"

"Please, ma'am! I can't get my foot loose. I'm stuck! Please!"

"I must go now." And with that, the vision faded away, leaving the boys in total darkness.

Kyle tried to get his foot out of the hole, but with no success. He heard Jeremy softly crying. "Can you stand up, Jeremy?" he asked.

"I don't think so. I think I might have broken my leg."

Just then, another light appeared from the basement moving toward the stairs. Both boys stayed quiet, transfixed, holding their breaths. There didn't seem to be a body attached to the light, and it slowly made its way up the non-existent steps to the second floor. As it reached the upper floor, it stopped and hovered there for several seconds and disappeared.

That's when they heard it, faint at first, then getting louder and louder until the terrible sound filled the air with ear-splitting noise. "OOooooo! OOoooo!" It continued on and on as if it would never end.

Then suddenly, Kyle felt a breeze on his back. Turning his head, afraid to look, he saw what appeared to be an entity that made his blood run cold with fear. It was very tall—probably about twelve feet tall—and covered in red. It had its long tail in one hand and a pitchfork was in the other. Growing out of its head were what appeared to be horns!

"You do not belong here! Now you must suffer the consequences of your trespassing!"

"Noooooo!" both boys screamed in unison.

"Have you boys learned your lesson?" A man's voice spoke the words.

"Yyyesss! Please help us!"

A hand reached out and loosened Kyle's leg from the hole in the floor and helped him stand up on shaky legs. Turning to see who his savior was, Kyle saw a policeman standing there in a devil's costume. He was chuckling, trying not to laugh out loud.

Now the entire room was bathed in the glaring lights coming from the ambulance parked near the porch. A paramedic was in the basement setting Jeremy's broken leg in a temporary splint; a stretcher waited nearby.

"How did you know to come?" Kyle was puzzled.

"A couple who was taking their child out for trick or treat saw you clowns heading toward the house. They were concerned and reported you to us. You were lucky. This isn't a good place to be. That "No Trespassing!" sign was put there for a good reason. This place is about to fall down on itself and would do great bodily harm to anyone who was inside. Please tell all your friends about that."

The officer was a kind man who understood the ways of young boys. He helped Kyle into the squad car and drove him home. The paramedics safely delivered Jeremy to the emergency room and notified his parents who hurried to meet their son there.

Neither of the boys' parents scolded them, but it would be a long time before they went trick or treating on their own again.

Several weeks later, a huge crane with a wrecking ball was seen at the hilltop. The ball swung against the wall of the house with a loud splintering boom. With one swoop, the entire house came crashing down. Several bulldozers were waiting nearby. Quickly, they roared into action and scooped up the debris, dumping it all into waiting dump trucks.

Nearly all the residents of the town stood by watching the demise of the old house. Some claimed it was good riddance to an old eyesore; others expressed sorrow at the death of it; Kyle and Jeremy stood silently, watching.

Kyle said, "Aren't you glad we checked it out when we did, Jeremy?"

Jeremy just grinned at him.

#  Learning to Drive a Stick Shift

T.L. Eastwood

Excerpted from my autobiography

I have always liked the idea of the control you have over a big engine when driving a standard transmission. So, when I was in Hong Kong and found that I needed a vehicle, I decided this was my chance. I found a small stick-shift, and, without thinking about the ramifications of living on a large hill, I purchased it. And, of course, trouble soon followed.

***

"Hey, Toni. A friend of mine is selling a blue Triumph four-seater with a standard transmission. It's a nice small car fit for the narrow streets here. He wants $500 Hong Kong for it."

"Terrific! That's about $100 US, so it's in my budget. It's a stick-shift, right?"

"Yeah. You'll have a clutch, a break, and a gas pedal, and you'll need to up and downshift."

"Is it hard to learn?

"Naw. I can give you a couple of quick lessons, and you'll be ready to drive anywhere."

"Okay. I'd like to see it, maybe test drive it."

"Johnny lives way out in the New Territories. I'll have him bring the car to the consulate on Wednesday. We can drive it, and, if you like it, you can give him the money then."

"All right."

***

Two days later, I took a break from the office to follow Ted across the street to the parking lot. He introduced Johnny who introduced me to the small Triumph.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Ted.

"It's cute, and I like the color. Can we drive it around the parking lot?"

"Yeah," said Johnny. "It drives great, but it has a sloppy clutch."

"Excuse me?" I said.

"It means that you have a little give in the clutch," said Ted. "It's not a bad thing. All clutches are different. Come on, you'll understand when you drive it."

Ted held the door open for me, and then let himself into the passenger side.

"Okay. This is a standard "H" shift. Push the clutch in for me. Now, watch," he said, as he moved the shift into all four gears as well as neutral and reverse. "Now, let's drive. Put the shift into neutral and start the engine."

I followed Ted's instructions and felt a thrill as I shifted into neutral, turned the key, and felt the engine roar to life. Ted patiently helped me shift gears from neutral through second, which was the best I could do in the small lot. He also showed me how to balance the gas and the clutch to hold the car still on a hill.

"See! It's easy. All you need is some practice, and you'll soon be a pro," Ted laughed. "Well, what do you say? You want it? You think you can drive it up Peak Road?"

"Peak Road is pretty scary. I mean it seems to me that it's almost vertical. But I think I only have to travel about three miles up, so, yeah, I think I can do it. Besides, driving here was easy enough. And I didn't have a problem with the sloppy clutch."

I got out of my new, used vehicle, paid Johnny, and thanked him. I left the car there and returned to the office.

That evening after work, I told everyone goodbye, rushed across the street, slipped into the Triumph, and turned the key.

How hard can this be? I thought. I let out the clutch and the car chugged ahead and jerked to a stop. That's okay. It did that earlier, I just need practice. After a few attempts, I moved slowly forward and entered the traffic lanes.

It felt strange to be driving on the left side of the road. I drove a quarter of a mile, and then made the left turn onto Peak Road. Driving by instinct, I pulled into the right side of the street, right into oncoming traffic! "Oops! Wrong side!" I yelled at the approaching vehicles. With a quick turn of the wheel, I managed to move back to my side, just narrowly missing a bright yellow taxi. I could barely hear him screaming at me over the blaring of his horn.

Back where I belonged and an accident averted, I felt my body shaking as I whispered to the motorist, "Sorry, I'm just learning. Somehow my declaration made me feel better, and I calmed down.

"That was scary. Better be more careful when I turn," I muttered as I started up the hill.

Unfortunately, it was early evening, and the three lane road was packed. The vehicles would inch forward and stop, crawl and stop, then wait, and inch forward again.

Uh oh, this could get interesting, I thought, as the car chugged and lurched forward. When I stepped on the brake and pushed the clutch in, the car stopped jerking. But every time I tried to move, the engine chugged and stalled and had to be restarted. "Come on now, stop that," I ordered. "This jerking is giving me a headache. You didn't do this in the parking lot. What's wrong with you?"

The road steepened. Again, the Triumph inched, jerked, and stalled. "Shit! Don't do this. There are vehicles behind me!" I shouted. Around me irate motorists blared their horns. I turned the key, let out the brake, and pushed in the gas—the car jumped and stalled. My stomach felt like angry wasps were stinging my insides. I became increasingly nervous with every stab and every blast from an angry horn.

"Okay, take a deep breath, Toni. Now, turn the key, push on the gas, let out the clutch; now move!" I sighed in relief as I rolled forward. The motorist behind me moved to the lane on my left and yelled in Cantonese as he pounded his fist in the air in my direction.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't think this would be so hard!" My wasp friends began to sting in rhythm to the pounding in my stressed-out brain.

"Okay, Toni. No more going too slow. Just balance like Ted showed you. Come on, you're halfway home. You can do this!"

Every time I slowed to a crawl or stopped, I balanced the clutch and the gas pedal. The car didn't stall again, but I soon smelled something like burnt rubber coming from inside the car. Oh great! Now I've burned up the engine or something. Come on baby, just get us home, please!

Nauseous from the tension, I finally reached the turn off for Kennedy Road. Thankfully, the distance was short and the road level. I drove to number 422 and parked the car in the bottom parking lot instead of driving it up the narrow, rounding, one-way driveway to the upper lot.

Shaking and queasy, I climbed the outside staircase to the apartment complex, took the elevator to the fourth floor, unlocked my front door, and collapsed on the chair just inside. I made it! That was horrible. But, it will be all right, I just need a little more experience!

Thursday, I rose early to make sure my car would still run. It did. "Okay, baby, we learned a lot last night. We can do this."

I gingerly pulled into the traffic, making sure to end in the correct lane. The route to the DEA building was all downhill, and I made the trip without jerks and unscheduled stops. Now that's the way to drive a stick! I thought as I parked in the DEA lot.

I told the whole office about my harrowing trip home. After the laughter died down, Henry gave me a few hints.

"The trick to driving in Hong Kong is learning to use your hand-brake. Tonight, when you stop, pull it tight. When you start to move, balance the clutch and gas and let it down as you let out the clutch and step on the gas. That way you won't burn out your clutch."

"Is that what I smelled last night?"

"Probably. You be careful going home tonight."

"Thanks. I will."

I left a little later than usual and also took Henry's advice. There was less traffic, and the trip home was a little easier, but I still smelled the heavy scent of burning rubber.

Friday, I took the bus to work.

On Saturday, I decided to practice. Pulling onto the road, I thought Okay, there's very little traffic, Toni, so you should be able to do this. Let's go.

The Triumph roared down Peak Road, and then up and down again as if I was born to drive a stick. I decided to park at the DEA lot and do some shopping. Unfortunately, by the time I was ready to drive home, Peak Road was packed.

There was no other way to get to my flat, so I took a deep, calming breath before pulling out of the lot. I can do this, I thought.

I used my hand-brake as I slowly moved upward. About two miles later, the acrid smell of burning rubber again reached my nose.

Maybe I'm not letting the clutch out quick enough. The next stop, I tried to let it out faster—the Triumph stalled. Oh no! Not again! Don't panic. You can do this. I managed to start the engine, shift into first gear, and move forward just as the horns started blaring behind me.

My head was throbbing, I was nauseous, and sweat streamed down my face as I worked the clutch, gas pedal, and hand-brake. I was almost to the turnoff point when the Triumph stalled for the last time. The rancid smell of burning rubber and hot metal flowed over me like surf crashing on rocks. Beyond panic, I started the engine, but when I tried to let out the clutch, I heard a loud, clunking sound. "No! What happened?"

I tried to shift into first gear, but the once smooth pathway was now blocked. "No! The transmission's gone. What do I do now?" I screamed in frustrated panic as I broke into tears.

The sound of angry, blaring horns washed over me; drivers screamed through their windows in both English and Cantonese; vehicles jockeyed for positions as they attempted to move around me.

I was sobbing when an officer approached my window, and, in broken English, asked if he could be of assistance. I explained my predicament. The officer nodded understandingly.

Unfortunately, there was no easement so that I could pull to the side. In order to clear the road, the officer asked me to steer while he and his partner pushed the Triumph the short distance to the Kennedy Road turnoff and then the apartment complex.

I stepped out of my Triumph, but my legs were shaking so hard I almost fell. I leaned on the car and thanked the men profusely.

"You not drive until can make up hills," said the policeman.

"I promise!"

I watched them drive away, and then I waited for my legs to stop trembling. Cautiously, I walked up the long flight of stairs and entered my flat. This time, I poured myself a very large Tequila and orange juice before collapsing on the couch.

Monday, I again took the bus to work. Timothy, a local British narcotics officer, heard my story and offered to help. He had my car towed and repaired and gave me private lessons. After the fourth lesson, we made plans to attend one of the many hotel bars that had a terrific band for a night of dinner and dancing.

We had a fabulous time—but that's another story.

#  Murder in Palm Springs

Tamara Miller

"Why are you wearing that suit tonight?" Patricia asked Rudy, her husband of four years.

"What difference does it make?"

"I think you should wear your navy blue suit."

I don't know how much more of her telling me what to do I can take, thought Rudy. I'd be a happy man if she would just drop dead.

"Do you want me to change?" he asked.

"No, no. That would make us late," she said waving her right hand in the air as if to dismiss him. "Jacob has already pulled the car out front," said Patricia. "Let's go!"

"Yes, dear," he mumbled under his breath. I'm so tired of her dragging me here and there. Sitting with people I don't know and don't like to be around. I know what they think of me, that I just married her for her money. Yes and no. At first she was so much fun. She is fifteen years older than me, but she had so much energy, and we traveled places I could not have imagined I would ever see. Our marriage was good then. But after a year, I got to know the real Patricia.

Rudy had thought many times about how to end their marriage. Divorce was not the answer because she would make sure he was penniless. He thought of other ways too, but he didn't have the stomach for anything illegal or permanent. Basically Rudy was a nice guy.

He had two boys from his first marriage who were in their early forties. Both had good jobs and loving wives. If they ever got dissatisfied with their life and asked his opinion, he would tell them to suck it up because the alternative could be worse.

***

Patricia was a looker for her seventy years of well-pampered life. Her family was wealthy, and when her parents died in an automobile accident, they left her financially well off. She would not want for anything the rest of her life.

Tonight was a gala event for one of the many charities Patricia supported. She was not stingy with her money. She donated to charities related to domestic abuse, foster children, and women's shelters. The event was being held at the local Four Seasons Hotel. Patricia's daughter met them at the door.

"Good evening, Mother," said Miriam, with a hug and kiss on both checks. "Rudy," she said acknowledging him with a polite hug. "Follow me. Howard is already at our table. Did you know Mrs. Wilcox and her son are seated with us?"

"Yes. I helped arrange the seating," said Patricia. "Her son, Todd, is a charmer. If you ever consider leaving Howard," she whispered to Miriam. "Do I need to say more?"

"Oh, stop it Mother," said Miriam, cutting her off.

Mrs. Wilcox's son, Todd, stood up to greet Patricia and Rudy as they approached the table. He shook hands with Rudy before they sat and gave Patricia a nod and a smile.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Simon," said Todd.

"Thank you, Todd. Please call me Patricia."

As planned, the seat next to Todd was open. Patricia sat next to him and motioned for him to sit next to her.

Rudy then shook hands with Howard. Patricia gave Howard a forced smile thinking, You worthless piece of shit, if you choke on your dinner tonight don't expect me to help.

Miriam had two boys in their mid-thirties who had both attended military boarding schools paid for by Patricia. They both had business degrees and did well in their chosen fields. Miriam had also been raised in an all girls' boarding school, but before Patricia could get her accepted at Harvard, she met Howard and got pregnant.

Patricia was furious. She wanted Miry to have an abortion, which she refused. She loved Howard and was happy to be his wife.

Dinner was served, and Patricia only had eyes for Todd, ignoring the rest seated at the table.

As usual, thought Rudy, she's after the young one. Should I warn him? Hell no! Maybe she'll divorce me and marry him. I'll act devastated and demand spousal support. I'll have to work on that.

Rudy stood up and said, "Mrs. Wilcox, may I have this dance?"

"My pleasure," she said taking Rudy's hand.

"Todd, why don't you dance with my wife? She's an excellent dancer," said Rudy.

Todd stood up and reached out his hand to Patricia. Without hesitation, Patricia accepted. Howard took Miriam's hand and joined the others on the dance floor.

When the band stopped, four people returned to the table. Todd and Patricia stayed out for a few more songs.

"Patricia you are quite light on your feet," said Todd.

"I guess I can attribute that to many years of ballet lessons. At one time I thought about becoming a ballerina, but I didn't have the discipline it required," said Patricia. "My parents died when I was twenty. As an only child, I was scared and very lonely. I married early and had Miriam the following year. The rest can only be told in a novel, but I'm not a writer. I'm boring you with my story of woe."

"No, no," said Todd. "Mother speaks very highly of you, and I find you extremely fascinating."

"I need to call your mother and hire one of her designers. It's time to do some remodeling at my vacation home in Palm Springs."

"I work for my mother. I'm a designer. Maybe I could help you. Call the office and ask for me," said Todd.

The band left for a break, and Patricia and Todd returned to the table.

On the way home, Patricia told Rudy she was going to remodel the Palm Spring house. "I think I'll call the Wilcox Design Center and see who they have available," she said.

"That's a good idea. Her staff worked well with you before. Maybe young Todd can help you." Patricia you are so transparent, thought Rudy.

***

Monday morning, Patricia called the Wilcox Design Center and asked for Todd.

"When do you want me to take a look at your project?" Todd asked Patricia.

"I think I'll go out a week from Tuesday," responded Patricia. "I have a Board meeting next Monday night and can leave the following morning."

"That works good with my schedule too. I'll be finishing up my current project the end of this week."

"I'll call you next Monday to confirm that I'm still on your schedule."

"I'm looking forward to our meeting," said Todd.

"Me too. I want to completely change the color scheme. I'll talk with you later." Hanging up, she was very pleased with herself.

She called her daughter. "Hi, Mom," said Miriam.

"Hi, Miry, dear. I'm going to do some remodeling at the Palm Springs house and will be gone for a week or two."

"Oh, Mother, that sounds like so much fun. I love the desert in October. I'll check with Howard and see if I can get away. I suppose you are having Todd Wilcox help you with the project?"

"Yes. When I called the Design Center I found out he was just finishing up a project, and he offered to help me. But you don't have to come along, because I might be there over a month."

"I know. I'll drive my own car so I can come home when I want to. Mom, I need to get away. Howard is driving me crazy."

"He'd drive me crazy, too."

"Don't start it, Mom."

"Okay, I'll talk with you later."

When Patricia told Rudy she might be gone for a month, he acted like he would miss her, but really couldn't wait until she left. He spent most of his days golfing. With her gone, maybe he could have a few guys over for a card game. Something she would never allow. He also liked to gamble, which was a problem because he didn't have a job and lived off of Patricia's money.

***

Tuesday, the following week, Patricia called her daughter, "Miry, I'm leaving for the desert in a few hours."

"Okay I'll leave around two. I'll see you at the house."

After Miriam arrived and put her things in the guest room, she went to dinner with her mother. Patricia talked about the new color scheme and other changes she wanted to make in the house.

"Of course, I'll leave it up to Todd," said Patricia. "After all, that's what I'm paying him for. Do you want another glass of wine?"

"Why not. I'm not driving."

The next morning Todd arrived at the Palm Springs house around ten in the morning. Patricia swung open the door with a grand Loretta Young jester, as she gave her skirt a big whirl. "Welcome to my little hideaway," she said.

"Not so little," said Todd, looking at the spiral staircase leading up to the three stories.

Seeing his eyes looking upward, Patricia commented, "Don't panic, I also have an elevator."

He smiled and asked, "Where do you want to settle to discuss your ideas?"

"Let's go into the dining room where we can spread your samples out on the table."

"Good idea," agreed Todd and followed her to the dining area.

"Hi, Todd," said Miriam with a smile.

"Miriam? I didn't know you were going to join us."

"I love helping Mother spend her money," she replied.

"I have my ideas written down and left them in the bedroom," said Patricia. "Be right back. Miry, why don't you get Todd a cup of coffee, unless he wants something stronger?"

"Coffee will be fine," he said.

"Let's go into the kitchen," Miriam said to Todd.

He followed her, and, as soon as they were out of the sight of Patricia, he grabbed Miriam and gave her a passionate kiss.

"I can't stand not knowing when I'll see you again," said Todd.

"I feel the same way, but this worked out perfectly. Mom tried to talk me out of coming. I'm sure she had plans of her own."

"Maybe I should suggest spending the night. It's such a long drive back and forth," he said smiling.

"Perfect."

"We just have to figure out how to get her to go to bed early."

"I'll take care of that." She pulled out a small plastic bag from her purse showing a few white pills. "A double dose of this can give her a good, long night's sleep."

"You are such a devil."

"I thought that's what you like about me."

Hearing Patricia's footsteps, Todd grabbed Miriam for a quick kiss.

As Patricia entered the room, Todd's cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and said, "Excuse me, a problem customer. I need to take this call," and walked out of the room.

"What do you want? I told you not to call me," said Todd, trying to keep his voice low. "I told you I would call you when the job is done."

"I just needed to know you were there and everything was in control," said the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Miriam's here, but that will not be a problem. Hang tight, I'll call you in a few days. Don't get impatient."

When Todd returned to the room, Patricia said, "Let me give you a tour of the house and then we can go over my ideas."

Todd followed her with Miriam close behind.

Around noon, Miriam mentioned maybe they should break for lunch. "I've cut up some cheese and fruit and made a green salad. Let's eat on the patio. It's such a beautiful day."

"Thanks for doing that, Miry," said Patricia. "Let's go to the patio."

During lunch, Patricia continued her conversation about her remodeling design.

"Patricia," said Todd. "Some of your ideas include structure changes. I will need to contact a few local contractors. Would it be too much of an inconvenience if I spent the night here, versus driving back to the home office?"

"That's a great idea," she responded. "If you need to stay a few nights, it would be okay. Miriam, if you need to go back to your family, you don't have to worry about me being here alone."

"That's okay, Mom. I told Howard I would be here for a few days."

"Well then, let's go to dinner in town around six," said Patricia.

"Sounds good to me," said Miriam. "I'll call your favorite restaurant for reservations."

"Thanks, Miry. Time to get back to work," said Patricia. "Todd, let's tackle the kitchen remodel first."

"You're the boss," said Todd, and they returned to the house.

"Mom, do you want me to call your housekeeping service to send someone over?" asked Miriam.

"I've already taken care of that. You can leave the dishes because Maria will be here shortly to clean up."

"Do you want to have cocktails around five before we go to dinner?" asked Miriam.

"Yes," said Patricia. "Good idea. Make the dinner reservation for six-thirty."

"Will do," said Miriam, as they all returned to the remodel planning. Todd brushed up against Miriam giving her a wink as they walked back into the house.

"I'll tell Maria we are going to have cocktails in the study before going to dinner," said Patricia. "She will get the guest room ready and be back in the morning to cook breakfast."

At five o'clock they met in the study.

"Todd, we're having Cabernet. Is that okay with you? Or do you want a white wine?" asked Miriam.

"Cab is okay with me," responded Todd. "Let me serve it. You two get comfortable." As he poured the wine and with his back to Patricia and Miriam, he had plans of his own. He dropped a slow acting sedative into Patricia's drink.

During dinner, Patricia complained she was tired. "I guess all the talk about the remodeling exhausted me."

When they returned home, Miriam said to Patricia, "I'm going to have a cup of tea before I go to bed. I know you are tired, but why don't you have a cup with me? It will give you a better night's sleep."

"Okay. How about you, Todd?" asked Patricia.

"Thanks, but I'm calling it a night. I want to review my notes and be ready for further design ideas. Thanks for dinner. I'll see you both in the morning."

Miriam fixed tea for her and Patricia. She slipped the contents of two capsules in her mother's tea. They chatted about the day a little and finally retired.

Later, Miriam checked to make sure Patricia was sound asleep. Then she went to Todd's room.

"This was a great idea," said Todd, "but I don't know how I'll keep my hands off of you after tonight."

"I'm just happy that we have this time together. It's hard to get away once I'm home."

"Then let's make the most of it now." That made Miriam giggle. She quickly covered her mouth, afraid she might wake her mother.

Later, she tiptoed back to her room, but first she checked on Patricia to make sure she was still asleep. She hadn't moved since Miriam checked on her earlier. Crawling back into bed, she quickly dozed off.

Hearing a scream and hysterical crying, Miriam jumped out of bed and ran into the hall where she found the housekeeper Maria uncontrollably crying, pointing to Patricia's room.

Miriam ran to her mother. She reached to her to shake her awake. She quickly pulled her hands back. "I think she's dead," she said in a whisper and turned to see Todd standing in the doorway. Seeing the shocked look on her face, he went to her. As he hugged her, he whispered in her ear, "How much did you give her?"

"No, no! This has nothing to do with what I gave her. She must have had a heart attack in her sleep."

"Maybe she had a bad heart and what you gave her was too much for her to handle."

"But I didn't mean for this to happen," she sobbed, leaning her head on Todd's chest.

"Maybe not, but how will you explain this to the police?"

"The police? Are you going to tell them?"

"I won't have to. When they do an autopsy they will find the sleeping pills in her system."

Miriam was still crying. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know you didn't," said Todd, patting her back to console her.

"Mother! Mother!" she yelled, again grabbing her shoulders, hoping it was all a mistake. Still no response. She fell on the floor sobbing.

"We need to call the police." Todd helped her up and braced her as they walked to the kitchen. "Maria will you fix us some coffee?"

"Sí," she responded still shaking and crying.

Not knowing what to say or do, periodically Miriam broke down and cried.

Todd called the police, and they waited.

Miriam explained to the police that her mother was feeling fine during the day.

When they questioned Todd, he also told them Patricia had been feeling fine but complained about being tired at dinner the night before. He told them that Miriam had given her mother sleeping pills to help her rest.

Miriam called Howard and told him Patricia had died of a heart attack. She asked him to come and get her because she was too shaken to drive.

"I'll take you home," said Todd.

"No, thank you," she said glaring at him. "I know what you told the police. Why did you do that?" she asked.

"I knew they would find out, so why not be up front. It was an accident."

"Yes, it was. Did you tell them I gave it to her so you could screw me?"

He didn't answer.

Howard called Miriam back and told her he was on his way. "I have contacted our attorney. He said to tell you not to talk to the police."

"It's a little late for that. I'll explain when you get here."

Todd stayed around until Howard got there. He went to Miriam before he left to hug her, but she pushed him away.

"Miriam, I'm sorry," he said before he left. He turned to Howard and mumbled, "Call me when we can get together and golf."

Rudy arrived about the same time as Howard. He embraced Miriam, and said, "I can't believe she is gone."

Later, when Todd got ready to leave, Rudy walked with him to his car.

"Do not call me," said Todd. "Our conversations should not be traceable. Howard will get in touch with you to get together for golf. The three of us will talk then when we are out in the open."

***

Miriam was arrested for killing her mother. Rudy was free and had control of Patricia's money. With Miriam in jail, Howard managed her inheritance.

The following month the three men got together for a game of golf. Arriving at the fourteenth hole, Rudy handed Todd an envelope and said, "Now that Miriam is out of the picture, and I control the money, here's your share."

"Looks like it worked out for all of us," said Todd, as he stuck the envelope in his golf bag. "Now I can open my own Design Center."

Patting each other on the back, they went to the Club House for a few cocktails.

#  The Naiad's Tale

Scott Skipper

Ears—the fennec cub was a ball of puppy fur with enormous ears and a long, pointed nose. Cyrene cuddled him to her breast as the little fox squirmed to get free. She nuzzled him with her cheek and got the end of her nose nipped. "Damon, that was bad. What am I going to do with you?" She set him on the moss-covered ground, and he began tugging at the hem of her filmy gown. "Damon, stop that. Now, it's time for a nap. Be still." She laid her head on the soft tuft of velvety moss, closed her eyes, and let the sound of gently falling water lull her to sleep. The body of the little animal felt warm against her side.

The harsh scream of a hawk woke her in a panic. Feeling for Damon and not finding him, she leapt to her feet and called his name. The hawk screeched again, and she saw that there was nothing in those wicked talons. She began a frantic search for her precious pet before the sharp-eyed raptor spotted him first. Following the stream against the flow of the diaphanous water, she called his name desperately.

"Gaia, have you seen my Damon?" she asked the dryad of the oak grove.

"It's not my job to keep track of your suitors," the haughty tree nymph retorted.

"No, Damon is a baby fox that Aeolus gave me at the Dionysia on the full moon last."

Gaia laughed cruelly. "What sense does it make to give a water nymph a fox? He should have given you an otter."

Cyrene contorted her elfin face. "Go suck an acorn."

"Give yourself a thrill, Cyrene, douche with tadpoles."

"Oh, go back in your knothole." Cyrene stamped her foot and continued up the stream calling her dear pet's name.

Near the place where the brook bubbled from the rocks, she spied a blur of reddish brown. The little beast's ears perked at the sound of his name, and he looked at the willowy girl who ran to catch him. Damon turned and darted into the grotto.

"I've got you now," Cyrene said laughing. She picked her way across the stepping-stones that were cool and slick beneath her bare feet. The joyful water frolicked from the fountain in the center of the brooding cavern. Little Damon taunted her from the wet stone floor at the back of the smallish hollow. "You can't get away from me now," she giggled as she splashed through the last few steps in the pool.

But Damon wasn't finished with the game. His tiny paws thumped on the damp floor as he vanished behind a boulder. Cyrene sprinted after her playmate. To her dismay, he vanished into the blackness of a hidden chasm there.

"Damon, you come out of there this instant. If I have to come get you, I'll bump my head on the low ceiling or fall into some bottomless pit."

The little fox made no sound.

With a sigh, the girl flipped her golden tresses behind her shoulders and started into the Stygian darkness feeling her way along the humid walls. She focused her mind on her sisters of the stagnant waters. She sent a plea to the fens and marshes, cupped her hands, and opened them to release the faerie light. A bluish ball of cool light danced on her palm. It barely vanquished the gloom but offered enough illumination to spare her cracking her skull on the jagged ceiling.

The flickering orb of light also made Damon's beady eyes glow. "I see you," she tittered, and the tiny fox turned again to flee deeper into the inky labyrinth. Cyrene followed by the glow of the cold fire, but it rolled from her hand and bounced along the floor. Blue became green. It flared and subsided to blue again with perhaps some orange. In the brief flash of brightness, she saw it—a face, creased and leering. "Oh," she gasped, "who are you?"

"Are we lost, little girl?" a disembodied voice asked from the darkness.

"I'm looking for my baby fennec, Damon."

The marsh light twinkled to life and floated around her head. She could see nothing beyond its feeble glow.

"Are we lost, I say?" the voice had an unpleasant edge of mirth.

"I don't think so. As soon as I catch Damon, I'll go back the way I came."

"Did you come this way?" The will-o'-the-wisp swished sidewise as if thrown by an unseen hand. "Or that way?" The purplish fire blazed in front of her in the opposite direction. At each end of the arc, she saw the gaping maw of a divergent tunnel.

"I don't think I came from either of those passages." She felt confused and frightened.

"Are we lost then, little girl?" the voice in the darkness cackled.

"Again, I don't think so, but if you might help me catch Damon, I'll be out of your way."

"If we catch the little beast, we eats it."

"No," Cyrene wailed. "He's hardly got a morsel of flesh on his tiny body." She tried to capture the shimmering constellation of light. Her hand went right through it. Shadowy palms reached from obscurity, engulfed, and extinguished it. The naiad sent her prayers back to her sisters of the stagnant pools, and again the magic fire kindled in her hands. "Damon, Damon," she called, and heedless of the scarcely seen menace, resumed her pursuit of the impish canine. Her fen fire flared once more, pulsing yellow and revealing the malign features.

"Your precious tidbit did not come this way, little girl."

"Well, which way did he go then?" She stood rigid feeling her imperious side return.

"Which way will you go, little girl?"

"Stop calling me little girl. I'll have you know, I am the daughter of a king."

"Doesn't make you any less of a little girl, and now you're a lost little girl who cannot even find my supper."

"I'll not hear any more of this. Damon is simply not edible. And who are you anyway?"

The murky countenance faded into the gloom. Cyrene tried to thrust the globe of light toward it, but the bauble of blue morphed green and pink and tumbled from her tenuous grasp. She followed the feeble source of light if only to stay in its comforting sphere.

A plaintive yip froze her. She swatted at the glowing cluster and succeeded in swishing it in the direction of the sound. Tiny eyes burned in the umbra and the diminutive cub cowered on the cold stone. Scooping him into her arms, she embraced his soggy fur while he squirmed and kissed her chin.

"Ah, we have found our victuals, have we?"

"I have found nothing of the sort, whoever you are," Cyrene tried to sound bigger than she felt.

"Give us a taste."

"Don't be absurd. Damon is safe now, and we're going home, thank you."

"We are going home, are we? Do we know where home is?"

"We'll find our way. You needn't worry."

"Did you say you came from this way?" As before, the wraith contained the nebulous swamp light and shone it on the entry of a passageway, then swung it toward another. "Or this way?"

"We came from the way we came. I shall simply retrace my steps."

"Oh, really?" The cluster of scintillating blue pinpricks swept around her colliding with a blank wall. They slid to the floor and recoalesced. "Did you say you came from that way?"

Cyrene's bluff wilted. "Which way did I come?"

"Little girl is lost. Now we shall have her precious, and we shall have our dinner."

"No," she pleaded. "Which way did I come?"

"Little dog first."

"He's not a dog, and you shan't have him. I'll find my way." She attempted to gather the recalcitrant ghost-light. It flowed over her hand while she clutched tiny, wriggling Damon with the other.

Invisible fingers pinched her curvaceous haunch. "Succulent. Perhaps we let the bony beast be and dine on the lost little girl."

The ghostly thumb and finger made her leap and cry, "You don't know who you're dealing with. I shall no more let you eat me than Damon."

Cackling, the hideous visage thrust toward her face in the meager radiance. "She won't let us? However does she plan to stop us?"

"You don't know who you're dealing with."

"We heard that before—daughter of a king. All the more toothsome it sounds."

Cyrene forced her mind to calm. She let her energy flow with the current sending her will to the fountain that frothed in the grotto spilling gentle water into the brook that was her domain. With her naiad's will, she bent the course of the obedient fluid. She heard the trickle increase to a torrent, and then to a rapid. The first wave curled around her dainty feet and quickly floated her sheer garment to her thighs. In heartbeats, the surge wafted her on its sacred bosom deeper into the bowels of the earth while sweeping the dreadful mountain nymph with it.

The column of water carrying Cyrene and her beloved, but drenched, fennec pup rose through a rocky chimney while leaving the drowned shell of her nemesis far below. Sweet sunlight warmed her face as the sheltering deluge emerged from the netherworld placing her and her charge gently onto the sandy bottom of a limpid pool. The naiad gracefully unfolded her silky legs, swept her flowing locks from her eyes, and adjusted her transparent gown before taking poor, soaked Damon to the grassy bank where he shook the water from his downy coat. He shivered and supplicated her to take him to her breast. She embraced the fickle little beast that licked her face and once more nipped her nose.

#  Puff Went Up in Smoke

Sharri Cohen

This is the story of Puff the Magic Dragon after Jackie Paper grows up.

It had been twenty-two years since Puff had exited Jackie Paper's life and left the town of Honahlee in the rear-view mirror. Puff wiped his green, scaly, sweaty forehead with his black taloned claws. It was so hot here in the Grand Canyon. It was the stinking desert: sand, heat, cactus, buzzards, and lizards.

He wished he could go back to his hometown where the misty cool climate soothed his soul, but he couldn't go back to that sweet land since his little buddy turned his back on him. Puff had not heard his name uttered by human lips since Jackie Paper's eighth birthday.

Exhaling heavily, Puff lumbered over to the saguaro cactus, and, sitting on his haunches, leaned back against the spiny trunk. It was easy to feel sorry for himself. He watched as a speck in the distance slowly moved toward him. It was too far away for him to ascertain its identity. He scratched his snout absently. No one ever came to his part of this dusty wasteland. That was why Puff chose to live here. Where no one ever looked for him, where no one knew his name. Shaking his wedge-shaped head despondently, he acknowledged that only special people could even discern his existence. The world was a harsh place and had become more so in the years since he and Jackie had been together. Innocence was nearly non-existent. Imagination had been replaced by logic, only believing what could be quantified or seen.

Laughing sardonically, he finally admitted the one truth to himself he had never wanted to accept. After Jackie had turned his back on Puff his Magic Dragon, no one else had let Puff into their lives. Why, he did not know. Dropping his head dejectedly back against the cactus, Puff squinted into the cloudless blue sky. Ha! He could live forever—that was the way of his kind. But did he want to? Why should he?

A noise in the distance caught Puff's attention. Was it a shout? Moving his head forward, he tried to make out the figure coming toward him. Was it a human? No one ever came into this part of the world, this deep into the Grand Canyon. Quick as a flash he snatched a wiggling desert scavenger and shoved it into his maw. Lizards were good nutrition, they provided a great source of protein, but man it took a lot to fill his gut. Heaving a sigh, he pushed his tail out behind him and straightened his stubby legs, crossing them at the ankles and folding his short arms to rest on his massive chest. Looking in the distance, Puff watched as the figure started to take shape. He didn't bother calling a greeting. No one had ever heard him. Nor could they see him, for that matter—not since Jackie. Squeezing his eyes together to small slits to bring the vision into focus, Puff saw that it looked like a young male adult. It was over a hundred degrees today, causing the male's blue chambray shirt to be wet with sweat. His long, straw-colored hair hung in wet strands around a pudgy face. His steps were slow and deliberate—one foot in front of the other, trudging through the sand leaving small wafts of dust behind.

"Hey Dude! I'm a little lost. My GPS is on the fritz. No workee," shouted the perspiring man from fifty yards away, shaking the handheld device. "I'm looking for an old friend of mine," he stopped abruptly in his tracks. "Dude, you're huge. And greenish, with dragony eyes. Could it be you? My childhood friend? Did you know you have horns on your head? I don't remember the hornays," he quipped. "But they look good."

Straightening, using his tail to balance himself while he stood to his full height, Puff looked down his muzzle at this intruder on his personal pity party, his miserable invisible life.

"I am going to say this, knowing full well you cannot hear me. Turn your bony ass around and head back from where you came," smoke tendrils drifted from his nostrils. "How you can see me doesn't make sense, but I don't care. Just get out of here, and leave me in peace."

"Dude, did you know your snout is smoldering?" the human wondered out loud.

"I am barely keeping it together here, pal. You are lucky I haven't lit you up like a shish-kabob, but I am on the nicotine patch, and you aren't helping me. Get out of my space and head back out of the canyon. It's a good thing you can't hear me because I would point out that, if I had some barbeque sauce, I'd be eating your arms like chicken wings." Puff turned and started to stalk off.

"    Who couldn't hear you? Your voice is cutting through my brain like a knife through Jell-O. I think my eardrums are bleeding," the intruder whined, cupping his palms over his ears. When the dragon abruptly whirled around to face him in astonishment, the male backed up rapidly.

"You can hear me? And you can actually see me?" Puff shouted.

"Seriously? You are the size of a two-story house, and they could hear you at thirty thousand feet. You've got a voice that could pierce steel, cut a diamond, make small children cry..."

"Enough," Puff roared. "Just answer me, puny human."

"You are not as kind as I remember," the visitor grumbled. "You never yelled at me when I was a kid. I remember you being nicer. Maybe this was a mistake, as my mother loved pointing out to me before I started this mission. She won't hesitate now to say I told you so. Man, she'll point her finger in my face," he declared, clearly warming to his subject, pursing his lips together, "And she'll say it in that Russian accent of hers, 'Vat did I tell you, boyo? There is no going backward. Life is like good Russian cabbage soup. It don't sit well with everyone, but you got to get through it. So...'"

"Enough! Stop your incessant babbling and answer me!" growled Puff. "Who are you that you can understand me?"

"Well, I can tell you now that criticizing me isn't the best way to rekindle our relationship. I get enough of that from my mother. AND she is an expert at tearing a guy down to noth—"

"Jackie! Is that you?" Puff could hardly hear over his wildly thumping heart. "How can this be? Why are you so old?"

"Dude! Yes, it's me, Jack Paper. Stop with the negativity. Why wouldn't I be 'more mature', which is a nicer way to express your concerns by the way. A lot of time has passed." Jackie looked skyward uneasily eyeing the huge black condor circling lazily overhead and requested, "Can we go inside that cave over there? That bird has a wingspan of an RV, and he's been following me for miles. He's clearly waiting for me to wither up and die. Let's make sure I don't become the special of the day on his luncheon menu, okay?"

Grabbing Jackie's arm carefully and directing him inside the cool, dark cavern, Puff could barely function with his thoughts tumbling round in his head like a hamster on a wheel. He couldn't understand what was happening. Only the innocent, childlike, and the unworldly were supposed to be able to interact with him. Pushing his old companion unceremoniously onto the dirt floor, the dragon plopped down and sat cross-legged across from Jackie.

"Okay. What's going on? Why are you here? How did you find me?" Puff demanded.

Putting his elbows on his raised knees, Jackie rested his chin on his clasped hands, looking at his childhood friend.

"It wasn't easy, let me tell you that! I started getting flashes of this scaly, ten-foot dragon with kind eyes and a sweet nature...what happened to those traits by the by? Anyway, I thought I was going crazy. I saw us running and playing in the cherry orchards in the misty mornings, planning a life full of magical dreams. I went back to my home town of Honahlee. I thought I could make some sense of all these jumbled memories cluttering up my brain if I went back to where everything started. Without going into too much detail," he stopped to take a deep breath, "then, Eureka! I remembered everything."

Puff could feel his withered heart begin to fill with joy at each word Jackie uttered. When Jackie Paper outgrew his friendship with the dragon, when the boy's imagination was pushed out by real world worries, Puff went up in smoke. Never to be heard from again. Why? Because humankind has lost the ability for compassion and for kindness to one another. Neither one of them knew it at the time, but Jackie Paper's innocence and acceptance of Puff in his life was humanities' last bastion for a stand against rampant evil and world-wide wickedness. In every corner of the world there were horrible events, miserable human conditions, and evil people eclipsing goodness, morality, and righteousness. The dragon had thought all was lost.

The man continued with his story, "After trying to figure out where an over-sized, toothy, green monster . . ."

"Hey," protested Puff.

"Ahh, cuddly dragon," amended Jackie, "would hide out, I thought of the Grand Canyon." He was very pleased with his deductions. "There's water, vast areas no one ever sets foot on, and caves to sleep in. And, here you are. Genius, right?"

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Simple, my friend. We are going to figure out a way to give humanity their faith again. Bring back the lost innocence, goodness, and magic. I believe that people just need to be shown the way. I think we are just the guys to accomplish that."

When Puff the Magic Dragon heard his boyhood friend, all grown up but still with a belief in his ability to achieve the nearly impossible, he smiled for the first time in years. His spirit took wing and his soul sang. He grabbed Jackie by his shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace. Tears leaked out of the corners of Puff's eyes.

"I believe we can, my friend. I believe we can."

#  Secrets and Whispers

Tamara Miller

"I think it's time to tell her.

"No! I'm not ready."

"You'll never be ready! You need to do it now, or I will!"

"No! You promised. You promised to wait until I said it was okay."

"I'm telling you, the longer you wait the worse it's going to be."

And so went the ongoing argument between two sisters. One would always end up mad at the other, and then they would later apologize and more time would pass.

***

Julie's best friend was her cousin, Ned, who was three years older than her. Their mothers were sisters. She noticed that whenever she entered a room and her mother, Linda, was talking with her Aunt Lucy, they would whisper or quit talking.

Her mother told her at the age of twelve that she was adopted. She explained that she couldn't have a baby so they chose her. Then a few years later a miracle happened and her little sister Maggie was born.

Julie guessed that's what they were whispering about because she didn't totally understand a lot about adoption. Her mother and father loved her and that was all that mattered.

When Julie was nineteen, her father was killed in an automobile accident. Her mother sold their house, and they moved next door to her cousin Ned and Aunt Lucy who was divorced. She figured that was something no one ever talked about. It was one of the things that her mother and aunt must be whispering about.

'Kissing cousins' was a saying Julie had heard, and she wanted Ned to kiss her more than anything. "You know we aren't really cousins," she told Ned.

"What do you mean? Of course we are," Ned responded.

"What I mean is, you know I'm adopted, so we aren't blood cousins," she said hoping he would take the hint.

Ned finally kissed her, and not long after that, they fell in love. Ned asked Julie to marry him, and she accepted. When they announced their engagement to their mothers, Julie was surprised at their lack of excitement.

Her mother told her that she wanted her to wait until she finished college and got her master's degree. Ned's mother felt the same way. He was in medical school and had not finished his internship. Julie and Ned wanted to get married the following year, but they didn't bring it up in front of their mothers.

A few months after their announcement, Julie asked, "Mom, is there any way I can find my biological mother?"

Linda was taken aback by Julie's request. After a minute she responded. "Honey, I wish that was possible, but the hospital records were lost during a fire."

Julie accepted the explanation because her inquiry seemed to upset her mother, and she didn't want her to think she loved her any less.

The following year, Ned and Julie ran off to Las Vegas and were married, and then they found a studio apartment near the hospital. Neither of their mothers were happy, but it was too late to make a difference. Linda and Lucy gave the couple a small reception.

***

Lucy knew she had to tell her son the truth, so one day she went to the hospital to have lunch with him.

"Hi Mom," said Ned. "What a nice surprise. What's the occasion? Did I forget your birthday?"

"No, honey. I just never get a chance to have you all to myself."

Seeing the serious look on her face, he became concerned. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"I have something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago."

"All right. Let's go to the cafeteria. We can talk there." They ordered lunch and found a table in the corner. "Okay, what do you need to tell me? By the look on your face you are making me nervous."

"I don't think I ever told you why your dad left me."

"No. But I thought it was one of those private things we don't talk about."

"It is, and it's complicated." Ned stopped eating and listened. "I had an affair. He was one of my old boyfriends from college."

"Wouldn't Dad forgive you?"

"He probably would have, but I got pregnant. I don't believe in abortion so I insisted on having the baby. It was just too much for him to accept. I thought if I put the baby up for adoption, we could get our marriage back on track. Instead of going through an agency, your Aunt Linda wanted to take the baby. I thought that was the perfect solution because she was having a problem getting pregnant."

***

Ned bolted up from his chair. "Don't say another word. I don't want to hear it. I can't believe you have waited until now to tell me this." He turned and left his mother sitting at the table. His head was swimming. _I'm so mad at my mother. What do I do now?_ he wondered. _Do I tell Julie? Oh man, I have to think this through._

When he returned to his workstation, one of the nurses asked, "Are you okay Ned?"

"No. I think I'm coming down with something. I'll get someone to cover my shift. I think I need to go home and lie down." He left, but he didn't go home. He went to a nearby park and sat in his car to think.

He decided not to tell Julie. He would handle it on his own. It's a good thing we decided not to start our family until she finishes school and I completed my internship, he thought.

Later that week he called Julie from work. "Hi, honey. I won't be home tonight. I have to work a double shift, and I'm going to sleep here at the hospital."

"Okay," Julie replied. "I've got finals this week, and I need to concentrate."

***

The next night he called again, and told her he had to work another double shift. That would give him time to recover from his vasectomy. When he finally did go home, he complained about being tired, hoping that would discourage any sexual contact for now. He was still mad at his mother and didn't know how he could face her again. He kept his distance except for holidays. He didn't know how to explain his feelings toward his mother to Julie.

***

Three years after Ned and Julie were married; Ned's mother had a heart attack and passed away. Julie's mother was devastated by the loss of her sister because she was the last of her living relatives. She became depressed and seldom left the house.

"Julie, I need your help," said Ned one morning at breakfast. "Would you pack up my mother's clothes and personal items and give them to the Salvation Army. I can't bear to go through her things."

"Sure, I'll be glad to. I can do it tomorrow. I'll check with Mom and see if she wants to help." She called her mother. "Mom, Ned has asked me to go through Aunt Lucy's belongings. Do you want to help?" Julie heard her mother start to cry over the phone. "I didn't mean to upset you. It's okay, Sis said she would help me."

"That sounds good. I don't think I'm up to it." Now I'm left with carrying the burden of the secret, she thought. So many times I threatened myself to tell Julie and Ned, and now I'm the only one who knows the truth.

"Okay, Mom. You get some rest. If we come across something that looks like family, I'll set it aside for you to look at."

The next day before Ned left for the hospital, Julie told him, "Maggie's going to help me with your mother's things today. Are there any mementos of your mother's you want me to save?"

"No, I don't think she had anything of value, but if you find something you think your mother would like, please set it aside for her. If you find something that you have a question about, just box it up, and I'll look at it later. Thanks for doing this for me." He kissed her goodbye and left.

"Hey, anyone home?" hollered Maggie when she opened Julie's back door.

"In here," Julie answered. "Are you ready to see if we can find some buried treasure?"

"Sure," said Maggie. "It's like going to a swap meet and hunting for priceless items."

"I don't think we will find anything of value. After Ned's father left Aunt Lucy, she had just enough to live on. I know she had a rough time making ends meet and raising Ned. Let's go and get this over with."

Julie and Maggie drove behind a few retail stores to pick up some empty boxes and then they returned to Aunt Lucy's house. It was a small home with two bedrooms and one bath.

"Let's start in her bedroom. You can do Aunt Lucy's closet," Julie told Maggie. "I'll clean out her dresser and jewelry box. I'm going to save all her jewelry for Mom to look at in case there are some family heirlooms."

"Do you know where there's a step-stool or something I can stand on?" asked Maggie. "I can't reach the hat boxes on the top shelf."

"I'll check in the kitchen broom closet," said Julie.

Returning, she said, "We're in luck, here's a stool. You get the boxes and hand them down to me, and we'll see what's in them. If she's anything like Mom, they are full of old letters and birthday cards the family has given her."

Maggie handed them to Julie one at a time. When they had three of them down, the two women sat on the floor and started to sort through the contents. "Just what I thought," said Julie, "old cards and bank statements."

"Here's the deed to the house. I'm sure Ned wants to keep this," said Maggie. "Here's her birth certificate and another one that's probably Ned's." She handed them to Julie.

She reached for the papers, which were slightly stuck together. Trying to separate them, one of the certificates dropped to the floor. Julie picked it up to see if it was Ned's. She sat very still as she read the document.

"What is it?" asked Maggie.

"It's for a little girl. I didn't know Ned ever had a sister. I wonder what happened to her and why he has never mentioned her to me?" She continued to read it and suddenly turned pale and her hands started to shake.

"What's wrong, Julie?" asked Maggie. "You are white as a sheet."

"The birth certificate date is the same as mine. It's the same town, day, and time that Mother told me I was born." She dropped the certificate. It fell from her hand as if it burned her fingers.

"Julie?"

"It's my birth certificate! Aunt Lucy was my mother!"

"Can't be," said Maggie. "Let me see that." She snatched it off the floor.

Julie started to cry. "Ned's my brother," she whispered. That's what the secrets have been all these years!

#  The Seagull and the Stoplight

Sherban Cira

The wind blew and the clouds grew thicker as the storm carried Seagull far inland, away from the sea. He banked and swerved, using all his flying skills to avoid crashing. The night was inky black, and there was no moon to light the way to a safe landing space. Wet, cold, and tired, Seagull flew on in the racing wind.

Just as his strength was leaving him, Seagull saw a green light in the distance. He tucked his wings tightly to his body and veered toward the light.

"Has the wind pushed me out to sea again? That green light looks safe. I might be able to land on it." the Seagull thought.

Stoplight was swinging wildly in the wind above the empty intersection on County Road 10. He wondered for the hundredth time why he was hanging above a lonely county road where only a few cars and trucks passed by every day.

Seagull saw the light in the distance turn red and decided that it was a harbor buoy for sure. Suddenly he was a few feet away from the light, which was hanging in the sky directly in front of him. He saw the frame of the Stoplight too late to avoid crashing into it.

Feathers flew in all directions as Seagull crashed into the metal frame of Stoplight.

"Hey, what happened!" he shouted. "You crashed right into me! Ouch! "said Stoplight.

"Are you ok?" they both said together.

Seagull did a flight check. "Wings, okay, tail, okay, beak, okay, feathers, mostly okay, at least the flight feathers are still here. Yep, I'm okay. How about you?"

"My red and green lights still work, so I must be okay too." Stoplight said, taking a deep breath.

"What do you mean? You don't have a yellow light?"

"No, I'm just a simple stoplight. I wish I had a yellow light."

Seagull found a comfortable space in Stoplight's frame to shelter from the storm. The wind was still blowing when Seagull fell asleep. Stoplight had plenty of time to wonder what a seagull was doing so far from the ocean as the storm continued through the night.

In the morning, the storm was over and the sky was sunny and blue. Seagull looked at the cornfields on all sides of the lonely road.

"Hey, where did my ocean go?"

"We are very far from the ocean," said Stoplight with a little sigh. "Good morning."

"Good morning. Do you know where we are?"

"We are on County Road 10 in the middle of Nowhere, where nothing exciting ever happens."

Seagull leaned over and stared at Stoplight. "I happened", he said importantly. "And I am always exciting."

Stoplight laughed. "Yes, that was pretty exciting last night. I thought you were going to smash both of my bulbs and knock me down onto the highway."

"Hah! That would never happen. I am a very good flier. I have thousands of nautical miles of flying experience. You know that storm was a force ten gale last night, and I flew straight here without even losing a flight feather. I saw your light over my starboard wing." Seagull waited for Stoplight to compliment him on his flying.

"Force ten gale...nautical miles...starboard wing. Oh...oh...wow." Stoplight burst into tears.

Seagull almost fell off the frame. "Hey sailor, what's got your decks awash? Was it something I said?"

"Oh no, it's just that I love the sea and all that sailor talk just makes me blubber. I can't help it."

"Why does sailor talk make you blubber, matey?"

"Well, it's because....because...because I wanted to do more important work, you know...I wanted to be a lighthouse with a bright yellow light. I wanted to keep lots of people safe."

The Seagull was silent for a moment.

"You know, being a lighthouse comes with a lot of responsibility. Thousands of people on all the ships passing by depend on the lighthouse to keep them safe. They would see you and feel safer knowing you are there."

"I know" said the Stoplight with a sigh. "But here I am, in a sea of corn, with no one to keep safe."

At that moment Stoplight turned red. A boy and a girl approached on their bicycles. The girl stopped and the boy kept pedaling. Stoplight was furious.

"See that? That boy never stops when he sees my red light."

"Why doesn't he stop?" asked Seagull.

"He stops only if he can see a car or truck coming. But look! The corn fields are growing all the time and now they are so tall that he can't see far enough to know if a car or truck is coming. What am I doing here? I feel useless. That boy doesn't care about me or himself."

Seagull looked straight at Stoplight. "It seems to me matey, that you have plenty of people to keep safe."

The Stoplight turned green and the girl walked her bike across the road.

"Look at her. She always obeys the rules. Even when no one is looking and no cars are coming, she stops and waits for me to turn green."

Seagull watched as the children pedaled out of sight.

"Well, matey, we all have choices. We can play by the rules all the time or only some of the time. A good sailor follows the rules whether anyone is watching or not."

Seagull took off and flew high, watching the children turn down a road toward a dairy with a big farmhouse. Seagull flew back to the Stoplight and told him what he had seen.

"You aren't in the middle of Nowhere. You are the only stoplight for the whole farm. You keep this whole road safe for the boy and girl. They are the dairy farmer's children."

Stoplight looked at Seagull thoughtfully. His green light glowed a little brighter. He was beginning to feel a little better, thinking about being the only stoplight for the farm. But the way the boy ignored him still made him upset.

Seagull took off and flew in a big circle. In the distance, the boy and the girl approached on their way to school.

"Uh-oh" squawked Seagull suddenly returning to Stoplight. " Hard to port matey, hard to port!"

"What is it?" yelled Stoplight.

"Look! Bearing hard off the starboard bow! Sound general quarters!"

Stoplight looked down the road and saw a tanker truck coming fast, late to pick up the milk from the dairy, on a collision course with the children.

Stoplight was in a panic. He didn't know what to do.

Stoplight turned bright red as the boy and the girl approached. The girl slowed down, but the boy pedaled harder. Stoplight was desperate. The boy wouldn't look at him!

"Flash, flash, hurry mate, get a move on!" shouted Seagull.

"What?" Stoplight was confused.

"In the harbor, matey, when the patrol boats are working, they flash their red lights to warn ships when they are about to collide. You may only have red and green, but I bet you can flash your red. Try it!

Stoplight concentrated on flashing. On and off, on and off, his bright red light flashed. The truck sped on toward the intersection while the boy pedaled faster, intending to go through the red light just as he always did and not even looking up.

"No matey, not him!" squawked Seagull.

"Flash at the truck!"

Stoplight changed colors and flashed his red light furiously at the tanker truck. There was a loud hiss of brakes and grinding gears as the truck driver slowed his engines, just in time as the boy raced through the intersection and crashed straight into the cornfield in his surprise at the truck.

Cornstalks collapsed, the truck's brakes screeched, dust flew up from the road, the girl screamed, and Seagull flew high into the air, squawking as loud as he could.

The truck driver climbed down from the cab and raced over to the boy who was getting up from the tangle of his bicycle and crushed cornstalks. He had a skinned knee and a scratched face.

"Hey kid! Are you okay? What do you think you're doing? You didn't even look at the stoplight! "

"He never looks at it," said the girl quietly.

"Well, you better start looking at it, kid. That stoplight just saved your life."

The boy nodded and looked up at Stoplight with a smile. "Yes sir, from now on I'll look at it.

Seagull and Stoplight watched as the truck drove away, and the children walked their bicycles down the road toward the farm. Seagull preened a flight feather and leaned over to look at Stoplight.

"Well matey, you sure kept that boy from sailing into a storm. How do you feel about that? Still think you need a yellow bulb and a big lighthouse?"

Stoplight smiled happily. "No, I think I like me just the way I am."

#  Sleep of the Kinda Dead

Sharri Cohen

The oppressive darkness was reaching for her breath and pulling it out of her lungs. She panicked, panting quick little puffs of life-giving air. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the black surroundings. _Why was it so dark? What were those muffled noises breaking the distant silence?_ Alarmed, she jackknifed to a sitting position, cracking her head on an object, and fell back unconscious to the silk pillow.

***

Hot tears leaked out of the corners of his bloodshot hazel brown eyes. Would he ever stop weeping? He should be out of tears by now. Helios had been crying for an eternity. He stood back, shadowed by a huge oak tree. Sorrowfully he contemplated the black-clad people beginning to exit the funeral area on the emerald green grass, behind them the endless rolling meadows that seemed to disappear into the horizon. She would have hated this spectacle. Helen used to say that people wearing all black reminded her of cockroaches scuttling around here and there. Why were they here? Could anyone have loved her as much as he did?

"Helen," her name exhaled on a whisper. "You were a shining light. The other half to my soul." Laying his forehead against the uneven tree bark, his shoulders slumped, face contorted in agony, he sobbed, "Why?"

***

Helen shook her head, trying to sort through her confusion. Her bedroom pillow was a bleached cotton fabric. Not this smooth soft material. Was she still in her bed? Deliberately she raised her arms, her small hands came into contact with smooth wood about six inches above her body. Stunned and confused, pushing the mind-numbing panic down so she could think, Helen closed her eyes and held a discussion with herself, as was her way. "What's the last thing I remember? I was so sick," she said, walking slowly through her memories. "My nanny was worried that I had gotten cholera. She and my mother were whispering when they thought I couldn't hear them. I was so thirsty and hot. My head felt like it was going to explode. And... and I was terrified they would give me to the death-takers."

Her heart started a wild pounding. "They thought I died. They gave me to the death-takers. My mother gave me away," Helen whispered in horror. "Am I buried?" Clenching her fisted hands, she called, "Can anyone hear me? Hello! Then, in a stronger voice," Hello out there. Get me out of here!" She pounded on the wood.

***

Helios dug his hands through his brown hair frantically dislodging his leather-tied queue. "It's like I can hear Helen's sweet voice," he frowned, "except in a loud screeching tone. How can I hear her all the way from heaven's paradise? She used to be the only one who called me by my given name, Helios. Everyone else knew me as Hel, but my Helen said Helios was the Greek God of the Sun, and it was an honorable name."

Clasping his hands over his heart, he moaned pitifully, then staggered over to the casket laying next to the deep trench in the ground. Throwing himself in a heap on top of the box holding his beloved, it rocked tenuously on the edge of the ditch. "If only I could hear your sweet voice, gaze into your cornflower blue eyes, caress your soft cheek. Oh, my treasure!" He howled pitifully.

***

Helen's wooden coffin shook violently, "What is going on? Is somebody out there? Hey! Get me out of here. Help me!" Her voice rose to a shriek. There was a slight tinkle of a bell as her coffin slowly rocked to a stop.

***

"It's like I can hear her. Her soul is speaking to mine. Only in a distant enraged voice." Helios stood up and pointed his arms dramatically to the sky. "My beloved. I will follow you anywhere. Just wait for me."

"Helios? Is that you? What do you mean wait for you? There's barely any room for me here. Get me out right now! I am burning up here."

"No room in heaven? How small a place is it? Do you have to wait for a room to open up?" he asked puzzled. Then her last faint words penetrated his conscious. "You are burning up?" His arms dropped, and he turned in a circle. "Are you down there?" he asked, pointing a trembling finger slowly to the dirt-covered grass with a shaken look on his face.

"Come get me, you mutton-head," she screeched. "I need you right now!"

"Well now, my beloved, while I am as committed to you in death as I was in life, which by the way, I so eloquently expressed in your eulogy, I need time to process this strange turn of events. To be completely candid, I expected your final resting place to be the garden of eternal peace." Helios peered intently at the ground beneath his feet, speaking sternly, "Clearly I did not know you as well as I believed."

"Helios! I demand to see you!"

"Quit rushing me, Helen. This is a big decision, and I need time to think. How do we know I belong," gesturing vaguely to the sparse, scraggy grass below his boots, "down there? At your side?"

Helen looked frantically in the pitch-black dark, not even knowing what she was looking for. Stretching her left foot out as far as she could, she heard a bell tinkle outside her coffin as her slipper-clad foot hit a metal surface. Her pulse, pounding a rapid tattoo in her neck, accelerated until she thought her heart would explode. Desperately trying to clear her mind, the only thought she had was this is a safety coffin. Fitted with one of those bells that I can ring in here, and they can hear it outside. Thank the Lord. Wildly kicking the metal arm that was attached through the casket side to the bell outside, the cheerful tinkling sounding frantic, she prayed it would be heard.

Whipping his head toward the last resting place of Helen, her coffin, Helios locked his mesmerized brown eyes on the violently clanging bell. The bell was ringing! He ran the short distance to the pine box nearly bumping into it. Falling to his knees, still not believing the strident sound hitting his ears he demanded, "Is this a ghostly embodiment hoping to play havoc with my affection for my beloved Helen? Out! Out!" He wailed forlornly pounding the casket in frustration.

"Helios! I am trying to get out! I am running out of air, you moose-brained idiot. Open the coffin. GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

Finding a hammer that had been dropped after the casket-sealing, he used the claw end to pry up the lid. This took long, agonizing minutes, all the while Helios mentally chanted, Please, please, please be alive. Finally, shoving the lid off, not noticing when it fell into the ditch, he looked in astonishment as Helen shakily reached for him. Gathering her in his arms and pulling her out of what was to have been her final resting place, they both watched as the casket toppled into the trench.

He nuzzled her blond curly hair saying, "My wonderful, sweet girl. I would have come after you anywhere. But now we can enjoy our earthly existence. Together."

Helen fisted her small white hand, pulling back and slamming it into Helios' nose, watching in satisfaction as bone crunched and blood spurted.

"It took you long enough, you halfwit, and clearly you weren't ready to follow me anywhere. I won't forget that for a while, believe me!"

#  The Universe Speaks

T.L. Eastwood

I was

the stillness, the space

the tranquility of race

I gazed

at a spectacular show

that only I will ever know

I listened

to every pop and bang

to every element that sang

I reflected

on the brightest blue, the deepest green

that never before had been seen

I watched

as all things did grow and spring

those that walk and those that sting

I waited

and before I really knew

like children, they all grew

I sensed

a Trojan horse, black and sneaking

into my realm, slowly creeping

I was pleased

that I knew

but then up-grew a weed or two

I thought

it did not seem appalling at first

but more up-sprang with a wicked thirst

I knew

they would bloat, and when full grown

would begin to take things not their own

I observed

now, instead of mystery and vast space

petite quarters and a superior race

I wish

I had investigated more

when I could have controlled the score

I saw

with my unbelieving eyes

white and black and smoggy skies

I didn't know

that some would reign and some would slave

that few would come, strong and brave

I viewed

great servitude, everlasting bound

disarray and comfort found

I knowing

would have chased the evil bit away

so tranquility and peace would forever hold sway

# Wen-di-go

Lisa Griffiths

When I look in the mirror, the face that stares back is unrecognizable to me. Gone is the shine from my eyes and the smile from my lips.

The creature that I see in the reflection is gaunt, its skin stretched over its bones; the eyes appear sunken with a perverse hunger emanating from them. It looks starved, as if its insides are collapsing in on themselves.

I look like an addict. I feel like an addict, but it's not any drug that I'm craving. It's human flesh.

Two Weeks Earlier

After filing applications and hoping beyond hope, I was excited to read a letter of acceptance for a summer internship cataloging recent artifacts unearthed at a Native American reservation of the Menominee tribe.

I was in my second year of grad school studying the societal transition of the Great Lakes' tribes. Spending six weeks in northern Minnesota with fresh air, pine trees, and a million mosquitos sounded perfect. Plus, it would be great to add to my resume.

There were seven students in all studying under Dr. Miriam de Bruyner of the University of Minnesota. Her reputation preceded her if you wanted to believe former students' blogs; she was known to encourage competitiveness among her interns and favored those who weren't afraid to be aggressive. I wasn't thrilled at the idea of battling my fellow students for recognition, but I'd experienced enough dog-eat-dog situations in some of my old classes that I was confident that I could hold my own.

Three days in, my confidence began to slip. I felt that Dr. de Bruyner was pitting each of us against each other in the subtlest of ways. I was hard-working and diligent; I knew I was smart and didn't hide it. But she kept hinting that I wasn't quite doing enough.

One day at the end of labs, she said, "I can see that you're smart, Audrey. But what else have you got? Smarts will only get you so far. Impress me."

Two days later, we were all invited to meet with the tribe's elder council. Dr. de Bruyner emphasized how critical this meeting was to our project: we needed permission to examine newly found pottery pieces and possibly human bones.

The meeting was a methodical push and pull between their chief and our professor. In the end, the tribe leaders said they would put it to vote and let us know in a few days' time. Then they offered us to share in the blessing of the council by taking a spoonful of some prepared soup from a bowl that was passed around.

One of my classmates, Tim, leaned close to me and said, "I'm not touching that crap. Who knows what's in there?"

I silently agreed with him. But I saw how Dr. de Bruyner didn't hesitate to step forward, dip the spoon in, and drink it. She turned to the rest of us. The look she gave spoke volumes. Another student stepped up to take the spoon from our professor. Soon, the rest of us, including Tim, followed. My mind raced with endless scenarios of cross contamination. I swallowed my spoonful with as straight a face as I could. It tasted like dirt.

With the meeting over, we were allowed to follow a guide over to where the dig site was. The area around the excavation was taped off, and we were told that we couldn't get closer. It was disappointing; I was sure that whatever lay in that ground was a game changer for our project.

As we rode back to our camp, Dr. de Bruyner said, "If we could just get a look at one piece, just one. It would make a difference in how much I can request for funding."

"What if they come back and say no?" asked Tim.

"We'll just have to change their minds. There's always another way."

That night, as I was getting ready for bed, a knock came at the door. I opened it to find Carla, a fellow student, in her pajamas.

"What's up?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you have any Pepto Bismol or something? Dean is throwing up and shitting his brains out. Tim's trying to help him out, but I don't have any of that stuff. I said I'd ask around."

"I might have some. Come on in while I check."

She came in and revolved slowly, looking at everything in the small cabin. "You're kind of a neat freak, aren't you?"

I felt annoyed by her. "I guess," I called from the bathroom. I emerged with a container of Tums. "This is all I've got. Not sure it'll help him."

"Anything's better than nothing." She held out her hand for the Tums while still taking in the room.

"I hope the stomach flu isn't going around."

"It's more like food poisoning. Apparently, there were ground up human bones in that soup we had. It's their tradition or something."

"What?" I was startled. "That can't be true."

"I guess it can because de Bruyner told Kevin this afternoon. He told everyone else and now Dean's sitting on the toilet. What a wimp. I've eaten worse." She rolled her eyes once more and left without saying another word.

I stood there without moving for a long time. Why on earth would the tribe let us partake in their ritual if it included something like that? And why would our professor not tell us?

My sleep was fitful. I dreamt of skeletons half submerged in a muddy swamp. And all the while a voice beside me kept saying, "Impress me."

***

I awoke the next morning with a clear head. I felt a determination taking hold inside of me. Something told me I needed to go back to the reservation.

Not wanting anyone else to know what I was doing, I rode a camp bike into town, and then rented a car. The drive didn't take too long. I parked the car and went into the main office of the reservation.

"Hello," said a young man. He looked close to my age.

"Hi," I said. "I'm a student with Dr. de Bruyner's camp. We visited out here yesterday."

He laughed warmly. "I can see that you're a student. No one who lives around here dresses like that."

My smile fell, and he quickly apologized.

"I'm sorry, I mean you don't dress badly. I just meant that I can tell you're not from our tribe or a rancher."

"Oh, it's okay." I smiled again.

He was blushing slightly, and something made me take advantage of it.

"So, you probably know everything about the dig and artifacts. Would you mind if I just ask a few questions?" I leaned closer to the desk that he sat behind.

He blinked. "Well, yes, a little bit but it's still under wraps. We haven't finished. And I'm not sure I can talk about it."

"I understand completely. I don't want to ask you to do something you don't want to do. So, no questions. But," I continued in a softer voice, "do you think you could just show me some of what you have already? I promise I won't tell anyone. I'm just trying to get an idea of how we should proceed when, if, we get permission to excavate." I smiled while looking directly into his eyes. I could see his soul struggling.

"Well," he said as he looked around the room, "I guess I could show you a few things. Follow me—uh, what's your name?"

Audrey Saint John." I held my hand out.

"I'm Wesley Hart." He took my hand in a firm grip, holding on longer than he needed to.

He let go, and I followed him out of the office, down a long driveway to some out-buildings. He was still looking around. At the second building, he unlocked the door, and we went inside. There were three rows of eight-foot tables covered with canvas with several pieces from the dig spread out. It was a gold mine. My eyes raked over everything, landing on what I knew to be bones.

"Go ahead and take a closer look," he said. "Just don't touch anything."

I circled the tables, taking mental notes of the excavated inventory. "These are wonderful. Thank you so much for showing these to me, Wesley." I let his name roll slowly off my tongue.

He stood there, staring. Then he jerked and cleared his throat. "You know, we have a whole drawer full of arrow tips over here," he said as he crossed the room toward a large wall of drawers.

The moment he turned his back to me, I snatched up one of the small bones from the table and pocketed it. In that same instance, a battle raged in my mind: Do I dare steal this? For it was plainly stealing and could cost me dearly if I were caught. I could hear my professor's voice. Well, this would certainly impress her.

I didn't stay long after that. Wesley showed me the arrow tips, with much flirting going on between the both of us. I was noncommittal about meeting again. I just needed to get out.

The drive back into town went by in a blur, as did the bike ride to camp. I only had one thing on my mind—getting the relic that was burning a hole in my pocket to my professor as soon as possible. I laughed out loud at the thought of stealing, something I'd never done in my life.

Back in my cabin, I took a quick shower, changed into fresh clothes, and went out in search of Dr. de Bruyner. I found her in the tent that was set up as our makeshift lab. She was sifting through some dirt and briefly looked up when I walked in.

"Well, look who decided to show up today," she said. "You missed your lab time earlier. Did you have a date with your toilet?"

Now that I was in front of her, I began to sweat. I was lucky that we were alone in the tent. My brain jammed up; nothing was coming out of my mouth. My hand instinctively went to the pocket that held the bone. It was as if a light went on.

"I'm sorry I missed my lab work, Professor, but I was doing something important."

"More important than this internship?"

I walked slowly toward her, carefully taking out the tissue-wrapped bone. I laid it on the table.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's a bone fragment from the dig site at the reservation. Someone let me borrow it."

"They let you borrow it? We haven't gotten permission from the council yet. How is that possible?"

"I can be convincing when I need to be," I said. "But I promised not to let anyone else know. He could get into trouble. I told him I'd bring it back after we examine it."

She picked up the relic and unwrapped it. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. "I must say, Audrey, I am impressed. I'll keep this under wraps and take a good look at it later. We should be hearing back from the council in the next day or so."

She wrapped it up and put it away in a locked cabinet. "I'll see you later at dinner."

I knew I'd been dismissed and went back to my cabin.

Once there, I found I was ravenous. I dug through a grocery bag full of granola bars and chips. I chose a peanut butter oat bar. After a couple of bites, I felt sick. I threw the rest of it away in the trash.

My stomach growled. I took a look inside the small portable refrigerator; there were only three bottles of Rekorderlig cider inside. Disappointed, I began rummaging through my desk drawer hoping to find some candy or a beef jerky stick. Instead I got a papercut on my index finger.

I immediately put it in my mouth to suck the blood off. It tasted salty and metallic. I pulled it out and squeezed the cut so that it bled again. When the droplet of blood appeared, I popped it back into my mouth. This time I savored the taste.

What the hell am I doing?

A knock on the door made me jump. I opened it to find Tim.

"Hey, Tim, how's it going?"

He stared at me for a minute before answering. "I came by earlier and you weren't here. And you didn't show up for labs. I thought you might be sick like Dean."

I liked Tim okay but not if he was going to be nosy. "I'm fine. I just had some things to take care of in town. I already squared things with de Bruyner."

He kept staring. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you haven't slept in a while."

I was pissed. "You've got a lot of nerve saying that to me."

He had his hands up. "Audrey, hey, I'm sorry. Don't get mad. It's just that I see you every day and today you look off. I'm just concerned that something might be going around, that's all. Please don't be angry."

It was as if someone pulled a cotton ball out of my ear; I actually heard the heartfelt concern in his voice.

"Look, I'm not mad. Yeah, I didn't sleep all that well last night, but I swear I'm fine. I don't have what Dean has."

He looked relieved. "Oh, good. I guess I'll see you at dinner then. Bring your appetite because I heard that Texas Dave is making some killer barbecue." He waved and was off.

I waved and closed the door. My stomach growled again.

I walked to the bathroom, turned on the light, and looked in the mirror. Tim was right; I did look off. There were dark circles under my eyes, and my skin looked pale. I couldn't remember looking like this earlier.

***

Dinner at camp was always served buffet style. There was one cook hired to make breakfasts and dinners, but once a week, students signed up to take a turn preparing the main course for dinner. This week, Dave wanted to show off some of his recipes from Texas.

I usually didn't eat too much at dinner; I was concerned about the weight I'd gain since most of my days were spent sitting in front of a computer doing research. Tonight, I filled up one plate with sides—mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, baked beans—while slapping a huge steak on another plate.

At the table, I helped myself to biscuits, which I drenched in butter. Someone brought a few bottles of wine, and I enjoyed those as well.

The conversation was lively. Even Dr. de Bruyner seemed to be enjoying herself at the head of the table.

When I cut into the thick steak, it gushed with bloody juices. The inside was pink. Normally, I wouldn't have touched it. Today, I dug right in. It tasted wonderful. I cleared both plates in a matter of minutes and got up to fetch seconds.

I picked out the least cooked piece of meat, brought it back to the table, and tore through it. I voraciously stuffed my face with everything in front of me; I ate enough for three people.

After dinner, we thanked Dave and the cook for the great feast. I passed Dr. de Bruyner on the way to my cabin; she gave me a knowing smile. I reached the cabin but not before Tim caught up with me.

"Hey, Audrey."

"Tim," I said and turned toward him.

He had a hopeful look on his face. "You want to go get a beer?"

"Uh, not tonight. I need to get some sleep, so I'm going to turn in early. I've got a lot of work to do tomorrow. Maybe another time."

"Oh, okay. Good night then."

"Good night, Tim."

Inside the cabin, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was finally full and felt exhausted. After throwing off my clothes, I tumbled into bed and quickly fell asleep.

Bad dreams dogged me. In one, I was chased by a hideous creature through the woods. It stood ten feet tall, had a wolf-like snout with huge teeth, and its body was skeletal. I ran forever, all the while listening to the raspy breath behind me. I came to the reservation gates and screamed for help. One of the elders stood on the other side and shook his head. "We don't help your kind," he said.

I woke up drenched in sweat. The clock read 2:40 AM. I got up and headed to the bathroom to drink some water from the tap. Before I could reach the sink, I was doubled over with abdominal pain. It took my breath away. I switched on the light and waited for my eyes to adjust.

It was the strangest sensation. I couldn't quite figure it out, but it wasn't nausea.

The pain gripped me once more. With dawning disbelief, I realized I was hungry—no, starving. How could that be? I'd eaten so much at dinner.

With my hands shaking slightly, I stepped in front of the mirror. My eyes looked wild, my cheekbones sticking out noticeably from my once round face. I touched my skin. Was I still asleep?

My stomach growled, and I winced with fresh pain.

Staggering out of the bathroom, I searched for food, trashing everything in my path. Finding the bag of snacks from yesterday, I tore open the wrapper of a granola bar and began to eat. The taste was like ash in my mouth. I spat it all out. I tried the potato chips, but they tasted the same.

I felt my sanity slip a notch. None of it made sense to me. I just couldn't understand how I was still hungry. And why did I look so bad? Had I picked up some kind of parasite?

After an hour of doing my best to ignore the pain in my gut, I finally fell back asleep, curled into a fetal position.

***

Over the next two days, I barely ate at our meals unless the dinner included steaks cooked on the rare side. I was beginning to understand that the meat, the less done the better, helped calm my hunger pains.

I rode my bike into town, not noticing anything but the road in front of me, and headed straight for the butcher shop. Much to my disgust, I purchased six pounds of raw steak. Like an addict, I told myself that this was just to get me to a place where I wasn't starving so I could think clearly and figure out how to stop the craving. I took the package of raw meat to the edge of the woods and devoured each piece. My fingers were stained with blood. I felt ashamed and confused but couldn't stop myself.

Afterward, I cried while trying to make myself throw up. Nothing happened.

I rode back to camp, bumping into Tim before I could hide in my cabin.

"Audrey, where have you been? Are you all right?"

"I just went into town to get some medicine. I think I'm just a little under the weather. Need some sleep."

"We got the news, we have permission to start excavating tomorrow."

"That's great. Hey, I'm just going to lie down for a bit before dinner."

"Okay, but de Bruyner's been looking for you."

"Can you tell her I'll come and see her after I rest?"

He looked concerned. "Sure."

Tim was still standing there when I closed the door to my cabin. My stomach growled. I fought the urge to cry out loud.

I knew I'd be unable to rest. I needed to figure out what was going on with me. I scrubbed my hands in the sink, purposely avoiding my reflection in the mirror. Then I sat down with my laptop and searched for causes of craving raw meat. The sites that popped up were numerous, so I narrowed the search.

I thought hard about what I had done that was different over the last week. The council meeting came to mind; I had tasted the soup after all. Maybe I was having a reaction to it? But everyone else tasted it, and no one looked like I did. Dean did get sick that night, but he'd recovered and looked just fine. Could it be that only I was having the weird cravings and hunger pains? Did I even want to bring it up with anyone else?

The only other thing that I did was visit the reservation. I hadn't eaten anything. But I did take the bone. Maybe there had been some chemical or organic residue on it? I dismissed that idea.

I typed in raw meat cravings in Native American folklore. What came up was disturbing. There was a legend among the Algonquin tribes to which the Menomenee belonged about a creature that members could become due to greed or murder. It was known as a Wendigo, and it was cannibalistic.

Was there any possibility that I could be turning into this thing? I hadn't murdered anyone. And I didn't consider myself a greedy person. But what if the greed meant something else? What if it meant taking the bone without permission? And all to win the favor of Dr. de Bruyner.

I needed to speak to her. I found her in the lab tent.

"Dr. de Bruyner?"

"Audrey, come in," she said. She did a double take when she looked at me closely. "Are you okay? You look ill."

I was trying my best to keep my hands from shaking. I knew I must look like a junkie in need of a fix. "I haven't felt well the last few days. I think I just need some sleep. Or it could have been something I ate."

As if on cue, my stomach growled.

"Well, I hope you'll be well enough to participate at the dig site. I'm sure you heard we got permission." She paused, then continued in a whisper, "The little gift you brought is fantastic. I've just about finished with my notes."

"I was going to ask you about that. I really should return it. I don't want anyone to get in trouble because it's missing."

"I'll finish with it tonight. You'll be able to return it tomorrow when we arrive at the site." She returned her attention to her notes. "Get some rest, Audrey. I'm expecting great work from you tomorrow."

I felt bile beginning to rise, and I left quickly. Walking back toward the cabin, I ran into Tim.

"Hey, did you see de Bruyner?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I just came from talking to her."

"So, are you feeling any better?" he asked tentatively.

"Um, a little bit."

"Well, let me know if you need anything. I guess I'll see you in an hour for dinner." He smiled and walked away.

Dinner was uncomfortable. Everyone was talking excitedly about the upcoming dig. I was trying to eat all the meat on my plate, and the seconds that followed, without drawing attention. I was both starving and nauseous, but the hunger was strongest.

Afterward, Tim sought me out and insisted on walking me to my cabin. We reached the door. I turned around, ready to rebuff any invitation he might suggest. But when I saw his bright eyes and easy smile, a part of me softened.

He stood there, perhaps waiting for me to ask him inside. He was wearing a faded flannel shirt with the top few buttons opened to show his neck and chest. His skin—no, his flesh—looked so healthy. My stomach growled.

"Do you want to come in for a while?" I asked.

His face lit up. "Sure."

We walked inside. I closed the door and turned on the light revealing a disheveled room.

"Sorry about the mess," I said as I picked up some clothes and threw them in a corner.

"No worries," he said and took a seat on the futon.

"Want a drink? All I have is cider."

"Cider's fine with me."

I took two bottles out of the fridge, removed the caps, and handed one to Tim. I sat down next to him.

He took a swig and put his bottle down on the crate I used as a coffee table. "So, what do you think of de Bruyner?"

After slowly sipping my cider, which tasted almost too sweet, I put my bottle down. "Well, she definitely likes to lord over everyone and everything. I think she just loves power in any form."

"Yeah, she's got her favorites too."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was he accusing me of being a favorite? In the end, I chose not to say anything. Instead, I emptied my bottle.

He mimicked me, his bottle making a loud clunk on the crate when he placed it there. We stared at each other for an undeterminable amount of time. He smiled and leaned into me.

We began to kiss, softly at first; soon it intensified. His lips were full, and I could taste the cider on them as if it were a garnish. Our breathing became heavy. I was ready to lose myself completely.

Just then, I pulled away, so I could look at him. His eyes were slightly closed, and he had a dazed look on his face. I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. He looked so good to me. Pushing him down on the futon, I crouched over him, letting my lips and tongue touch his skin starting at the base of his neck. He let out a soft moan. He was running his hands all over my body.

My mouth came to his right clavicle and stopped. I could feel the rush of blood pulsing through my head. I began to suck on the skin covering his bone there, the smell of him intoxicating. Without thinking about it, I bit down. His blood was sweet.

"Ow! Audrey, what the hell!" He sat up quickly.

I was brought back abruptly to my senses, but not before swallowing the blood left in my mouth. My stomach growled in pain, and I doubled over. I got off the futon and stumbled to the bathroom where I began to dry-heave into the sink.

Tim came to the bathroom door. I glanced at him and could see that he held a dishtowel over where I'd bit him.

"Audrey, what was that? Are you all right?"

I splashed water on my face and started shaking. "I'm so sorry, Tim. I really didn't mean to do that. I think you'd better go. I don't feel good."

"Maybe I should stay with you."

"No," I said a little too harshly. "No, I'll be okay. Just need to lie down. I'll see you tomorrow. We all have to be up early."

I walked him to the door, still slightly bent over holding my stomach. He left. I closed the door and locked it, made it to my bed, and dropped onto it. My sobs went on forever, muffled by the pillow.

***

A knock on the door jolted me awake. I leapt from the bed and opened the door expecting to see Tim. It was Dr. de Bruyner. The sun had yet to rise.

"Professor, I..."

"Here you are, Audrey," she said and handed me the wrapped bone. "I'm done with it. You can give it back to your friend today when we get to the site."

"Thanks," I croaked. I closed the door. I turned on a table lamp, put the bone on the crate, and stared at it. Was that the cause of my pain? Could I return it and perhaps reverse whatever I was becoming?

The memory of the previous night came back to me along with a wave of disgust and fear. How could I have done that to Tim? I felt contaminated. I needed a long, hot shower.

I debated back and forth about showing up for breakfast. I knew Tim would come to check on me, and I was afraid to be alone with him, afraid I'd do something else to him. Besides, Dr. de Bruyner would expect everyone to be at the table.

Tim caught my eye as I moved along the buffet line. He joined me.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

I could barely speak for the lump in my throat. "I'm okay. I'm still so sorry about last night."

With my eyes averted, I heard him sigh and chuckle. "Well, it started out pretty nice. Maybe we can try again."

He didn't get it; there couldn't ever be a next time. As long as I was being controlled by this urge to eat flesh, I couldn't be trusted.

I avoided any more conversation by eating quickly and retreating to my cabin. I readied my gear for the dig site. The van ride to the reservation didn't take long. Dr. de Bruyner spoke to us the entire time, filling us in on our expected conduct and responsibilities.

My mind was elsewhere. I was solely focused on returning the bone and leaving this horrific chapter of my life behind.

We parked out by the excavation site, got out, and unloaded our gear. It took a solid hour to set up everything. Once we did, we set to work. I welcomed the distraction of meticulously sifting through small piles of dirt. From time to time, I would look in the direction of my backpack to reassure myself that the bone was safe.

After three hours, we took a short break for lunch. Then we resumed working for another four hours until Dr. de Bruyner told us to stop for the day. We packed up our tools, cleaned up, and prepped everything for the next day's work.

One of the council members came by to invite us to eat dinner with them in their cafeteria. No one answered right away, perhaps remembering the soup from last time. Dr. de Bruyner answered for us, and we all headed to the main building.

I grabbed my backpack and took it with me. Tim fell into step beside me. I had nowhere to go to avoid him. Thankfully, he only spoke about the dig. During a quiet pause, my stomach growled loudly.

"Sounds like somebody's hungry. Let's hope we're not having soup."

We reached the building and stopped at the restrooms to clean up. As I exited the women's restroom, I saw Wesley. He had a concerned look on his face and came over to me.

"Hi, Audrey, how have you been?"

Before I could answer, he continued, "Can I talk to you for a minute? In private?"

"Sure," I said warily and followed him to an empty room. We stood just inside the door.

"Hey, I don't want to accuse you of stuff, but we're missing a bone fragment from one of our tables. We noticed it was gone a couple of days after I showed you around."

I began to shake slightly. My stomach growled again, and I fought the pain that came with it. Reaching into my pack, I pulled out the wrapped bone and handed it to him.

"Wesley, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have taken it. I just wanted to look good for my professor. I hoped to get some information documented about it quickly so I could get it back to you."

He stared at me with his mouth agape. "I almost lost my job because of you. How could you do that?"

I wiped tears from my eyes. "I don't know. It was wrong. I've been a mess, I've been sick since I took it. I have these awful stomach pains and strange cravings."

He took a step back. "What are you talking about?"

"Look at me, Wesley. I look like I'm on drugs, but I'm not. I can't eat any normal food, it tastes horrible. I only want to eat raw meat. But I'm still hungry all the time."

His eyes were wide. "Oh, Audrey, no. Have you ever heard of the legend of Wendigo? It's what happens when you take something from the tribe without permission."

I froze. I remembered the information I had read online. "But I've given the bone back. Doesn't that cancel everything out?"

He shook his head.

"What do you mean?" I asked desperately.

"It doesn't work like that. You can't just reverse it. I don't know if there's anything you can do." He was slowly backing away from me.

My mind was reeling. I wanted to grab Wesley and shake him.

"Is there a problem here?" It was Dr. de Bruyner. "You're late for dinner, Audrey."

I gave Wesley one last pleading look then turned away.

I couldn't touch any food. I barely kept down the water that I sipped. Tim tried failingly to hold any eye contact with me. I avoided him on the ride back to camp by sitting next to someone else in the van. I wore my headphones and closed my eyes.

After quick good nights, we all went to our cabins. It took all my strength not to run. I thought I'd made it when Tim grabbed my arm.

"Audrey, wait, talk to me."

I shook his grip off. "Don't touch me, Tim. Just leave me alone. Last night was a mistake." I started crying.

"Hey, don't say that. I'm sorry for grabbing you like that, but I'm really worried. I think you need some help. Tell me what I can do."

I looked up into his eyes. In a different life, I might have enjoyed spending time with him, having a relationship, going out to clubs and movies. "It just won't work. I like you, Tim, but you don't understand. You can't help me. Please leave me alone."

He looked hurt. "Audrey, you know you can ask me for anything. You know where to find me." He turned slowly and was gone.

Inside my cabin with the door locked and the curtains pulled closed, I once again read through the information on my laptop regarding the Wendigo. There was no way to reverse the condition. The evil spirit of the Wendigo had become one with the human. The only way to get rid of the creature was to kill it.

***

So here I stand in front of the mirror, somehow coming to terms with the hideous reflection that I see. It's useless to wonder how things might have been if I'd decided not to steal the bone. I can't change what happened.

But I can change what happens from now on. I will choose to not let this sickness take control over me. I will choose to make sure this creature never hurts anyone again.

As I leave my cabin, I know what I have to do.

# Angel of Light

Timothy Coupland

New recruits often ask me, "what's the scariest monster you've ever faced?" I've worked at the Paranormal Anomaly Department for over ten years, which is nine years longer than half of our recruits will last. These young men and women already have their preconceived notions of what we deal with. See, they think I'll tell them about some horrific winged beast with razor sharp claws, or of a cult with dark magic bent on bringing about the apocalypse. "Sure", I tell them, "I've come up against plenty of these, but none of them keep me up at night like the creature I faced eight years ago." No, for that, I would direct them to cell 152-D, where we have locked up Satan himself.

If any of the recruits take enough of an interest to actually visit cell 152-D, they will find it unique for Site 13. There are no windows to see inside, nor are there security cameras to monitor the creature. There are no slots in the door to send in food or water like there are for the other cells. This vile abomination doesn't need traditional sustenance.

Once a week, someone must enter and interact with it. Otherwise, it gets too hungry and its powers extend beyond its cell. It happened once and almost caused a site-wide catastrophe. Inside, you'll see it restrained by a leash pinned with an iron stake in the center of the cell, preventing it from moving more than a meter in any direction. The ceiling has an automated rifle loaded with darts containing a potent cocktail of chemicals that could knock out an elephant. This gun does not target the monster, but the human. After an hour of interaction, it will fire. Once the person is knocked out, a team of four individuals wearing blindfolds will enter the cell, find the man or woman inside, and drag him out. The beast does nothing to stop this. That's now how it works. Neither its size nor its methods have changed since we first encountered it.

The mission seemed ordinary when they first debriefed us. The entire population of Minnewaukan, South Dakota had died in under a week. Drone recon showed there were no signs of an attack and that all the infrastructure was intact. Of particular note, however, was that the native Spirit Lake Tribe in the nearby community of Tokio had completely sealed its borders. Our agents embedded in the tribe reported that this was done to protect them from a dark trickster spirit of some sort. One of their legends, no doubt, but the information still gave clues.

It appeared to be fairly cut and dry. Plenty of towns had died off over the years due to anomalies. The hardest part would be suppressing the news and repopulating the town once the anomaly was in custody. They sent me and five other men into the field with instructions to capture alive but kill if necessary. We went in with our armored truck, bulletproof armor and helmets, high voltage Tasers, and M16 assault rifles with three clips of ammunition each.

The town was dead silent when we unloaded from the truck, rifles at the ready. After a quick scan, no threat was detected, and so we began our search. We went house to house down the block, inspecting every room in every home and finding them all empty. After an hour, we returned to the truck and drove slowly from block to block. One man drove and another scanned the streets for signs of the anomalous while the rest of us waited in back for the order to attack. After thirty minutes, the car came to a sudden, screeching halt. We awaited vocal confirmation that we had located the threat but were met with only the sound of slamming doors. After ten tense seconds, we all nodded and agreed to exit the vehicle, worried for our comrades. I counted down with my hand from five, and when I reached zero, we swung open the doors and jumped out, ready to face our enemy.

Jameson was the first to round the truck and face the beast. I'll never forget the words he said when he first set his eyes upon it.

"Hey, little guy! Oh my god, aren't you just the cutest!"

One by one we all came around to the front of the truck to discover the anomaly: a tiny golden Labrador puppy. It laid on its back while my fellow P.A.D. teammates all rubbed his belly and cooed. I was instantly overwhelmed by how adorable the puppy was, so much so that I thought nothing of the piles of emaciated dead bodies surrounding it. I sprinted forward and sat down on top of the corpse of a middle-aged man so that I too may pet the puppy.

"Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?" I said while I scratched behind his ears. He nuzzled against my hand and wagged his tail, sending a wave of pure joy throughout my body. Before then, I had thought that nothing could ever compare to the sheer beauty of my wife as she walked down the aisle, but she could never hope to beat this Labrador's soft eyes and pale golden fur. No experience could ever match. No drug could ever create such a high as I felt playing with this animal. Day turned to night and night back into day. Reality faded away; there was only the puppy.

I know not how much time passed. Eventually, though, through either luck or divine intervention, I sneezed. I had never been allergic to dogs before. I can't explain what triggered it. All I know is that my nose became irritated, and as much as I fought it so that I might continue petting, I sneezed, and I sneezed hard. It's impossible to sneeze with your eyes open. Humans just can't do it. So, for a brief moment, I shut my eyes. All it took was that moment, and the spell was broken. I managed to hold my eyes shut as the world returned to me. My body ached. I was hungry and thirsty. More than anything, I was tired, so tired. But I could not sleep. I had to do something.

Keeping my eyes closed, I took a knee and un-holstered my Taser. I pointed towards the sound of the playfully panting monster and pulled the trigger. I held it down for a few seconds to make sure the beast got a good dose of electricity. Once I was satisfied, I released, only to hear the dog still panting as if nothing had happened. Did I miss? Or was it too strong? I couldn't open my eyes to confirm, lest I fall back under its curse. Instead, I felt around until I found my rifle. I aimed downwards, right where I knew where it was at, and I fired. I unloaded the entire clip to make sure it died. The sound was deafening, but once it ceased, all that could be heard was the puppy.

"Don't hurt him," I heard Jameson beg me.

"Yeah," Branson added, "he's too cute. We can't let you hurt him."

I heard them un-holster their Tasers.

"Please," I pleaded, "don't do this. You can fight it!" I dropped my rifle. "See? There's no need for violence."

"He's not even looking at the puppy!" said Pelosini. "Come on, he's so cute! You have to open your eyes and look! Don't make us force you."

This moment still haunts me. I don't think I'll ever get over it. I had to make a choice. That day, I chose humanity. I dropped down and grabbed another M16 while they fired their Tasers. One sweep of my rifle later, the deed was done. I collapsed, fighting the urge to cry, and you know what happened? The abomination came and licked my hand!

I picked that thing up by the scruff of his neck, threw him in the back of the truck, and drove out of there as fast as I could. I didn't stop to rest until I was back at the base and had warned them of the demon inside.

That thing, that's a true monster. It isn't some horrific, ugly abomination that tears flesh from bone. It's not some openly malevolent creature where its evil is laid bare for all to see. There is not the slightest hint of ill intent to be found just from looking at it, and that's why it's so terrifying. Satan isn't some red demon with goat legs and a pitchfork. He's the angel of light. He takes a form so beautiful and fantastic that men willingly offer their souls. He does not destroy you; he makes you desire destruction. When all you see is light, you're prone to go blind.

ABOUT THE AUTHORs

The La Verne Writers' Group is a collection of proactive, self-published writers who are based in the foothill community of La Verne, California.

