 
Tome of Terror

Short Stories By

Cassidy Raine Wolters, Jon Flushing, Doug Ward, Jerry Clark, B.C. Richards, Leonard Herrington, Scott Lee, April Ward

Copyright 2017

Cassidy Raine Wolters, Jon Flushing, Doug Ward, Jerry Clark, B.C. Richards, Leonard Herrington, Scott Lee, April Ward

Smashwords Edition

Introduction

There is the world that we know and the world that we don't want to know. It's that world that we try to ignore and try to pretend doesn't exist. Despite these attempts, we realize that the dark truth is that it's out there. It's nervously whispered about. Tales of its denizens have been spoken of around fires since the earliest of times. These stories have been gathered and written into books that the faint of heart dare not open.

The Tomb of Terror is just such a book. Its pages contain fourteen of the creepiest chronicles ever put to paper about the deadly shadow world that exists within our own. Take the journey into that other realm of reality that few have the courage to walk. It begins with the first step...turn the page.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers' imaginations or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Let the stories begin.

The Old Thompson Place

By Cassidy Raine Wolters

Every kid in Greenville knew to stay away from the Old Thompson Place on the hill that overlooked the graveyard at the edge of town. The house had been haunted for years, ever since Mr. Thompson took an axe to those two teenagers who kept drinking on his property. It's not that the cemetery caretaker was opposed to alcohol, he had consumed quite a bit himself in his younger days, but he told those boys time and time again not to leave their empty beer cans lying around. They didn't listen and look what happened to them.

The now decrepit house had stood vacant for years. The county had long since stopped trying to sell the place and the property had fallen into disrepair. And everybody in Greenville knew somebody who knew somebody who'd personally seen the ghosts of the two teenagers wandering the halls of the old house at night.

______

It was a typical Tuesday at Greenville Junior High. The bell rang and the students headed to their last class. Paul had watched the clock with a growing apprehension all day. It wasn't that he disliked his seventh period reading class. In fact, he secretly had a crush on Miss Benson, and his best friend Arnie was in the class. The problem was Roy Foster, the biggest bully in town. Even the kids in high school steered clear of him. He had a bad attitude, a full mustache, and far more brawn than brains. Some people claimed Roy Foster's dad beat him up every night, but the idea that anybody could hurt the muscle-bound clod seemed unlikely.

"Hey, it's Paul the Pussy," Roy declared as he knocked Paul's books out of his hands in the hallway.

"Don't let him get to you," Arnie said as he helped Paul pick up his books.

"Easy for you to say. Roy Foster isn't out to make your life a living hell," Paul muttered as they entered the classroom and took their seats.

Miss Benson called the students to order as the bell rang. "Alright, let's pick back up with The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. We're on page thirty-two. It's Bill's turn to read a paragraph and then we'll go up and down the rows like we usually do."

Paul tried to follow along, but his attention was divided between Miss Benson's green skirt and Roy Foster's thick mustache. Besides, it wouldn't be his turn to read for awhile so his mind drifted off to his exceedingly detailed daydreams about Miss Benson. Which one would it be today? The picnic, the flat tire, or the newspaper delivery? He opted for the picnic.

A little while later Paul's mind was pulled back to reality by an argument between Miss Benson and Roy Foster.

"Roy, it's your turn to read."

"I ain't reading," he said flatly.

"But everybody has to take a turn."

"Nope," he said as he crossed his arms and shook his head.

Judging from the look on her face, Miss Benson didn't care for Roy Foster any more than Paul did.

"Well, if Sleepy Hollow is too scary for you, I guess we could make an exception," the pretty, young teacher said in a sarcastic tone that caused the class to laugh. "Just this one time, though," she added with a victorious smile.

Roy's face turned red with embarrassment as he stood up. "I ain't scared of nothing!" he yelled as he looked around the room defiantly.

Most of the students fell silent under his withering stare, but one boy in the back whispered, "Bet he's too scared go in the Old Thompson Place."

Roy's head whipped around, searching for his accuser. "I tell you, I ain't scared of nothing!" he yelled.

"Calm down, Roy," Miss Benson said. "If you're not scared of anything, maybe you could go out to the Old Thompson Place sometime," she added with a gleam in her eye.

"I'll go out there tonight. I'll even wait 'til it's dark."

"How will we know for sure that you went?" one of the kids asked.

"I'll take Dewey with me," Roy said as he motioned to one of his buddies.

"I don't want to go!" his friend protested. "My cousin said his neighbor saw the ghosts of those two boys Mr. Thompson hacked into pieces with his axe."

"Shut up, Dewey!" Roy said. "We're going. Tonight. As soon as it gets dark." He turned his eyes to Miss Benson and glared as the bell rang.

As the students filed out of class and headed to their lockers Roy Foster knocked Paul's books out of his hands again. "Paul the Pussy!" he yelled as he ran down the hallway.

"That's it. I've had enough of him," Paul said through clenched teeth as he picked his books up.

"Aww, you're just sore because he gave Miss Benson a hard time," Arnie said. "Everybody knows you have a crush on her."

"Do not."

"Do so. You know she's going out with Coach Henderson. If he finds out Roy Foster's been giving her a hard time, he'll get the whole varsity football team after him."

"That's just a rumor she's going out with Coach Henderson," Paul said. "But listen, I'm serious about Roy Foster."

"What are you going to do?"

"What are WE going to do," Paul corrected his friend. "We're gonna go out to the Old Thompson Place tonight. And when Roy Foster shows up..."

______

The setting sun was in their eyes as Paul and Arnie pedaled their bikes to the edge of town. The Old Thompson Place looked more foreboding than ever, there on the hill overlooking the run down cemetery. The boys hid their bikes and cautiously approached the house, each carrying a gym bag.

"We'll sneak in through one of the broken windows, unlock the front door, and leave it open a crack," Paul explained as he unzipped his bag and pulled out a flashlight.

"I don't think I wanna do this," Arnie said apprehensively.

"Come on!" Paul commanded as he turned on the flashlight and stepped through an empty window frame.

"When did you get so brave?" Arnie asked, but Paul had already started daydreaming about helping Miss Benson with a flat tire and he never even heard his friend's question.

______

The boys took their positions at the top of the stairs, near a window that looked out over the cemetery to the road below.

"My mom's gonna kill me when she finds out I cut holes in these," Arnie said as he pulled a pair of bed sheets out of his gym bag.

"You know Dewey will never come in the house," Paul said as he gazed out the window.

"He has to or else Roy will beat him up," Arnie insisted.

"I'll bet you five bucks he chickens out. He's scared of Roy, but he's more scared of this old house."

"I don't blame him," Arnie whispered as he glanced around.

"Look, there they are," Paul said as he pointed out the window towards two figures approaching on foot through the dusk. "See, I told you Dewey wouldn't stick it out," he added when one of the figures turned and ran away.

"You already owe me five bucks for our bet about the girls' bathroom!" Arnie protested.

"Fair enough. We'll call it even, but be quiet. Roy's on his way up the hill. Let's go over the plan one more time."

______

Roy Foster picked his way through the dilapidated cemetery by the light of a full moon that was just peaking over the horizon. He was thinking of Dewey, who was going to get a beating for running out on him, and that stuck up bitch, Miss Benson. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face tomorrow in seventh period when he told the class he'd gone inside the Old Thompson Place at night.

He'd planned on going in through one of the broken windows, but he noticed the front door stood open a crack. Easy enough. Walk in, walk out. Head back home. Well, maybe not back home right away. He'd wait a few hours. Give his old man time enough to pass out from drinking too much.

He pushed the door and it opened with a loud creak. He hesitated for a moment before he stepped inside. There was just enough moonlight shining through the broken windows and the open door to give him a vague sense of the items in the room. There was a table near the middle, a chair in the corner, and a set of steps towards the back.

A noise made him freeze in his tracks. What was that? It sounded like chains rattling. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as a low moan, like the sound of an injured animal, filled the air. There was some light at the top of the stops, and what Roy Foster, class bully, saw made him scream like a little girl as he ran out the door of the Old Thompson Place. A series of loud bangs made him sprint even faster as he raced through the neglected cemetery and down the road back towards town.

Paul and Arnie couldn't contain themselves.

"Did you hear him scream!" Paul yelled.

"Those firecrackers were loud enough to wake the dead," Arnie said.

"This is the greatest day of my life," Paul declared. "I can't wait to see Roy in school tomorrow."

The boys continued to laugh as tears streamed down their face.

But their moment of triumph soon passed as two shimmering ghosts appeared before their eyes, the real poltergeists of two teenage boys hacked to death with an axe years ago by Mr. Thompson for leaving their empty beer cans in the cemetery.

THE DINER

By Scott Lee

The yellow Jeep Wrangler glided down the rural West Virginia back road, the hum of the large off road tires singing loudly within the cab. Inside, the two girls smiled as the wind blew through their hair, having taken the fabric top off of the vehicle hours before when the sun finally broke through the clouds, allowing the temperature to climb to a balmy 78 degrees.

As the Jeep continued to navigate the winding road, the driver, a beautiful young brunette of 26 years, turned and laughed at her blonde haired friend who was waving her hands above the windshield in a gleeful fashion.

"I just love camping," said the brunette happily.

"Me too!" replied her friend, still waving her hands through the warm country air.

"You know what I like most about camping out?" asked the brunette.

"No, what?"

"Cooking out over the campfire," answered the dark haired girl.

The blonde looked at her friend and smiled.

"I love the sounds of nature you hear at night," replied the pretty blonde. "No horns honking. No people yelling. Just the quiet sounds of nature," she finished.

Her companion just smiled as she looked back to the road.

"We definitely need to do this more often," she said.

"Totally agree," replied the blonde.

For the next five miles, the girls rode along in silence, simply enjoying the sights of rural West Virginia, soaking up the scenery like a sponge. Rounding a large bend, the road straightened out, and in the distance the two girls could see a building on the left side of the road. As they got closer, they could see it was an old diner, with a handful a beat-up cars and two pickup trucks in the dirt parking lot.

As the two got closer, they could see an old sign hanging from a rusted metal pole near the road. In weathered red letters were the words - PEACOCK DINER

Exchanging curious glances, the brunette guided the Jeep onto the dirt next to one of the cars and shut off the engine.

"You hungry, June?" asked the brunette.

"I could take a look at the menu," she replied.

Climbing from the Jeep, the two girls made their way across the parking lot to the front door. Both were clad in similar outfits, each wearing cargo style shorts, tank tops, and hiking boots. Together, the two stunning beauties were enough to turn any mans head.

Reaching the door, June grabbed the handle and pulled it open, the decades old bell jingling loudly in the process.

"After you, April," she smiled.

"Why thank you," laughed the brunette.

Walking inside, the two paused after a only a few steps. To either side of the door were a series of booths that ran along the grimy, dirt covered windows, and in front of them was a long counter with the old school rounded bar stool seats running the length of it. Sitting on three of the seats were men. And all three were now staring at the girls.

Glancing at June, April motioned to her right.

"Um . . . let's grab a booth," she whispered.

Moving to the furthest booth, the two girls brushed away the crumbs on the benches. The seats, like the stools at the counter, showed the signs of age, their faded, time worn vinyl revealing countless cracks and tears, only a few of which had been patched with duct tape.

Sliding into the seats, the girls looked around for a waitress. A moment later, a portly old woman around 60 years old emerged from the back kitchen area. Spying the young newcomers, she grabbed a few grease-covered menus and slowly hobbled over to the booth. Dropping the menus on the table, she pulled a notepad from her apron pocket and grabbed the pen from behind her ear.

"Can I get you two something to drink?" she asked, gruffly.

"I'll have a Pepsi," answered April.

"We only have Coke," responded the waitress, her expression unchanged.

"Coke is fine."

Turning to June, the waitress just stared at her, a somewhat impatient look on her face.

"Diet Coke for me, please," said the blonde.

Jotting down their requests, the waitress gave the two girls one final glance before heading back behind the long counter. As April watched her move to the drink machine to get the beverages, she couldn't help but notice that the three men at the counter were still staring at them.

The three were definitely locals, as evident by their clothing. The first man, farthest from the girls, was young, maybe 28, of medium build, wearing a camouflage baseball cap, camouflage pants, worn work boots, and a NASCAR T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. His face was an unshaven scruff mixed with smatterings of dirt, and he was by far the best looking of the three.

The middle man was much bigger, probably 6' 3" in height and weighing in around 300 pounds. He was probably in his early 40's and sported a full beard on his equally dirty face. He wore denim overalls over his own cutoff T-shirt, along with a pair of similar heavily worn work boots and an identical camouflaged ball cap.

The last man was the oldest of the three, his face bearing the look of old, dried leather. His beard was mostly gray, and his hands told a tale of many long days in the local coal mines. He wore a worn pair of denim overalls with a long sleeved shirt underneath, and like his companions, he wore a weathered pair of work boots. Upon his head was a full brimmed hat, so worn and weathered that it looked like it had been with him since his youth.

But there was one more thing that April noticed as she looked upon the three men. One more similarity that all three shared. Each one of the men had a large, fixed blade hunting knife hanging from their belt.

As April continued her observation of the three men, her focus was interrupted by the return of the waitress, who was carrying two drinks in dark red translucent plastic cups. Setting the cups in front of the two girls, the woman looked at the two as she pulled the notepad from her apron pocket again.

"You girls ready to order?" she asked.

"Yes," replied June. "I'll have the cheeseburger and fries, please."

Jotting down the order, the woman turned to April, an expectant look on her face. Having been distracted by the stares of the men, she had not had much time to look over the menu. Not wanting to anger the waitress with any delays, she went to the old standby.

"I'll have the same," she responded.

Sliding her pen back behind her ear, the waitress turned and disappeared into the back kitchen area. Once she was gone, April leaned in to her friend.

"Those three hillbillies haven't stopped watching us since we came in," she said quietly.

"Not surprised," replied June, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder.

"The one in the middle is huge," continued April.

"I noticed," said June. "You think we should be concerned?"

"Nah," she replied. "I'm not worried. Let's just eat and get to the campsite."

As the two girls sat there, talking about their upcoming camping excursion, their conversation was suddenly cut short when the youngest of the three men walked up to their booth, resting two dirty hands on the edge of the table as he spoke..

"So what brings two pretty young things like you into the backwoods of West Virginia?" he said smiling.

The smile was somewhat disturbing, as it was clear the man hadn't seen a dentist in quite a long time.

Exchanging glances, it was April who replied.

"Just enjoying the West Virginia scenery," she said, trying to sound believable.

"We're going camping with our boyfriends," added June quickly. "They were football linemen in college."

"That so?" said the young man.

"Yep. Going camping," continued April.

"But not around here," added June.

The young man looked from one girl to the other, a suspicious look on his face.

"Well, you enjoy yourselves," he said with a smile. "But be careful. There are lots of dangerous things in the woods."

"Thanks for the advice," replied April. "We'll be careful."

With that the man tipped his cap and walked back to join his comrades. When he was out of earshot, April leaned in to her friend.

"Do you think he bought it?" she whispered.

"Doubt it," replied June. "Let's just pay and get out of here. Suddenly I'm not in the mood for a hamburger."

"I hear ya," said April.

Just then the two younger men at the counter stood up and headed for the door. As they reached the exit, the girls could see them take one final look in their direction before they disappeared into the parking lot.

Looking out the window of the diner, the girls waited until they saw the pickup truck with the two men in it speed away. Once the truck was out of sight, April pulled a $20 bill from her pocket and threw it onto the table before sliding from the booth with her friend. As they made for the door, the waitress appeared from the swinging door to the kitchen, a questioning look on her face.

"Something came up and we gotta go," responded June.

"We left money on the table," said April.

Not waiting for a response, the girls quickly exited the diner, the bell on the door ringing loudly as it closed behind them. Moving swiftly across the parking lot, the girls climbed into the Jeep and prepared to leave.

As April fired up the engine and reached for the gear shift, she did a double take as she looked at the folded map that was wedged between the center console and her seat. The map that had their camping location circled on it. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she had shoved the map further down after the last time they checked it.

Not wanting to ponder it further, she shifted the Jeep into gear and pulled out of the parking lot, anxious to leave the diner behind and get to their campsite. Inside the diner, the old man smiled as the waitress brought him an extra two hamburgers, courtesy of the two young girls who just left.

______

It took April and June less than an hour to reach their campsite, which was located off of an old logging road on top of a mountain. The road was rough at times, but the Jeep, with it's four wheel drive, easily made it to the top. The girls always chose remote locations for their trips, because the rewards were well worth it.

Standing at the edge of a massive rock outcrop, the girls smiled as they looked over the breathtaking scenery of the West Virginia mountains. The setting sun made the scene even more surreal, prompting the two to pull out their cell phones and snap a handful of pictures as they watched the day fade away.

As the sun started to disappear below the horizon, April turned to her friend.

"We better get a fire started before it gets too dark," she said.

"Gotcha," replied June.

The girls were experienced campers, and among the first things they did upon arriving at their campsite was to set up the tents, collect firewood, and make a stone fire ring where they could build the fire. Moving to the stack of wood, June collected six large pieces and placed them in a tee pee like fashion in the middle of the stone circle. Grabbing a bunch of kindling, she placed it strategically under the wood and pulled out her matches. Within a minute there was a roaring fire in front of them.

Having placed the fire ring next to part of an old fallen tree, the girls had the perfect setup for enjoying a beautiful night next to the campfire. Sitting down on the old log, they each grabbed a beer from the cooler next to them and held them up.

"To camping," said April with a smile.

"To camping," repeated June.

Cracking open the beers, the cans let out an audible hiss before the girls raised the containers to their mouths and took a healthy swig. Looking back to the fire, April was just about to speak when a faint crack was heard in the woods behind them.

Together the two girls turned and stared into the woods, looking for any sign of what made the noise. After a minute, the girls relaxed and turned back to the fire. The woods were full of animals and dried or dead vegetation. Hearing a twig break was nothing new to them.

Minutes later the two were deep into conversation about ghosts when a different sound . . . the sound of a round being chambered in a gun . . . broke through the silence around them, causing them to stop and spin around.

There, in the shimmering light of the fire, not 15 feet away, were the two youngest men from the diner, each one holding a hunting rifle.

"Well, well, well," said the younger, smaller man. "Looks like you weren't being completely truthful with me earlier," he said with a sickening grin.

The girls sat frozen in place, just staring at the two men.

"How did you find us," asked April, her steel gaze locked on the younger man.

"Oh, that was easy," he replied. "Next time don't leave a map with your camping location marked on it. And definitely don't leave the map sitting in an open Jeep."

The girls said nothing in response to the hillbilly as they stood up from the log.

"Then again, not like you're gonna have a next time," finished the man.

Slowly the two men moved forward, the girls rooted in place next to the log. When they reached the two young women, the girls turned their heads as the men raised the butts of their guns above their heads. A moment later, two dull thuds sounded through the woods, followed by the sound of bodies hitting the hard earth.

______

The flames of the campfire dance wildly as the four girls sat on the log, talking. Glancing to her left, April looked at the two hillbillies who sat securely bound at the base of a large large tree nearby.

"You guys cut that kinda close," she said looking back to her companions, a slight hint of disapproval on her face.

"Sorry," replied Alex, her red hair glowing in the firelight.

"Yea. Sorry about that," added Gina. "Won't happen again."

April held her look for a moment before the smile returned to her face.

"Ah, don't worry about it. It's all good," she said happily.

Just then a slight moan sounded from the tree nearby.

"Looks like our guests are waking up," said June.

As the two men regained consciousness, they suddenly became aware of the situation.

"What the . . . ?!" exclaimed the younger man. "You little bitches!" he growled angrily.

The girls just smiled in response.

"When we get loose from these ropes we're gonna . . . "

Suddenly, the man stopped mid sentence as his eyes went wide with fear. Looking beyond the girls he could see the fire. And above the fire was a spit. And on the spit was a leg.

"OH GOD!" the man screamed.

Looking to his left, the smaller man looked at the bigger man, who's face had suddenly gone pale. Following the big man's gaze, the younger man looked to the man's legs, only to see that one was missing.

"What have you done?!" he screamed in terror.

"Oh, that?' smiled April. "That's dinner. And from the smell of it, I think it's just about ready."

Leaning in, June began to cut large pieces of meat from the roasted leg, handing them out to each of her friends. As the four girls began to eat, the two men began to whimper.

"Seriously?" asked April. "You're crying?"

"Why didn't you just kill us?" asked the large man, speaking for the first time.

"Freshness," answered June. "Nothing tastes better than live meat," she said smiling.

"Besides, we wanted you two pricks to see what happens when you mess with girls," added Gina.

Struggling with his bonds, the smaller man glared at the women, a mixture of anger and fear on his face.

"Why us?" asked the big man.

"Because we knew you'd follow us and try to kill or rape us, that's why, you dumb shit," said Alex angrily. "Every year we come down to Appalachia and find two easy marks like you and your friend. Two redneck hillbillies who view women as nothing more than pieces of meat. Well guess what? Now you're the pieces of meat."

"Two of us wait here at the campsite while the other two go get dinner," continued June with a smile.

"You guys fell for our act at the diner hook, line and sinker," added April. "It was almost too easy," she said, laughing. "Including us leaving the map where you could see it."

The last sentence made the younger man furious, causing him to struggle harder with his bonds.

"This really is the best place to camp," continued April. "It's like eating free range chicken. You hillbillies hunt and kill most of your food, so there's not all of the steroids and preservatives we'd get if we ate a city dweller."

There was a moment of silence as the girls took another bite of the freshly cooked meat.

Breathing heavily, the younger man tried to regain his composure.

"You got your meal, you twisted fucks," he said angrily, trying to muster the last semblance of dignity he had left. "Just kill us and get it over with."

"Oh, no, no, no," replied April. "You just don't get it. This is a long camping trip for us. We only get to do this once a year. We still have five more days to go," she said with a grin.

The Truth Lies at Dawn

By B.C. Richards

Palos, Spain 1518

"Wake up, you drunken pig! Come, amigo, we must go! Dante! Wake up!"

Dante Santiago could hear these words as if spoken from a far-off place shrouded in densely thick fog. He fought to make sense of the words. The voice somehow sounded familiar.

"Wake up! We will miss our ship. Dante! Come now or I leave you here. Amigo, vamonos!"

The hand shot up so quickly that it startled Ali. He grasped the hand and pulled it from his throat.

"Dante, it is me, Ali. We must hurry. The ship will leave without us."

"Ali? Why are you yelling?"

"I am not yelling. I am trying to wake you. We must hurry!"

Dante opened his eyes. The visage of his old friend began to come into focus. The man's dark brown eyes gave away his Moorish ancestry. He patted his friend on the face.

"I do not feel so well, mi amigo."

"You do not look well. Too much wine last night, eh? You still clutch the neck of the broken bottle in your hand."

Dante made a slow survey of his surroundings. He was in an alleyway behind the tavern that he had been drinking in the night before. The sun's rays were just beginning to break through the thick gray early morning clouds. The cold wet hardness of the paving stones of the alley began to make themselves known below his body.

"Pull yourself up, amigo. We must get to the ship before it leaves without us. If that happens, they will send us back to prison. They only released us because we said we would serve on the ship. Come, Dante. Vamonos!"

Finally realizing the situation, Dante managed to get himself up from the ground. He staggered back for a moment until Ali grabbed him by the arm to steady him. Ali noticed dried blood on his friend's forearm.

"You are cut, amigo. Perhaps you fell on the bottle when you passed out," Ali said, nodding towards Dante's arm.

"No, it was that damn whore. She fought me like a tiger when I refused to pay her. She bit me, the filthy swine. I beat her with the bottle until she..."

Dante froze in midsentence. Frantically his eyes darted around the alleyway. A shiver of fear shot up his spine.

"What did you do with her, Ali?"

"Not again, Dante. Please no...not again." Ali swung his head back and forth nervously. He began to panic.

Dante grabbed his friend's face in both hands forcing the man's eyes to meet his.

"What did you do with the body?"

"I did nothing. When I found you, you were here, alone. You must not have killed her. She must have gotten away. We must go."

Dante looked around again. There was no sign of the prostitute. There was no blood on the gray stones, only shards of green broken glass from the bottle and the splattered remains of the deep burgundy liquid that had once been its contents.

"Are you alright, mi amigo? You do not look well. You are very pale."

"We need to get out of here, Ali. Help me get to the ship. You are right, my friend; I do not feel well. I feel cold. Too much wine, I'm afraid."

"Once we are on the ship, the salt air will make you feel better. You will see."

The two men began to make their way through the drab narrow streets of Palos toward the ships. Ali helped to steady Dante as they hurried.

"You are a good friend, Ali," Dante said.

"Too good of a friend for a dog like you," Ali chuckled.

Dante held on to his friend and laughed. He began to cough and squeezed his friend's arm.

"You are right, amigo; the salt air will do me good."

______

Dante lost the contents of his stomach twice. Neither time did the action make him feel any better. Ali muttered words of support to his friend along with reminding him of the need to keep moving.

The men emerged from the town onto the bustling bay area. The mixed smells of dead fish, the sweat of many men, and salt air caused Dante to feel ill all over again. The sunlight hurt his bloodshot eyes. He shivered.

"Here, eat some, maybe it will help you to feel better," said Ali from behind him.

Ali held a portion of bread in his hand.

"I managed to take a loaf from one of the baskets when no one was looking. Try it, amigo. It is good," Ali said with a nod.

Dante managed a slight laugh.

"You Moors, you come here and all that you do is steal from us."

"My grandfather was a Moor. I am of mixed blood. I offer you food and in return, you insult me. Here," Ali said holding out the bread again.

"I appreciate your generosity. I am just too ill to take advantage of it," Dante said, pushing his friend's hand away.

Ali shrugged and shoved the rest of the bread into his mouth.

"That is our ship over there," Ali managed to say between chews.

"I see," Dante said with a nod. "Vamos. Adventure awaits, Ali."

"Si, amigo," Ali agreed, "Adventure awaits."

______

It took some time to reach the ship. Dante and Ali had to fight their way through the mad bustling of men and goods as they made their way toward their intended ships. Three ships sat in the harbor waiting to take on their crews and supplies. The two old friends would be sailing on the middle ship, the San Carlos. She was the newest of the three. This would be the ship's first journey across the Atlantic.

Ali had been almost giddy when he had told Dante that he had gotten them jobs on the ship. Ali had sailed aboard ships from time to time during his young life. He knew how to handle himself as a sailor. Dante had not been aboard a ship since he was a young boy. His father had been a fisherman and occasionally had taken him out on his boat. Dante felt for the knife in his pocket. His father had given it to him when he was seven.

"This is for you, Dante," he could hear the man's voice in his head. "Now you can help me clean the fish. You will be my special helper."

He could see his father's smiling face illuminated by the bright sunlight and framed by a cloudless blue sky. Those were happy times, Dante thought to himself.

"Watch your step, amigo. You nearly fell."

Ali's voice caused the image in his head to vanish.

"Gracias," Dante said, looking up.

They had arrived at the ship and ready to step on board.

Two pairs of vigilant eyes watched the men set foot onboard the San Carlos. One pair belonged to the ship's captain, Juan Hernandez. The other pair peered from behind a dark brown hood which topped the brown robe worn by a priest. The two men stood side by side on the deck of the ship closely watching the activities going on around them as the ship was being made ready to sail.

"You there," came the booming voice of the captain. "What is wrong with that man?"

Ali quickly noticed that the captain was staring at them. He turned to look at Dante who was slightly bent over and extremely pale.

"He had too much to drink last night, captain. He is not feeling very well."

"Then off with him. Put him ashore. I cannot have men who are drunkards aboard this vessel. Too much depends on each man being able to do his duty."

Ali nodded. "I agree. But we are the volunteers from the prison. If you put us off the ship, they will send us back. Please. This man is a cook. A very good one I might add. I will make it my personal responsibility to get him right as quickly as possible. A little food and he will be fine in no time. You will see, captain, I promise."

"See that you do or it will be your carcass that I throw overboard right behind his," the captain said and then dismissed them.

"Get yourself together, Dante. I will no longer live on the run for your stupid actions. I vouched for you. We have a chance to start a new life now. Do not ruin this for us. Go below and sober up."

"Thank you, Ali. I will not let you down. I will see you later."

Dante walked past the captain and nodded. When he looked at the priest, a violent shudder rocked his body. Dante could feel the priest's eyes staring at him.

"Is everything alright my son?" asked the priest.

"What could be wrong?" Dante responded.

"Nothing," said the priest, "As long as we keep our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ."

Dante nodded. Another wave of sickness washed over him. Dante made his way out of the sight of the captain and the priest. Behind some crates, he heaved again over the side of the ship.

A sailor who stood several feet away began to laugh.

"We haven't even set sail yet. Just wait, amigo."

The man walked away still laughing. Dante retched again over the ship's side. He had never felt sick like he felt right then. Dante looked around and headed toward the stairs. Stepping from the deck of the ship and into the darkness felt good. Slowly, Dante made his way into the bowels of the San Carlos.

______

Ali was worried. He had not seen Dante for many hours since they had boarded the ship. He had been busy as the San Carlos had left port and had not paid attention. Since they hit open water, he had a little more time on his hands. He looked around again. There was no sign of his friend.

Never in his entire life had Dante felt so sick. His entire body convulsed. Despite the hot humid conditions inside the ship's hull, Dante was cold to the core. While he no longer felt the need to vomit, he did desire food to fill the emptiness of his stomach.

He had found a place to lay down behind some crates. Between the coldness and the hunger that he felt, Dante found it impossible to sleep. It seemed like the cold and the hunger grew worse by the minute.

Dante sensed something moving in the darkness near him.

"Rats," Dante muttered to himself. "The vermin infest even this new ship."

Dante could see the shadow of one of the creatures moving across one of the crates. Like a snake, Dante's lurched forward and grabbed the creature in his hands. The next second the rat was in Dante's mouth. He bit into the creature and felt the warmth of its blood in his mouth. He felt it begin to flow down his throat. Instantly, Dante began to feel the cold inside of him dissipate. The hunger that he felt was no longer quite as intense.

Dante stood up and began to survey his surroundings. He was surprised at how well he could see despite the darkness of the ship's interior. In a short amount of time, Dante had cleared the area of its vermin inhabitants. He felt better than he could have ever possibly imagined.

______

Ali went to search for his friend. He had promised the ship's captain that he would make sure that Dante was well and not a liability. Ali knew that he needed to keep this promise or risk being tossed over the side of the ship himself.

As he made his way across the deck of the ship, Ali thought to himself that since he had met Dante in a prison several years before, all that he had done was look out for his friend. He had liked Dante instantly. The young boy accused of murdering a priest had never treated him without respect. Most Spaniards had looked down upon him because of his mixed ancestry and Moorish blood. Never once had Dante done so. When Dante learned that Ali was in prison for stealing a chicken from a farmer, he had laughed.

"You should have stolen the pig. But then again, you couldn't have eaten it," Dante had said with a laugh.

Ali remembered looking at the boy and beginning to laugh as well. They had been friends ever since.

Seeing no sign of Dante on deck, Ali headed below. Before his eyes could adjust, he ran into something.

"You should watch where you go, Ali, you could get hurt," came a familiar voice.

"Dante, you are feeling well then my friend?"

"Never better, Ali. You were right; the salt air would make the difference."

"Good then. You better come with me. I will show you where you will be working. I am sure that the men will be hungry soon."

"I agree. Show me the way."

As the two stepped out onto the deck, Dante recoiled and covered his face with his hand.

"Damn, the sun is bright today,"

"It will help to warm you up, amigo. You complained that you were cold."

"Si, si. My eyes just need to adjust from the darkness."

"See the man with the red jacket over there. Go over to him and tell him that you are the cook. He will help get you started."

"Gracias, Ali."

As Ali watched his friend walk away he had to admit that Dante seemed to have recovered.

"Your friend seems to be feeling better," said a voice from behind Ali.

The priest stood there watching Dante make his way toward the man with the red jacket.

"Si, Padre. Too much wine last night I fear. He needed to sleep it off."

"Perhaps you are right," said the priest never taking his eyes from Dante. "How did he manage to injure his arm?"

"I think he might have cut it on a broken wine bottle. I will see that he tends to it."

"I am sure that you will."

Ali turned to head back to his job on the ship.

"Ali? That is your name, isn't it?"

"Si, Padre. That is my name. Have I done something wrong?"

"No, my son; nothing at all. I urge you to use caution with your friend. I get the feeling that he may be dangerous."

"No, Padre. I am sure that you are mistaken. I have known the boy for several years. He is a good boy. He just needs guidance. I look out for him."

"Just be careful my son," the priest said, as he patted Ali on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Padre. I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about. Dante really is a good boy."

"We are not all that we seem sometimes, Ali. Be careful."

The priest walked away. Ali stood for a minute unsure of what to do. Should he go to Dante and tell him of his conversation with the priest? Did the prostitute Dante beat that night go to the authorities? Did the priest know of Dante's past killings?

"Ali, you worthless son of a pig, there you are. Get your filth covered body over here and get back to work," yelled the first mate.

The thought of going to Dante faded quickly as he returned to his position on the ship. Ali made a mental note to warn his friend later that night. Since escaping from prison with the young Spaniard, nothing had gone easily. If they could just get to the shore of the New World, everything would be better. Ali smiled at the thought.

______

Dante cut the salted meat into cubes with the knife that his father gave him. He threw the chunks into a big pot. He would later mix in some vegetables. He would serve the stew with some biscuits and wine for the midday meal. It would hold the crew until the evening meal. The journey across the Atlantic would take several weeks. Dante needed to make sure to ration the food to make it last. This first meal, however, he wanted to impress the men and the captain. He would add a little extra meat.

As he sat on a stool preparing the meal, Dante felt that his skin was on fire. The sun was directly overhead. Dante felt the need to get out of its burning light.

"How long until the meal is ready, cook?' asked the captain as he approached Dante.

"No long, Captain," Dante replied, not looking up.

"Bueno. We must keep the men happy. Happy sailors do not think to do stupid things."

"I see," Dante said with a smile. "I will see that they stay happy then."

"See that you do. It appears that you are feeling better."

"Si, Captain. Too much wine last night, I think. I am better now."

"Make sure that you don't make that same mistake onboard the San Carlos. I need all my crew to be sharp at all times. The ocean can turn harsh without a moment's notice."

"Si, Captain. I will not get drunk on this ship. I swear to you on my grandmother's grave."

"Good man," responded the captain. "Also, see to it that you tend to your arm before it festers."

Dante looked at his arm. While it didn't look like it was infected, it didn't look good either.

"I will see to it, captain. Gracias."

"Carry on, Cook," ordered the captain as he turned and headed toward the stern.

Dante tossed the last few pieces of meat into the pot and wiped his knife on his shirt. He tucked the blade into his pocket. His skinned burned.

______

Once the food was served, Dante headed below deck again. He felt hungry but the stew did not seem appetizing. His stomach began to ache again.

"I will never drink again. This I swear," Dante muttered to himself, clutching his arms tightly around his stomach.

He found the crates that he had hid behind earlier and eased down on the floor behind them. His skin had stopped feeling like it was on fire. It did not take too long before Dante drifted off to sleep.

______

"Dante, are you down here, amigo? Dante! It is time to prepare dinner. Dante!"

The sound of his friend's voice startled him. Now awake he could feel the agonizing pain in his stomach.

"I am sick, Ali. The pain in my stomach is unbearable. I think that I was poisoned. I hurt badly."

Ali followed the voice of his friend to where he lay. He knelt beside his friend and felt for his face. He withdrew his hand quickly have felt the icy cold of his flesh.

"I need to find you help, amigo. I am fear that you are right. You may have been poisoned. I go."

Dante reached out and grabbed his friend' arm. He could feel the warmth of Ali's flesh. He could feel the blood flowing in the man's arm.

"Do not leave me, Ali! I do not wish to die alone."

"Si, I will stay with you."

Dante became acutely aware of his friend's breathing. He could hear the man's heartbeat. The pain in his stomach became too much. Dante cried out.

"What, amigo? What can I do?" Ali asked, lowering his head towards his friend.

Dante pulled his friend towards him and whispered in his ear, "This."

Not a sound left Ali's mouth as his friend sunk his teeth into his neck. Ali fell limp. Dante drank every bit of blood from the man. When he was done, he gently laid the body on the floor.

"I am sorry, old friend. I hurt too badly inside. The whore that bit me turned me into this. If it makes you feel any better, you did help me, Ali. Rest in peace, amigo."

______

The ship was eerily silent. The only sound was the lapping of the ocean water on the side of the ship. Dante carried his friend's limp body out onto the deck. The sky was ink black and filled with countless stars. Dante could hear a few muted conversations at some points on the ship but none near to where he stood. Carefully he made his way toward the side of the ship keeping to the shadows. He lifted the drained corpse of Ali over the ship's railing and dropped the body.

"Adios, amigo," Dante whispered as he stared out into the darkness.

"Did someone fall overboard?" came a voice from behind Dante, startling him.

"I thought that I heard something, but I cannot see very well," Dante lied.

"I will look," said the man.

As he stepped past him, Dante grabbed the man from behind and sunk his teeth into him. A second later, the man's bloodless body fell to its knees.

Dante could feel the man's blood warming his insides. He felt incredible. As if lifting a small dog, Dante picked up the man and threw him over the side of the ship.

"I found a new companion for you, Ali," Dante said with a chuckle.

Before the night was over, two more of the crew of the San Carlos would be sacrificed to satisfy the growing hunger of the young vampire.

______

By the third day, Dante no longer pretended to be human. The sunlight made his skin feel like it was on fire and his eyes could not see in it. Five more of the sailors would turn up missing for their duties. The San Carlos only carried a crew of twenty-four. With seven sailors unaccounted for, it didn't take too long for the captain to take notice.

"Si, Captain, two more men are missing as of this morning," explained the first mate.

"You are sure of this, Antonio?"

"Si, Captain. They only go missing at night. Maybe they fall overboard?"

"Maybe." was all the captain said, as he looked out over the deck of his ship. His ocean blue eyes showed deep concern.

"Antonio, I have sailed the seas for over twenty years. I have seen many strange things during this time. Madness, illness, disease...things that are explainable. But I have seen other things that have no explaining. Ships with no crews. Ships pulled under the water in the amount of time that it takes a heart to beat. Strange things, Antonio, strange things."

"Why do you tell me things, captain?"

"I want you to be sharply aware of anything out of the ordinary. If you do, notify me at once. Also, see that the men work together in twos. You and I will take turns checking on the men every three hours. I want to know if any more of the crew go missing."

"Si Captain. Anything else?"

"Have you seen either of the two men from the prison?" asked the captain.

"No. They are among the missing."

"One of the men, the one who was the cook, was in prison for murder. Perhaps we need to be looking for him. Send two men to hunt for him. Make sure that they check everywhere."

"It will be done."

"See to it that it is. Also, tell the priest that I wish to speak to him in my cabin."

Captain Hernandez watched his first mate stride off into the dwindling crew of the San Carlos.

______

The interior of the captain's quarters was dimly lit.

"Please sit down, Father," said the captain, pulling a chair over to a table for the priest.

After his eyes adjusted, the priest looked around the room. He was amazed at how immaculate the captain kept everything.

"I can offer you some wine and sardines. It isn't much, but it is something."

"Thank you, Captain. You are most generous."

Hernandez went over to a small cabinet mounted on a wall and took out a bottle of wine and set it on the table. From a drawer, he removed two small glasses. A small yellow bowl on the table held a dozen or more green olives.

"Please, help yourself," the captain said with a nod as he poured the wine."

"Gracias, Captain," the priest said, popping several olives into his mouth.

"I would like some advice, Father," the captain said handing him his wine.

The priest laughed. "You want advice from me about sailing a ship. That is not my area of expertise."

"That is not why I have asked you here. I feel that you know something that I do not."

"Is it about saving your soul or the Heavenly Father? These things I know."

Now the captain laughed. "Do not try to fool me, Father. You know far more than that."

"What then is it that you need to know, my son?" said the priest seeing the concern in the man's eyes.

"The other day when we set sail from Palos, two men came on board. They were from the prison."

"Si, the volunteers. I like to think of them as men who are sorry for their sins. Men who wish to repent."

"You spoke to one of them...the one with the terrible cut on his arm."

"That was no cut, Captain. His arm had been bitten."

"Bitten?" the captain repeated.

"Si, Captain. By an animal, I think. Or maybe..."

"Or maybe what?" interrupted the captain.

"You will not believe me if I tell you," said the priest, taking a sip of wine.

"Tell me anyway, Father."

"Maybe the bite was made by a vampire," the priest said, finishing the rest of the wine and setting the glass on the table.

"What makes you say that?" asked the captain, refilling the glasses.

"There were rumors circulating in Palos for a few weeks about bodies being found with bite marks on them. People said that the bodies no longer had blood in them. It is probably nonsense and unfounded stories..."

"But, what if it isn't?" Captain Hernandez asked.

______

Before sunset, the first mate ordered the crew onboard onto the deck to be addressed by the captain. Hernandez told his men that he believed one of the crew was a murder and that he believed it was the man who had been their cook the first few days of the voyage. The man they knew as Dante. The captain told the crew that he had killed before and had been in prison for a time. The men were told to be cautious and to kill the man if need be. The crew members were paired into teams of two and informed of their duties. Before dismissing his men, the captain had the priest pray with them and give them a special blessing. Holy Water was sprinkled over each man's head. When the priest finished, Captain Hernandez sent them off.

Below the boards that the crew stood upon, Dante listened and laughed.

"Fools, I will have my fill of them before the sun rises tomorrow."

"His words would prove to be prophetic. By morning, two more members of the doomed crew of the San Carlos would go missing.

______

Within five days only eight crewmen, Captain Hernandez, and the priest remained as the sole living creatures aboard the ship. Even every rat and cat had been wiped clean. Dante hid below deck and slept during the day and headed topside to hunt at night.

Attempts were made by the captain and priest to stop the slaughter. Two days before, when there had been thirteen of them, the captain had ordered the men to submerge their clothing in water laced with garlic. Antonio had carved wooden stakes for each man to carry. The stakes had been blessed by the priest along with any weapon that the men carried. Using nails and pieces of wood pried from the deck, the priest had made a cross for each man to carry. Despite all the precautions, the crew was being picked off one by one.

"May I make a suggestion, Captain?" the priest asked.

"Si, Father. Any suggestion would be welcome at this point?" the captain responded.

"What if we take the fight to the creature like Saint George did to the dragon?"

"What are you trying to say, Father?"

"Each day we have waited for the murderer like sheep to the slaughter. I suggest that today we turn the table. We know that he only seems to hunt at night. So, the question then is, where is he during the day? If he is a vampire, then he stays out of the sunlight. The purity of the light will burn the flesh from his bones. For this reason, I believe he hides below deck. Perhaps he sleeps. If this is the case, then I say we go below and find him. I will drive the stake through his heart in the name of our Heavenly Father. What do you think, Captain?"

"I will gather the others. The hunter will become the hunted!" declared Hernandez.

The priest grabbed Hernandez by the arm.

"Do not be over confident, my son. I know you wish to avenge your men. You need to be cautious. We all do. This is an evil murderous creature. Like all creatures, when it is cornered it will fight the hardest to survive. Do not forget that."

"I won't, Father. I will get the men."

"Let God's will be done then," said the priest as he watched the captain of the San Carlos head off.

______

When the priest caught up with what was left of the ship's crew, the captain was surprised to see that the man was carrying a crossbow.

"Where did you get that?" Hernandez asked pointing at the weapon.

"It is probably for the best that you do not know," the priest said with a grin. "Perhaps it will be a story for another time. We will have to wait and see, eh?"

Hernandez nodded and smiled.

"You four men go with the priest. You four are with me. Each group will take two torches. We will head below deck. Father, your group will quickly make its way to the front of the ship. Search every space for the killer and then begin to make your way back. My group will search the rear of the ship and then begin to work our way toward you. He must be down there. If we find him there is only one goal. Kill him! Any questions? No? Then men, vamonos!"

The groups descended into the darkness of the ship's hull. There was no sound. Slowly, quietly, methodically each team set about its task. The forward team saw no sign of the creature who had once been Dante. The aft team fared no better. Both teams began to carefully canvas the area in between; knowing that at any moment they would encounter the monster.

From his vantage point, Dante could only laugh to himself. His prey had thought to hunt him. They were truly fools and deserved to die for their stupidity. He watched them scour the floor and sides of the ship's interior. They moved crates, sacks, and barrels. Not once, not even for an instant, did one of them ever think to look up. It would be a mistake that would cost most of them their lives.

______

It was over before it even began. Dante dropped from where he had wedged himself between the crossbeams of the ship onto one of the men who held a torch. The man never had a chance to scream, as Dante snapped his neck. Within seconds two more of the search party lay dead. Panic quickly set it and the men that remained ran as quickly as they could to escape. Another man was caught from behind like the slow sheep in a flock that was being attacked by a wolf. The man's screams echoed in the interior of the ship and then went silent. The four remaining men fought to quickly ascend the steps into the safety of the sunlight.

The priest emerged onto the deck first and then quickly took up a position with his crossbow to cover the others as they made their way up the stairwell. A crewman raced to the safety of the deck followed by Captain Hernandez. The last man made it to the top of the stairs and then fell backward into the ship's interior. The priest fired his crossbow down into the hull hoping to hit the creature and give the man a chance to get back up the staircase to safety. It was not to happen.

Dante grabbed the man by the arms and pulled him away from the bottom of the stairs. He rolled the man over and removed the knife from his back. Rolling the man back over, Dante looked into the terror-filled eyes of the man and spoke to him.

"My papa gave this knife to me when I was a little boy. I used it to clean fish. I have killed people before with it. Do not worry, amigo, I will not use it to kill you. I have no need to."

With that, Dante sank his teeth deeply into the man's neck. When the last of the blood was gone, Dante stood. Being careful to stay out of the burning rays of the sun, Dante yelled up the stairwell to the survivors.

"Hey Padre, it will be dark in a few hours. When the darkness comes, I will come for you. I have killed your kind before, Padre. It was the best day of my life. Put your flock at ease, amigo. Let them know that I will kill them first. I will save you for last. Your God will not save you!"

"We will have to wait and see then demon. I have no fear of you. I have known far worse than you in my time. I will wait for you. Come when you can. In the end, you will beg for Lord's forgiveness."

"There is no God, priest. What God would allow for something like me to exist?" Dante screamed.

"We will talk and you will understand. The Lord works in mysterious ways. We will talk."

The priest walked away from the stairwell. He helped the captain and the last crewmen to their feet.

"Are you injured?"

Both men shook their heads.

"Bueno. Come, we must prepare."

"For what?" asked the lone surviving crewman.

"To capture a demon," said the priest matter-of-factly.

"We need this to go better than the slaying of the dragon, father," Captain Hernandez warned.

The priest nodded. "I took that idea from the sacred Bible. My new plan, I take straight from the mouth of our Lord Jesus Christ."

The priest blessed himself.

"The darkness will be here soon, my sons. We must hurry."

______

Dante slept. He slept like he had never slept before in his life. His body was filled to the brim with the blood of those he had slain earlier. Like an ancient king of legend, Dante slept after the feast.

While the beast slept, the priest instructed the captain and the crewmen on their roles in the final confrontation with the vampire. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon. Each man moved in silence as to not give away any of the preparations that were being made.

When all was completed, the captain approached the priest. His expression showed the worry he held inside.

"I do not think it wise to leave you here alone with the monster, Father. I think it better if we stay."

"If he gets ahold of either of you then all is lost. Once you complete your tasks take the lifeboat and get off the ship. The water is calm. With no crew, the San Carlos is not moving much; you should be able to stay with her. I will signal you back when it is all over. Put your trust in God, Captain. Everything will be fine."

"I wish that I had your faith, Father. The San Carlos is my ship. I feel like I am abandoning it."

The sun dropped lower. The men could hear the monster below begin to stir.

"Get to your positions. With God's grace, we will end this tonight. Be sure to do everything just as I have instructed. One mistake, we all will die. Go now."

______

Two large pots containing water which had been blessed and every bit of garlic and been set to boil on the deck. The priest had hoped that the smell might help to mask their movements. He hauled his crossbow and bag of bolts with him as he made his way up the forward mast. He took a moment to view the last rays of the sun and thought for a second that he saw two black objects off in the distance. They were too far away to tell what they were, but the priest guessed that they might be ships. Looking down, he saw that the other two men were in place. A blood-curdling scream came from below the deck of the San Carlos. A second later, the sky went black around the ship.

Captain Hernandez lit a torch and handed it to the crewman. He drew his sword. The two men waited at the base of the main mast to confront their attacker. The captain readjusted the grip on his sword more from nerves than anything else.

"What is your name?" the captain said to the man beside him.

"Pedro, Captain."

"Pedro."

"Si, Captain."

"Pedro, do you believe in God?"

"Si, that is why I am still alive. I pray to him to keep me safe from this devil."

"Could you ask him to keep me safe as well? He seems to be listening to you."

"Si, Captain. I will pray for you...and the priest."

"Gracias, Pedro. We will all surely need his help tonight if we are to survive. Be sharp now."

"Si, Captain."

______

Dante emerged from below the deck and flared his nostrils. The heavy smell of garlic caused him to recoil slightly.

"Very clever, Padre," he yelled. "You try to hide your smell. I do not know where you are, but I can see your friends. The fools stand there in the torchlight waiting to be killed. I can see them shake from fear."

The priest said nothing. He did not wish to give away his position. His eyes never left the vampire as he drew a bead on the creature. He tracked the creature as it moved.

Dante moved slowly toward the captain and the crewmen. He continued to sniff the air in the hope of detecting the priest. The nearer he got to the two men the more he could sense the blood inside of them. The hunger for it began to consume him.

His chest was nearly touching the end of the captain's sword when the first bolt hit him. It went straight through his left leg and into the deck. The pain was worse than any Dante had ever known in his entire life. His leg felt as if it was on fire. He tried to pull the bolt free but it burned his hands when he touched it.

Dante flung himself like a wild animal caught in a trap. No matter what he did, he could not free himself. The second bolt went through his right thigh shattering the bone within. He dropped onto the deck of the ship like dead weight. His left leg was still pinned to the deck of the San Carlos. The vampire screamed and convulsed in agony.

While the creature was distracted, the captain and the crewman raced towards the side of the ship and grabbed two canvas sacks. The captain cut them open with his sword. The two men began to spill their contents in a ring around the wounded beast. When they had completed, the two men double checked to make sure that there were no gaps in their ring of salt.

The priest had stayed perched up in the foremast with his crossbow trained on the creature. The vampire was so busy crying out in pain that it did not even seem to notice the two men as they moved around him.

Moving away from the vampire, Captain Hernandez called up to the priest. "It is done!"

"Bueno. Now go. Do as I say, por favor!"

"Are you sure, Padre?" Pedro asked.

"Go! I will be fine."

The two men waved and climbed down the rope to the small boat that they had lowered earlier. Each grabbed a paddle and began to move slightly away from the drifting San Carlos.

The priest climbed down from the mast. Keeping the crossbow trained on the vampire, he slowly approached.

"I am sorry, Dante, but you left me no choice."

"Your mother was a filthy whore, priest. When I am free, I will rip you apart and feast on your insides."

"You know nothing of my mother. Save your insults; they will do you no good."

"Don't think to tell me what to do, Man of God! I will kill you when..."

"I am no Man of God, Dante, and you will never free yourself. The bolts were blessed in Holy Water and that is why they burn. Your legs are shattered. You cannot stand even if you did free yourself. I had you surrounded by a ring of salt. You cannot escape the ring even if you tried, and, as you can see, I am on the other side of the ring."

"You priests, all think that you are so smart. You know nothing!"

"I knew enough. That is all that I needed to know."

The priest sat down on the deck of the ship. He placed his crossbow on his lap and set the bag of bolts beside him. He looked directly into the eyes of the vampire. He could see that somewhere inside the creature in front of him was the man that had once been Dante.

"What are you doing, priest? Why do you not flee like the others? Despite what you believe, I will kill you this night!"

"I have come to take your confession and to give you your last rights. You are a Catholic are you not?"

"Despite the incredible pain, Dante began to laugh. "You are loco, Padre. You are loco."

"Some may think so. So, my son, where do you wish to begin?"

Dante spat on the priest. "Do not ever call me your son! I am not your son. The ocean took my father from me long ago when I was a boy. He was my father, not you, priest!"

Speaking about his father reminded Dante that he still had his father's knife on him. He could feel it in his pocket underneath him. When the time was right he would get it out and throw it at the priest. "I will kill you tonight one way or another," he thought to himself.

"Your father must have been a good man," the priest continued, pulling Dante back into the conversation. "After these many years, I can tell that you still love him."

"Love him? How could I love him? I barely knew him. He died when I was seven."

"How did he die?"

"He was a fisherman like many men from my town. One day he sailed out and there was a bad storm. He did not come home. He left my momma and me with no money and no one to take care of us."

"I am sorry, Dante. I am sure that your father is now in heaven with God."

"You may be right, priest. But he left my mother and me in hell. My momma could not get over his death. She took to drink. I was seven. I needed my mother. She became a prostitute in order for us to survive. What kind of God allows that to happen, Padre? What kind of God does that to a family?"

"I do not have all of the answers that you seek. If you repent for your crimes as the criminal did on the cross next to our Lord Jesus Christ, you may enter the Kingdom of Heaven and ask our Almighty Father yourself. Do you wish to repent for your sins, Dante?

"I will see you in hell with me before I repent, priest. I am not sorry for my sins. Those that I have killed had it coming."

"So, the innocent men on this ship had it coming? Did your friend Ali have it coming?"

Dante recoiled at the mention of his friend's name. Ali had been a good man and had taken care of him. Ali had not deserved to die.

"Not Ali," Dante said, dropping his head. "I would have never killed him. It was the bloodlust; I could not stop myself. Ali was my friend...my only friend. He helped me. He took me to find work picking olives away from the village. We were fine for years. One day a woman recognized me as the boy who killed the priest. They found us and put us in prison. Ali worked out the deal to free us so that we could work on the ship. Ali..."

"You are sorry for his murder?"

"Yes. I could not stop myself. The hunger was too much."

"Then repent, Dante. Ask God for his mercy. He will not abandon you. Ask for his forgiveness."

"Forgiveness, Padre? Forgiveness for what? For being the filthy creature that he allowed me to become? He let that dirty whore turn me into this. I should have killed that bitch."

"You played no part in all of this then? You were simply an innocent bystander. None of this is your fault?"

"No!"

"Why did the woman bite you?"

Dante said nothing.

"So, you were not so innocent. Pray with me Dante for forgiveness and for the lives of the men that you took. Like you, there are children back in their towns that now will never have their fathers return from the ocean. At least pray with me for them.

"Go to hell! I will not pray with you. Perhaps their mothers will be stronger and they will not have to stab a man to death for beating her in a drunken rage. I was only eight. Eight years old and I killed a man."

"I am sure God can forgive you for that. Ask him, Dante. Repent!"

"I will not, priest. I am not sorry that I killed that pig. I am not sorry that I killed the priest either."

"Why did you kill a priest, Dante? Priests do God's work."

"Then your God is a vile evil creature. No caring God would allow what that man did to me to happen?"

"He harmed you?"

"I was sent to him...to live at the church. My mother could not care for me and the people in the village talked to the priest and explained to him what I had done. He took me in."

Dante shook his head. Like you, he made it seem like everything would be fine. He told me that God loved me and forgave me. At first, things were good and I felt happy. He then began to allow me to drink the Holy Wine. One night when I was drunk, he..."

"Dante, please understand, that man was no true priest of God, Our Father. That man was a sick disturbed man. He..."

"Molested an eight-year-old boy, Padre!" Dante interrupted, the hatred evident on his face. "I had nowhere to live. No place to go. He took advantage of me for two more years. When I was nearly eleven I killed him in his bed one night when he was drunk. I will never repent for slaughtering that piece of shit."

"God will forgive you, Dante. I ask you, please to pray with me. It was wrong for the priest to do what he did. It is also wrong to kill. It says so in the commandments. Let us pray together now."

"To hell with you! The son of a maggot ruined my life. I have never been able to be with a woman. I try and try. I use the whores. Nothing happens. I am unable to act like a man with them. I become infuriated. I killed two of them. Ali helped me to hide the bodies. I am not a man. That bastard priest took that from me."

"Again, I am sorry. These things are terrible. Dante, pray with me. Seek God's forgiveness.

"I have to hand it to you. You do not give up."

"I did once. It is a mistake I regret to this very day. No, Dante, I will not give up on you. I will spend this night trying to make you see the Lord's eternal love."

Dante laughed. "You can try. But it is more likely that you will be dead by morning."

The priest laughed. "I can assure you, that will not be the case."

"You are too confident, Padre."

"I have faith in my Lord and Savior. He made me what I am."

"And so he made all creatures. Isn't that right, Padre?"

"That is so, Dante."

"Even vampires then, Padre?"

"He made the people who become vampires. The sickness itself came from the Devil, not God."

"So, God condemns vampires because of what Satan has brought upon them. This is what you call a fair and just God? It seems to me that many of his own creatures are killers like me. Does he condemn the shark, the lion, or the wolf when they kill or does he just save it all for my kind?"

"You talk about two different things. God made those creatures as they are for a reason. They are part of his divine plan. Those creatures help to keep a balance in nature. Vampires were not created by God. Man was not made to feast upon man. This was not the Lord's intent. Vampires are the work of the Devil. They were meant to cause man pain and suffering. That is the difference."

"That is how you see it, Padre. I see it as a blessing. I have power for the first time in my miserable life. I am not a helpless child. I am no longer a victim. I will live eternally. Finally, I have been blessed."

"Blessed? Besides being a cursed vampire you, are a blasphemer. Be careful what you wish for, Dante. Eternal life may not be as grand as it may seem unless it is in Heaven with our Lord."

"Padre. Why prolong this? You will never be able to convince me. I am what I am. If you are going to kill me, then do it. I am sick of listening to your stories and lies." Dante laughed. "Maybe I should kill myself so that I never have to listen to you again. What do you say? That way you can obey your commandment about not killing. I will keep your hands clean for you. You see, Padre, now it is I who look out for you."

The priest smiled at the vampire and shook his head. He was growing weary of the fact that he could not make any headway with the creature.

"Let me ask you something? Have you ever been happy, Dante?"

Dante stopped laughing and stared at the priest. "Why do you care?"

"You do not wish to answer me?"

"I wish to kill you and feast upon your pious blood. I begin to hunger again."

Dante pulled the knife from behind him. He began to try to cut through the bolt which pinned him to the deck. Unable to touch the blessed object with his hand, Dante found it difficult to make any progress.

"When I cut through this, I will be free. Then, padre, I will send you on your way to your God."

"I have discussed this with you. Even if you did, you cannot escape the ring of salt. The only way out for you Dante is to ask the Lord for forgiveness."

Dante screamed out in rage and agony. In the blink of an eye, he threw the knife at the priest. The blade found its way into the shoulder of the priest. To Dante's surprise, the robed man did not cry out. He calmly reached up and pulled the knife out. Dante saw the knife had no blood on it.

"That is why I could not sense you. You have no blood. What manner of creature are you?" Dante cried.

"I am a servant of the Lord. I do his work. I seek out sinners and bring them to his divine light. This has been my life's work. I do this to earn my way into his kingdom, for I am not worthy."

Dante did not know what to make of the man sitting in front of him. He dropped his head in frustration. After several minutes of silence, the vampire began to feel the warmth on his skin.

"The dawn is nearly here, Dante. Soon the rays of the sun will burn your skin from your bones. You will be nothing more than ashes on the deck of this ship. Your eternal life will be snatched from you."

"So yet again, I am the helpless victim. You see, Padre, your God is a cruel and unfair one."

"No, Dante. He is a God that gave us the ability to choose. Use that gift, Dante, and choose his love and forgiveness. You can save yourself."

"It is too late."

"I asked you Dante, where you ever happy? You did not answer me."

The vampire looked up. "When I was a boy. When I lived with my mama and papa. I was happy then. When I picked olives in the country with Ali. I was happy. But that is all lost now."

"Not if you ask God for forgiveness. Dante, you must hurry. The sun breaks the horizon. You can be in heaven with God and your parents and your friend. Pray with me now. Repent. You have lived a miserable life, Dante. Why not now choose a life of eternal happiness? Pray with me, Dante."

His skin burned hotter. Dante realized he would die soon. He thought of his friend Ali. "I cannot. Look at me. I am a murderer."

"He will forgive you, Dante. Beg for his forgiveness. You must hurry!"

The vampire thought about his family and friend for a few moments and then looked up at the priest.

"I will pray with you, Father."

The priest pulled a set of wooden Rosary Beads from his pocket and made the sign of the cross. He looked at Dante and then bowed his head.

"Heavenly father, your son, Dante lost his way like the prodigal son in the Holy Scripture. He asks you for compassion and mercy, Lord. He wishes to come home to you and join you in your eternal kingdom. I ask you, Father, to open your loving arms and accept your son. This I pray to you, Almighty Father. Amen.

"Amen," Dante whispered. "Thank you, Father. I hope I will see you again one day in Heaven."

Dante felt as if he was on fire. He looked at the priest and saw a tear in his eye.

"Why do you cry, Padre?"

Flames began to erupt on the vampire's flesh. Dante winced in pain.

"I am afraid, my son, that we shall not see each other again. I cannot enter God's kingdom. I am forbidden to do so. My brothers and I were his first creations. We lived in Heaven with our Father. Like others of my kind, I made the mistake of being too proud. We thought ourselves to be his equals. We followed Lucifer in his rebellion and were cast out of Heaven. I cannot return, Dante, it is forbidden."

"I do not understand," Dante said, the pain evident in his voice.

"I am one of the Fallen. I walk the Earth in the hope of saving others. I try to right the wrongs inspired by my treacherous brother. For an eternity, I have tried to make up for my ancient mistake. I hope to one day win my father's forgiveness and live once again with Him in his kingdom. Until that time..."

Dante could no longer hear him. He was engulfed in flame. Dawn had come. The rays of the sun illuminated the deck of the San Carlos. Its bright light reflected orange on the wood.

"Find peace in Him, Dante,' the angel said as he blessed himself. "I pray that one day I will."

______

Captain Hernandez and the crewman, Pedro, climbed over the side of the ship.

"Come, Captain, it is done," said the priest waving them closer.

Looking at the smoldering corpse on the ship's deck, Pedro asked, "How did you do it?"

"I put my faith in the Lord. If we believe, He will always show us the way. He brought Dante home. Our brother can now live in peace."

"Father, two ships approach for the east. They will reach us soon. I will ask for men to sail the ship. We can return to Spain if that is what you wish."

"No, captain. Let us continue to the New World. I feel the need to do my Father's work there. The world is changing. God's Holy Word needs to be spread."

The two men and the fallen angel stood watching the silhouettes of the two ships approach each framed by the golden rays of the sun.

"The sun. I never thought that I would see her again. She looks beautiful," Captain Hernandez said, holding his hand up to cover his eyes.

The angel nodded. "Si, she is beautiful. That is God's truth. The dawn of a new day has come."

The Bus Stop

Doug Ward

"Jenny, the bus will be at the stop soon," came my mother's warning from the bathroom upstairs.

I slid my lunchbox into my Hello Kitty backpack before pulling it on over my jacket. "Ok mom," I answered back. The straps were a little snug with the thickness of my coat but there probably wasn't time to adjust them, so I headed over to the door.

The latch was an old one. Its many years of service had made opening it hard to do. I wish dad would just buy a new one but my parents loved the charm of antiques so it was just another thing I had to struggle with. Depressing the latch with both small thumbs, I finally heard a loud click and the door creaked open.

It was Halloween, the overcast sky making the morning seem pitch dark. The porch light illuminated our jack o'lanterns, frost covering their exposed top and side. My dad's was the scariest, with its evil-looking pointed teeth and a sinister grin. The cute one was mom's while mine looked distorted with its lopsided face and uneven eyes.

I was a little surprised to see that they were lit. Dad must've come out early to light the candles so I'd get the full effect of them as I left for school. My father was a Halloween nut. He said it was his favorite holiday. He even went so far as to say, "When I die, I want to be buried out by the garage so I can scare any kid crazy enough to come trick or treating way out here."

Pressing the door closed I heard the old latch catch. Boards creaking underfoot, I crossed the neglected porch and stepped down the two stairs to the walk. Brittle leaves made crunching sounds as I moved from the sidewalk to the unpaved driveway.

We lived in the country, so I was used to the woods surrounding our home. The bus stop was at the bottom of a slight grade and far from the glow coming from our house. As I walk toward the bus stop, it gradually became darker. I was fairly used to this because with mom and dad being busy in the morning I've been getting myself on the bus almost every day this year.

The sounds of the forest came alive as my imagination took over. The wind whipped some stray hairs in front of my face. I brushed them back behind my ear as I tried to keep the sounds of rustling leaves from becoming monsters or some nefarious other creature. Danger lurked behind every silhouetted tree, their dark arching branches resembled clutching claws on gnarled arms of bark.

I was a big girl, though. Dad had taken me hiking and I wasn't afraid of the animals of the forest. I knew nothing in the surrounding area would want to hurt me. The creatures here were all gentle. There was no cause for alarm.

Just then, a particularly loud rustling came from the dry, fallen leaves to my right. Its pattern was more of a loping gait on the usual even sounds of the animals I'd heard before. A little uneasy, I looked in the direction the sound came from. In the near pitch darkness, I could see nothing.

I reached into my jacket pocket and produced my tiny flashlight. Hands a bit shaky, I depressed the plastic switch and panned it around the area the sound had come from. Breathing out a sigh relief, I directed the light to the road ahead and cautiously continued on my journey. I tried to walk as silently as possible so I could listen for the strange loping noise.

The light gave me a very welcome feeling of assurance as it illuminated the small patch of the driveway directly in front of me. In my mind, I thanked my father for giving me the tiny light. It wasn't very powerful and was really cheaply made, but it provided just enough light for me to feel safe.

Dad ordered it at the beginning of the school year. It came all the way from China. We had to wait a whole month for it to arrive, but it didn't matter because the mornings were bright then. I didn't need the light. The sun was already up and I could see everything around me.

But that was then. Now, in late October, it was still dark when I got picked up by the bus. I know my parents didn't like me being down here alone, but they were busy.

A sound tore through the twigs and leaves to my left. I swung my tiny light in that direction and waved it around trying to catch whatever it was that had created such a racket. This time the flashlight's beam shook as my hands trembled. Whatever it was, it moved with the same loping stride that I'd heard before.

"Whatever it is," I said aloud, "it's gone now." I think I actually voiced my thoughts to calm myself. Hearing my words really did make me feel better so I added, "It's probably just some silly squirrel."

I straightened my shoulders and turned once again toward the bus stop, but before I'd taken another step, a twig snapped behind me and to my right. I whirled about as quickly as I could only to catch the shadowy form of something small. The light's beam almost managed to shine on it before it escaped into the tree line.

I was about to flee home in panic when I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. It sounded like my bus so I ran for the stop.

As I sprinted I could hear other noises, but in my haste, I couldn't tell if they had the same broken gait that I'd heard before. My small backpack bounced wildly as I careened down the dirt drive. The occasional loose piece of gravel caused me to stumble. My arms were cartwheeling as I stop at the edge of the paved road.

Headlights knifed through the woods as the vehicle negotiated the turn, but to my disappointment, it wasn't the bus. As the dump truck's headlights played across me standing beside our mailbox the driver honked his horn. It was Jim, our nearest neighbor. He worked for the municipality maintaining our roads. In a few months, he'd be attaching a big plow blade to the front of that truck in anticipation of snow.

Seeing Jim and thinking of a much-needed snow day settled my nerves. As I watched his red running lights recede around the next bend I noticed our mailbox. Directing my small light onto it I could see the decorations I'd placed there for our mailman.

Halloween, that's it, I thought. Remembering the jack o'lanterns, I understood why I was so scared. I made a mental note to scold my father for making his so terrifying. I smiled as I saw the corny ghosts I'd put on the sides of the box. Reaching up I pulled the door open. It groaned as the rusty hinges gave protest to their unwanted movement. Shining the light inside I chuckled at seeing my little prank on the mailman. A small pile of black forms covered the bottom of the box. They were all plastic spiders meant to scare our postal carrier.

As I sighed in relief, my flashlight began to flicker. I smacked the strobing light against the palm of my hand. The reassuring sound of an approaching vehicle kept me from becoming frustrated. Finally, the bus was arriving.

My moment of calm was shattered by an explosion of sound from across the road. I whirled about, banging my hand on the open mailbox door in the process. The pain brought tears to my eyes as I swirled the light desperately trying to see what was making all the racket. Branches broke and dead leaves crunched, the sound seemed to come from everywhere.

I took a step backward, then froze as a group of small forms advanced onto the edge of the road. My tiny light was really starting to cut out and I couldn't clearly see what they were as they scattered before the headlights of the oncoming van nearly caught them in its beams.

"No!" I cried in fear when I realized it was just a big white panel van. As it passed, I gave into fear and ran for my home. A quick look over my shoulder and I could see in the red glow of the van's taillights that many small things were chasing after me.

The cool autumn air burned in my lungs as I ran for my life. Sounds of pursuit came from all around me as I furiously dashed along our driveway. My arms pumped furiously as I raced ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see brief glimpses of the wildly flashing light gripped tightly in my hand. I didn't dare to look beyond it or even behind for what I might see.

As I neared the outer radius of the porch light's glow, it disappeared. Someone must've turned the light off. In the near pitch-dark I slipped on a loose piece of gravel. Plunging forward at a break-neck speed I slid on my hands and knees across the driveway. My malfunctioning flashlight spinning off into the distance, I felt cinders grind into my skin.

I wanted to sit and cry but with a horde of small dark forms gaining ground I didn't have time. With my breath coming in ragged gasps I couldn't even scream. I could only run toward the now dark front porch.

As I made it to the walk, I felt a ray of hope. If I could get there fast enough I might make it inside to safety. My parents would surely protect me.

My shoes pounded across the creaky, wooden boards as I slammed bodily into the closed door. Lungs pumping like bellows, I struggled to work the ancient latch. I tried to scream as the first set of clawed feet scrambled across the porch. My last view was of the cheery glow of the jack o'lanterns, the tops, where we'd cut them open in order to hollow them out, were lying on the porch to one side.

______

The news reported that a child was missing. That she'd been possibly abducted from her bus stop. A white panel van had been spotted in the area about the same time as the possible abduction. The local police had issued an alert.

Neighborly Advice

By Jerry Clark

At 84, Joe was by far the oldest resident on Walnut Street. He was secluded, kept to himself, and was widely considered weird by the rest of the locals. Joe drank a lot, only ate food that could be ordered and delivered, and his only real contact with the outside world was the gazing he did every day out his window. While the neighborhood thought he was odd, he knew otherwise.

Walnut was the longest street in the town of Spring City, and people came and went all the time. Joe lived in house No. 420, and the house next door was vacant for just under a year before a young family arrived in August of 2016.

Joe observed the husband and wife were likely in their late 20s and their daughter about eight years old. Joe peered through his blinds and took a sip from his bottle as he let the blind go... it was 8 a.m.

The new family got settled and school began, but their daughter, Trinity, had trouble making friends. There was something about her. She didn't fit in, but her parents were not sure why. The leaves began to turn from green to orange and yellow. Mike, Trinity's father, noticed his daughter was unhappy and with two months of school gone by, he was sure his daughter would have made a few friends by now.

"With Halloween just around the corner, why don't we put together a haunted house and a party for Trinity and the kids in her class," said Wendi, Trinity's mom. "You used to do it at our old house, why not keep up that tradition? Everyone always had a blast."

"Good idea," Mike said. "We still have about two weeks before Halloween. I am sure I can come up with something."

Being they had recently moved in, Mike really had not explored the attic that covered the entire base area of the house. He also only poked his head once into the rather sizeable shed out back.

This will work nicely he thought... "I can definitely make something cool out of one of these spaces." Mike had some comp time to burn, so the week leading up to Halloween he decided to take off work and make this the coolest haunted house ever.

Joe watched from afar, wondering just what this young guy was up to. While Joe was pretty stealthy for an old codger, Mike busted him watching him working on turning the shed into a haunted house.

"Creep," Mike thought to himself. "Just staring through the blinds like that."

Whatever, Mike thought, he had work to do.

Mike worked every day in the shed, and every day, Joe would gawk more and more shamelessly.

"That guy is making me nuts," Mike told Wendi. "All he does is stare. If I waive, he ducks out of sight."

"Oh, he's probably just bored," Wendi replied. "Were you working with your shirt off? Maybe he needs a laugh?"

"Yeah, that's it," Mike said in an irritated fashion.

The shed was really coming along. Mike had rigged up black lights and strobe lights as well as a surround sound system to play scary sounds to go along with the life-sized zombie and monster dummies he sewed together.

It was finally hallows' eve and Mike was putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece.

"Wow," Wendi said. "I am impressed. This is by far the coolest and scariest creation you have ever come up with!"

"Oh my God, dad," Trinity added. "Everyone on the street is coming. I am so excited!"

The sun was setting now, it was 5 p.m. and Mike was exhausted. This was a scary haunted house; so scary, Mike could actually feel it. He got a shiver and the feeling like... he was being watched. Then he heard a twig snap and it sounded like it was coming from right behind him. Mike spun around, but nobody was there. He spun again, nothing. He shook his head, and turned to walk toward the house and out of the corner of his eye, he caught old Joe gazing down from his porch. Mike acted like he didn't see him and continued to head for the house, but just before he turned right to hop onto his own porch, Mike made a hard left, leapt the fence and grabbed Joe by the arm before the old guy could react.

Joe tried to pull away, but his attempt was futile. He would have yelled for help, but he knew, nobody would help him. Joe quit resisting.

"Why do you stare at me day and night?" Mike said through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Joe began. "You don't know about this street. It's dangerous, very dangerous... especially for Trinity. Creeps, monsters, you name it, they are coming, no, they are already here."

"Look old man, I don't have time for this," Mike said letting him go. "You smell like booze and I am pretty sure you are out of your mind. Quit staring at me!"

Mike began to leave, but the old man kept talking.

"I'm not a drunk hermit because I want to be. This street is evil. I was once young like you and had a family, but the ghouls from this street, they killed my family and now I am trapped here. Don't let it happen to you..."

Mike paused and looked deep into Joe's eyes. He looked past the alcohol, the withered face, and the wrinkled skin. Mike gazed deep into his soul and took a breath. For whatever reason, Mike believed Joe, but said not another word and went into the house to wash up for dinner.

Mike could not get that sequence out of his head. He said next to nothing at dinner, then, went to sit on his front porch while Wendi and Trinity cleaned up. For the first time since they moved in, Mike looked around. He took notice of some of the kids playing under the streetlights. He saw several boys and girls all around Trinity's age. They seemed normal to him.

There was a group within the group, and before long a boy named Brent shouted up to Mike, "Can Trinity come play?" It took Mike a second to process this. It was 6:30 p.m. by this point. Didn't these kids have homework to do or anything else for that matter? It was dark, it was a school night, but Mike knew Wendi would tell him to loosen up and let her go.

"Yeah buddy, hang on," Mike said.

Mike asked Trinity if she wanted to play, and the little girl jumped for joy. "Can I really?" she said.

"Of course," Wendi replied. "Just be home by 8!"

Mike walked Trinity out and watched as she disappeared past the street light.

"Eight o'clock Trinity, eight, be back!" He yelled as she vanished from sight.

Mike shot a glance at old Joe's place and sure enough, he was watching. Mike saw Joe shake his head and duck out of sight.

Mike was worried now, but he couldn't tell Wendi because she would think he was crazy. It was only an hour and a half, ninety minutes, what could happen he thought. He decided to go back to the shed and give it a quick once over. He sat down on the steps heading into the shed and rested his head against the door, then decided to rest his eyes for a minute before he went back inside to help Wendi.

A blood curdling scream and the crash of breaking glass brought Mike to his feet. It sounded like Wendi, or was it Trinity? Mike got a rush of adrenaline and he opted to head into the house first. As he burst through the front door and rushed into the kitchen, he found Wendi on the floor covered in blood. Brent, the boy who asked if Trinity could play, was chewing on her head, through her skull. Wendi was awake and screaming for help, but no sound was coming out. Mike grabbed a frying pan off the stove and swung at the boy's head with all of his might. Mike slipped in the blood and fell, missing Brent. The boy jumped up and ran out the door.

"Thank you for helping me," Wendi whispered as Mike touched her face. "That's sarcasm," her voice became stern. Mike's eyes burst open and Wendi was crouched down in front of him. She was fine. He must have fallen asleep on the steps of the shed.

"Trinity! Where is she?" he gasped.

"In bed..." Wendi said. "She was home by 8. She said she had fun, got cleaned up, and is really excited for tomorrow. How did you fall asleep out here? Come on silly."

Wendi helped Mike get up. As they walked to the front of the house, Mike saw Brent riding his bike up and down the street. He wanted to tell Wendi, but again, he just didn't.

"I'm going to bed," Wendi said.

"Yeah, I am going to get cleaned up. I will be up in a minute," Mike replied.

Wendi lay down. She was exhausted too. She rolled over and the bedroom clock read 2 a.m. Mike had not come to bed yet. Wendi decided to check on him. She went down the hall and saw the bathroom light on. As she approached the door, it swung open hard, and there stood Brent with blood all over his face. Brent and two other boys ran past her with blood all over their faces and hands, down the steps and out the front door. Wendi ran to the bathroom and saw Mike, lying in the tub with his stomach ripped open.

"Oh my God!" Wendi screamed.

"What!" Mike yelled grabbing her.

"Oh God, it was a nightmare," Wendi was sobbing. "It was terrible, I can't describe it... you were dead, Brent killed you."

Mike's eyes widened, "How?" "He was eating your insides!" Wendi gasped.

Mike quickly got dressed and headed next door.

Joe's lights were already on and he greeted Mike at the door.

"Now do you believe me?" the old codger scolded. "Crazy nightmares are only the beginning. What you saw is more than a dream, it is a premonition."

"So what do I do now?" Mike gasped in fear.

"I have a plan," Joe said. "Your daughter is in grave danger, but I know what has to be done. The only thing that happens to adults directly is the nightmares. It's the kids who are in real danger."

Joe poured a couple of glasses of cheap whiskey and explained.

"The kids on this street are weird, all of them," Joe began. "The parents can't see it, but they grow up, move on, and infect other areas. On the surface, they seem normal, but once the sun goes down, scary things seem to happen.

"I propose you have your little party tomorrow, but in the back of the shed, cut in a trap door, tell Trinity about it, and let her know that part of the gag is to slip through it and we can lock it from the outside to really scare her friends. Once it is locked, we burn it down with all those monsters inside."

"Wait," Mike said. "That is nuts! Even if what you are saying has any validity at all, how in the world do I explain I purposely burned down a shed full of kids, but oh, my daughter managed to get out alive.

"I am sorry I came over here, forget it."

Mike left despite Joe calling out to him to stay. "You'll be sorry... we may never get this opportunity again!" Joe warned.

Mike went home and Wendi confronted him. "Where did you go? I was so scared!" she yelled with a whisper as to not wake Trinity.

"I, I, needed some air," Mike said. "Are you okay, Wendi?"

"Yes, just such a weird nightmare," she said, giving him a hug.

She had no idea how weird Mike thought the nightmare was.

It was Halloween morning and Mike felt he needed to at the very least prepare the trap door as Joe had suggested. "This is so stupid," he thought to himself.

Day turned to night and Mike was getting nervous. He couldn't get the image of Wendi dying out of his head. He also saw flashes of Trinity being eaten alive by Brent and the other kids.

The party began, and everything seemed fine. Mike did notice, however, he had not seen Joe all day. That was odd. There had never been a day when Mike didn't see Joe at least once. Wendi noticed Mike staring.

"Isn't that usually his job?" Wendi asked.

"Yeah, it's just strange," Mike replied. "I see him every day. He is always there. He never leaves."

"Never mind, it's time for the haunted house," Wendi said.

Mike flipped the switch and screams and flickering lights exploded out the door. The kids came running with Trinity leading the way. There were eight kids in all, and Brent was right behind Trinity. Once all the kids piled in, Mike decided to follow. Wendi closed the door behind them.

As Mike worked his way through his creation, he pulled back a curtain and was horrified to see Brent on top of Trinity chewing on her throat. Mike reached down and grabbed ahold of Brent's shirt. He threw the boy aside and dropped down beside his daughter. "Trinity, Trinity, are you ok?" Mike gasped applying pressure to the wound.

"I feel cold dad," she replied. "Why is this happening?"

Mike pulled down the curtain and bunched up the corner and pressed it on Trinity's neck. "Hold this here, I will be right back," he said.

Mike went to open the shed door, but it was locked. He began smashing his shoulder into the door and called for Wendi, but to no avail. After three or four strikes he ran back to Trinity. "Can you get up?" he asked.

"I can if you help me," she said.

"Keep that pressure on your throat," Mike demanded.

Trinity nodded and Mike pulled her up and put his arm around her to carry her weight. He remembered the trap door he cut, but as he approached it, Brent was on the outside peering in at him. Brent slammed the hatch shut and propped something against it from the outside, trapping Mike and Trinity inside.

Panic turned to horror when Mike smelled smoke. All of a sudden, Trinity went limp; she had bled out. Mike clutched his daughter, but knew he was next if he didn't escape.

Mike made a run at the trap door, hoping he could break through. No luck. He then tried to smash through the front again, and then the sides. He felt himself succumbing to the smoke. He knelt beside Trinity, and all went black.

The fire department showed up, but the shed was nothing but ashes.

"Did you see anything?" the fire chief asked Joe.

"No sir," Joe replied. I was just handing out candy to this boy and whoosh, it went up in flames," Joe replied. "Right, Brent?"

"Yes sir," Brent said. "It's true."

"Tragic," the chief said. "Two bodies inside..."

"Indeed," said Joe. "Didn't know the family much. If you need anything else, I am always next door."

Joe and Brent walked away and the rescue crew continued to work.

"So what do we do with her body, Pap?" Brent asked.

"Eat it. Just do it before they finish cleaning up and realize who's who," Joe said, as he went inside and closed the door.

Tale #10 - Ice Station Alpha

By Cassidy Raine Wolters

Atu, leader of the Neanderthal clan closed in on the wooly mammoth. With a tremendous scream, he charged forward and thrust his spear into his prey, but the attack proved to be ill-advised as the great beast trampled him to death and thrust his shattered body to the bottom of a deep gorge.

Atu's remains went untouched and the continent drifted slowly, inch by inch, for eons until his body became entombed in ice at the bottom of the world.

______

The waste from a nuclear power plant remains radioactive for millions of years. This presented a problem for the scientists and engineers who first figured out how to release the power of the atom, but they came up with an ingenious solution. What was it, you ask? They put it in barrels and dumped it in the ocean. Out of sight, out of mind.

Pushed and dragged along by the ocean's tides and currents, one particular barrel of this sludge found its way to the bottom of the world where it was eventually crushed between two icebergs, releasing its contents into the frigid arctic waters. Some of the radioactive material seeped into the ice where it was absorbed by the remains of Atu, leader of a clan of a Neanderthals, who died millions of years earlier.

Over time, the cells of his body, preserved in the frozen wastelands for countless centuries, began to mutate into something never seen before on the Earth, something obscene and grotesque, something nature never intended to create.

Another millennia passed before rising temperatures caused a massive fissure in the ice, exposing Atu's body to the atmosphere for the first time in untold years.

______

"Echo One, Echo One. This is Ice Station Alpha. Come in Echo One."

"Any luck?" Captain Mendez asked the radio operator.

"No sir, the storm's blocking all transmissions."

"We need that supply ship to arrive soon or we're going to have a serious problem on our hands. Keep trying," he instructed as he beckoned another man from across the room. "Ed, I need you to do a perimeter check around the entire camp. ASAP."

"You've got to be kidding me, Captain," Ed protested. "I'm a scientist, not a grunt."

"You're a member of the U.S. military and I'm your commanding officer," Captain Mendez said in an authoritative tone.

"Yes, sir," came the meek reply.

The captain was a natural leader who knew how to handle people, knew when to come on strong and when to back off. He placed a reassuring hand on the scientist's shoulder. "Come on, Ed. There's only a handful of us on this base so we all have to pitch in and do what needs to be done."

Ed smiled. "I know, I know. I just never imagined I'd be stationed in Antarctica. Ten men and a million tons of ice."

"More like a billion," the captain said and both men laughed.

"Alright, I'm on my way."

"Hold on a second, Ed," the Captain said and a serious expression crossed his face. "Have Greg go with you, take your guns, and be careful out there. Some of the men have been hearing strange noises from beyond the camp."

"Probably just a bunch of penguins," the scientist replied as he turned to go.

Captain Mendez watched Ed leave and then turned his attention back to the radio operator. "Anything yet?" he asked.

"No, sir."

"Stick with it. I'm going to my quarters. Let me know as soon as you hear anything."

"Yes, sir. Echo One, this is Ice Station Alpha. Do you read me? Come in Echo One."

______

Even wearing their full supply of arctic gear, both Ed and Greg were frozen to the bone halfway through the perimeter check. A peculiar sound, almost like an injured animal, reached their ears.

"Did you hear that?" Greg asked, yelling so he could be heard above the howling wind.

"Yeah," Ed replied. "It came from over there. We better go check it out."

The men trudged off in the direction of the odd noise and walked steadily for a few minutes.

"I don't think we should go much farther," Greg said. "Not with this storm raging. If we get lost, we'll never get back to camp."

"I agree," Ed said. "The way this wind is blowing..."

Before the scientist could finish his thought there was a tremendous scream and a menacing, hairy creature attacked Greg and bit his face, spewing blood into the pure white snow.

"Shoot it!" Greg implored his companion as the assailant continued to tear at his flesh. "Shoot it!"

Ed fumbled with his gun. The cold weather and the suddenness of the attack cost him valuable time and Greg's voice had faded before he finally shot the creature, point blank, with half a dozen bullets.

______

"Oh, my god! What happened?" Captain Mendez asked when Ed reappeared at the camp dragging Greg's dead body.

"A wild beast," Ed mumbled, exhausted from pulling the heavy load through the storm. "It came out of nowhere."

"Did you shoot it?"

"Yes."

"Which direction? I'll send some men out to investigate."

"Captain, I hit it six times," Ed said, hysteria seeping into his voice. "I checked for a pulse. It was dead, but..."

"But what?"

"A minute later it got back up and walked away."

______

The storm finally broke a few days later. Echo One was able to reach Ice Station Alpha and deliver its cargo of much-needed supplies. When the ship set sail again, bound for Argentina, the body of Lieutenant Greg Amsler, fallen soldier, was aboard.

Two weeks later the radio operator summoned Captain Mendez. "Sir, I think you better listen to this report," he said as he adjusted some knobs, trying to boost the signal strength and cut through the static.

"Argentina, Chile, and Brazil have all been placed under quarantine. Reports are sketchy, but it seems that dead bodies are coming back to life. All military personnel are ordered to leave South America immediately. We repeat, Argentina, Chile, and Brazil have all been placed under quarantine..."

"What do you think it means, Captain Mendez?"

"I think it means the world is in a whole heap of trouble."

We Belong to the Lake

By April Ward

We finally did it! We bought that dream home on the lake. David was retired and we were ready to live our dream. We found a great deal on a house on Lake Erie, and we were so excited to start our new life.

It was 7:oo A.M. on a Saturday when we pulled up to our new home on the water. I stepped out of the moving van to a brisk, cool breeze coming off the lake. I took a deep refreshing breath and looked at David with a smile. He looked at me and said, "We finally did it, Becka!" I walked over, took his hand, and replied, " Yes we did!"

I opened the door to a stale unlived in smell, so I began opening up the house to the fresh lake air. It was a small home, with a large deck, and huge windows' overlooking the lake. We both fell in love with it.

The upstairs was one large room that seemed to be used for storage. The only thing the prior owners had left was an old trunk, which was now covered in dust. I tried to unlock it, but it was bolted up tight, so I decided to leave it until later and finish unlatching the windows. As I was opening the large window upstairs, I saw an elderly man sitting on a porch swing across the road. It seemed like he was staring right at me. For some reason my hair stood on end, and I could have sworn I heard him say, "Leave this place," but his lips never moved. I decided I was simply creeping myself out because I was in new surroundings, so I ignored it.

I went downstairs to find David, who had already placed a chair on the deck and was sitting there sipping a cold beer. "Hey lazy bones," I exclaimed, as I ran over and plopped down on his lap. "Are we unpacking or are we relaxing?"

"Relaxing," he replied, with a big satisfied grin.

I grabbed his beer and took a sip. "Okay, relaxing it is! I guess we have the rest of our lives to unpack." We both laughed.

Our first day in our new home was wonderful. We listened to Gordon Lightfoot, and talked about the tragic history of our beloved lake, while sipping beer and enjoying the starlit night.

At about 11:30 in the evening we both decided it was time to go to bed. I walked out on the deck for one more look at our beautiful lake. I was taking in the sights and sounds when I heard a voice in my head. "Leave this place," It said. I looked around, but I saw nothing. Then I noticed a crow on some driftwood looking up at me. He was beautiful in the moonlight, but it felt odd.

I looked at him and said, "Hello friend, do you want us to leave?" I didn't notice that David had come outside just in time to hear me talk to the crow.

"What did you say, Becka?" David asked. "Oh, nothing honey, just being silly."

The bedroom was perfect, with a huge window overlooking the lake. We left it open for the cool breeze, and the moonlight filled our room. It was perfect!

Sleep came easy that night. At 2:00 am I was awakened by a voice. "Becka, wake up. Come to me. I am here in the lake. Becka?" It sounded familiar. It was so comforting.

"Yes, I will come to you," I replied stepping out of bed, and did not bother to put on my robe. I just walked out the door and onto the beach.

"Becka," the voice said, "come to me."

"Yes," I responded, " I am coming." I walked into the water. I desired nothing more than to be swept up in its cold embrace when I felt a tug on my nightgown.

"Wake up! Wake up! " The harsh voice broke through my dream. "Young lady, Wake up now! "

I awoke with a start to an elderly man tugging at my shoulders. "Wake up," he yelled. I turned to him, and he said, "Leave this place." I asked him why, but he seemed to disappear.

I awoke to sunlight streaming through the window and the fresh crisp lake air washing over me. I thought about my strange dream, then I noticed the wet sheets and the sand on the floor.

"Oh no," I thought, "Was that real? Was I in the lake last night?" I decided that I could not tell David. He would be terrified that I may do it again. It was probably best to keep it a secret.

I decided that I needed to visit the elderly neighbor who saved my life the night before, so I baked some banana bread and headed to his house. When I got there he was already sitting on the front porch. "Hello neighbor," I exclaimed. He did not even look at me. "I just wanted to thank you," was all I got out when a perky blonde woman came to the door.

"Hello," she said, "Oh, you are the woman who bought my great uncle's house. It is a pleasure to meet you, my name is Anna."

I said," Hello, I'm Becka," with a confused look on my face, and I looked at the elderly man. She noticed my confusion and explained how he has been in that state since his Rebecca died. She asked me to step into the house, so she could explain.

The inside of her home was beautiful, filled with nautical artifacts, that she told me were collected by her great uncle. His name was Samuel, and he was once a sailor on the lake that he loved. That is why she cared for him in her home. She could not bear to have him parted from the water that he loved so very much. She explained that he had shut down when his beloved wife drowned in the lake. "It's heartbreaking, " she said, "but he will not leave this place."

I felt a wave of nausea sweep over me, and my face flushed. I know he was there with me on that beach. How can this be true? I know he saved me last night. She noticed I looked a little flushed and asked me to sit down. I simply told her that I had to get home because I was baking something. We exchanged goodbyes, and I all but ran home.

I arrived in the house to David yelling for me to come upstairs because he had opened the trunk. He seemed pretty excited about what he had found. I went upstairs and knelt next to him on the floor. At his side was a yellowed, white gown that looked pretty old, a leather-bound journal and a picture of a couple. David asked me if I noticed anything about the picture, so I studied it closely.

"Seriously babe," he said, "she looks just like you! The dark curls, and the green eyes. It's amazing, and get this, her name was Becky, get it? Your name is Becka. What a coincidence! So cool!"

I just stared at him. What is going on, I thought? Those people looked to have been from the 1800's. I felt sick again, so I grabbed the journal and headed out to a rock on the beach for some fresh air and to investigate this further.

When I opened the journal a brown, dried up newspaper clipping dropped out.

It read, The Steamer Atlantic sank in Lake Erie after a collision with the propeller steamer Ogdensburg off of Long Point. The ship sank with a freight cargo of $36,000 in gold in the safe. Over 200 people were known to have drowned in the disaster. The date was August 20 of 1852.

I looked out to the sea. It was August now. Then, I continued to read. It was basic everyday stuff that a woman would write in her journal. How she loved her husband and some sad parts about not having children, much like me I thought. Then I found it. My heart felt such pain for Becky. She logged in on August 20, 1852.The last entry in the book. My dearest Jonathan was taken from me today. Words cannot express my agony. I cannot stay by the lake knowing that he will never return to me. Knowing that he is forever lost in the depths of Lake Erie's cold embrace. I hear him call out from the water, and I want to go to him. My dear Jonathan, how can I breathe without you. I must go to him. My heart fails me without him by my side. Dear mother, forgive me.

Tears streamed down my face. I felt a deep sorrow and pain, and had a need to be in the lake, an aching call from the depths of the water. Surely, I must be going mad. What is happening to me? I knew I should have told David, but this is our dream. This is our beautiful lake, and I want it to be exactly like the dream we imagined it to be.

The weather that night was as tormented as I felt inside. When we went to bed David kissed me, and with a worried look, asked if I was feeling okay. I told him that I was fine, just tired. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

I awoke to a voice. It was a comforting, familiar voice. It said, "Becka, wake up. Come to me." "Yes, I thought, "yes, I must come to you." I felt so filled with love for the lake and I felt a need for its cold embrace. "Yes, I will join you! I am coming, my love! Wait for me." I went up to the trunk and I put on my bridal gown and fixed my hair. I was going to see my love, my Jonathan.

The wind was wicked that night. The water welcomed me with furious waves. I was going to my love. My hair whipped in the wind as I searched the lake for him, and as I started to enter the water my gown was tugged, and I could feel his arms pulling me under. I could not breathe, but I felt as though I was about to be whole again. I welcomed it!

"I am here my love!" I yelled into the wind, and then I heard something. It was ever so quiet.

A voice from somewhere in the distance, yelling, panicked, desperate and terrified! "Becka! Becka! Please, Becka, get out of there. I am coming! Oh god, Becka!"

I felt so confused and torn. I knew that voice. "David, is that you?" I said in a whisper.

Then it came to me. "Oh my god, how did I get in here?" I was being pulled away when I felt an arm pulling me back to shore. I looked to see who it was, and I looked into Samuel's eyes. I will never forget those tormented eyes.

As I felt the sand of the shore he released me, and said, "I hear my Rebecca calling me to join her. I have to go to her. She has been alone in the lake for too long. Leave this place, and never come back. The lake wants you, Becka, and he was gone.

"No, I yelled to him! Samuel, do not go! Samuel!" Then I felt warm arms embrace me. "Oh, Becka, what are you doing?" David cried out, " I thought I had lost you to the lake. Baby, why are you it that gown? What happened?" I told him that Samuel had saved me and that he was in the water, but David told me that no one was in the water with me. He told me that it was all a dream.

I would not dry off or rest until I got to see Samuel. I knew he saved me, so David called Anna, and we went over. Anna looked very concerned when she saw that I was soaked and shivering, so she went off to make me some tea as I yelled to her, "Where is Samuel?"

She turned to look at me, and said, "He is upstairs looking out the bay window."

I ran upstairs, and there he was, staring at the lake. I approached him slowly as if he was a ghost, and I looked into his eyes. "Samuel, you saved me, thank you. How, did you do that? Please talk to me."

He gave me a faraway look, and he said in a sad voice, "Rebecca, my love, we belong to the lake." Then he came into the moment, and said to me, "Becka, leave this place," and he was gone again to that distant place.

David took me home, and I told him everything, including Samuel's warning. I was afraid that David would not believe me, but instead, he pulled me close and whispered in my ear, "The lake cannot have you, my love. I could not breath when I thought I had lost you."

He packed some stuff and we headed for the nearest hotel. I, to this day, swear, that as we were leaving I saw a woman in a white gown walking along the water's edge, but I will keep that to myself.

THE BASEMENT

By Scott Lee

Hunter stood quietly in front of the basement door, staring intently at the black, time worn doorknob that adorned the faded white wood. His heart was beating rapidly as he stood motionless, pondering his situation.

Hunter was 12 years old, and he was home alone. His parents had desperately needed a quiet night out together, and the young boy had finally convinced them that he could be trusted without a babysitter for a measly four hours. His parents were reluctant at first, but over the course of a week, he had convinced them that he would be fine.

"I'm just gonna sit in my room and play video games like I do every night," he had said. "I'll do the same thing whether you're here or not!"

Money was tight within the small family of three, and as such, there was enough in the budget for the night out, but not the babysitter. So when Friday night arrived, Hunter's parents went down the list of rules for him to follow. A list they had gone over no less than six times leading up to their dinner date.

The list was pretty straight forward

  * Lock the door behind them and don't answer or open it for ANYONE. Only open it after they text him and let him know they're home and in the driveway.

  * No cooking. Bagged snacks ONLY.

  * No having friends over.

  * No rough housing with Max (the cat).

With all the rules agreed upon, Hunter had watched as his Mom and Dad closed and locked the door behind them as they headed out to the car. He had waived from the window as they backed down the driveway, a slight knot forming in his stomach as he watched the taillights disappear down his street.

As he stepped away from the window, he had reminded himself that he was a big kid now, and that kids his age weren't afraid to be alone. But talking about being home alone and actually being home alone were two different things. Unable to shake the nervousness, Hunter had headed to his room and locked his door before settling into his computer chair.

Placing his gaming headphones upon his head, he had logged into his Steam account and quickly launched one of his favorite PVP (player vs player) games. For the next hour he had battled monster and demons, immersed in the world of computer gaming.

For his 12th birthday his parents had bought him a custom built gaming computer that was the envy of all his friends. Complete with a custom tower case and red LED fans, his high tech system was a rather impressive sight for all but the most serious gamers.

But the one drawback of the custom setup was power. The system used a LOT of power, and the old house that he lived in was working off of old wiring and outlets.

After an hour of gaming, his room had begun to get a little cold. Of course, this was a matter of perspective. All of Hunter's friends would complain about how hot his room was when they visited, all while Hunter was at his computer wearing a sweatshirt. He liked things warm. No, he preferred it hot!

So when his room temp had started to fall (his parents kept the heat dialed back to save money), he decided to retrieve the Vortex heater from the bathroom. Plugging the heater into the same outlet as his computers battery backup system, he turned it on and promptly tripped the breaker, plunging his room into near total darkness; the glow of his computer monitor providing the only light.

His backup battery system had immediately kicked in, keeping his computer running and preventing his game from crashing, thus allowing him to save without losing everything he had accomplished over the last hour. But his battery backup was only good for 45 minutes under the power load of his custom setup, and he knew that if he wanted to keep playing, he had to reset the breaker.

And the breaker panel was in the basement.

______

Ever since he was little, Hunter had feared the basement. His parents were archaeologists, and as a result, they liked old things. The house was no exception. They had gone out of their way to find a historic home to live in, and this dwelling fit the bill. Dating to the early 1900's, it had everything they wanted, including beautiful hardwood floors and wood work, and the typical stone foundation.

His Dad had taken him to the basement on two occasions when he was little, and each time he had left the giant room completely traumatized and in tears. His first trip to the basement occurred when he was three, and it was by far the worst.

When his dad had opened the door, he had immediately clung to his leg as he stared into the dark and terrifying abyss below. Prying his son loose, his father, flashlight in hand, had made the slow decent on the worn wooden stairs, every step creaking in protest. Upon reaching the bottom, he had reached up and pulled on a dirty white string, causing the single yellowed light bulb to come to life, illuminating the compacted dirt floor below it.

The dust covered bulb yielded little light into the rest of the basement, prompting his father to seek out additional light. As his dad disappeared into the blackness, his lower lip began to quiver and his heart began to race. In his mind, his father was being swallowed up by a terrible black monster right before his eyes. Eyes wide, he had started to hyperventilate. Moments later, he caught his breath and screamed. A scream that didn't stop until his father came running back up the stairs and grabbed him.

Cradled in his father's arms, Hunter had cried on his dad's shoulder all the way up to his room. It took his mom and dad a solid 15 minutes to calm him down following the ordeal.

Surprisingly, a year later his dad had tried again to get his son to enter the basement . . . with the same result. A massive wave of fear had engulfed the small boy the moment the door had opened, leaving him struggling to breath as he stood in a puddle of his own urine. His body had begun to shake and his eyes had widened to the size of golf balls as he stared into the darkness below, his face contorted in fear.

The trauma didn't end there, though. For months following the second visit to the basement door, Hunter had experienced horrific nightmares. Nightmares that resulted in blood curdling screams that didn't stop for minutes after he was shaken from the terrors in his mind.

When the nightmares finally ceased, his mother forbid his father from taking him anywhere near the basement door, no less open it with Hunter around. And for the next five years Hunter had avoided the basement entry. Avoided passing in front of it unless his dad was with him. Avoided making eye contact with it for more than just a second.

It wasn't until he turned 10 that he was able to walk past the door, or even look upon it for more than a moment. The fear was still there, but that fear was now under control . . . as long as the door wasn't opened.

Now, two years later, Hunter stood in front of the basement door, his heart beating out of his chest. A flashlight was gripped tightly in his trembling right hand as he stared intently at the antique door handle that was set into the century old wood.

"You can do this," he whispered to himself. "You're not a baby."

Taking deep breaths, he tried to steel his resolve. His friends were waiting for him online. They needed his character for the big quest that they had been planning. Without him, their characters wouldn't survive. And if he couldn't get the power back to his room, they'd have to postpone the quest for another day, and that wouldn't go over well at all. Gamers hated to wait, especially when it was a newly released game.

"Just open the door," he commanded again, trying to will himself to follow his instructions.

Taking another deep breath, he clenched his left fist in preparation of turning the door handle. Just then, a faint, barely audible creak broke the silence, causing Hunter to momentarily stop breathing. The house was old, and anything and everything creaked. When their cat, Max walked around, it often resulted in creaking, allowing them to quickly determine where the large feline was currently located.

"Must have been Max," whispered Hunter, as he subconsciously took a step back from the door.

Taking another deep breath, he tried to slow his heart rate, but to no avail. Little by little the horrors of his early childhood were forcing their way back to the surface.

"No!" he demanded. "I'm not a baby! It's just another room," he said out loud.

No sooner had the last words left his lips when another creak sounded softly from beyond the walls.

Hands trembling, his eyes darted left and right as his muscles froze, anchoring him to the spot.

"Max?" he called out.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the big gray tabby standing in the hallway behind him, his tail fluffed to triple its normal size. A moment later, the cat arched its back as it slowly backed away from Hunter and the basement door. Seconds later, another creak broke the silence, this one clearing emanating from beyond the barrier in front of the terrified youth.

Suddenly, Hunter watched as the cat hissed and bolted from the hall, leaving him alone in front of the door. Eyes wide, the terrified boy slowly turned back to the basement portal, his lungs struggling for air.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as his entire body shook with fear, the flashlight slipping from his hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a resounding crack. Moments later, he watched as the worn metal handle of the basement door slowly began to turn.

Bookworm

By Leonard Herrington

Graduation from State College did not offer the many questions that it did to most graduates to Sherri Zetterberg. With a Bachelor's Degree in Library Science, she did not have to ponder what she would do with the knowledge she had gained as an undergraduate nor where she would find employment; these things she already knew. She would start her life's work at sharply nine A.M. at the Andrew Frick Library back in her hometown of Elmdale. The thought of all her efforts over the years coming together in the form of her dream job brought a smile to her face.

Her thoughts wandered as she sat in the backseat of her father's 1999 brown Ford minivan. The ride from State College to Elmdale would take several hours. Since she had her parents hardly ever spoke, she had plenty of time to daydream. The couple had wanted their only child to pursue a more lucrative degree in engineering, medicine, or law. Sherri's I.Q. was off the charts and she had score extremely high on all her entrance exams. One of her teachers in high school had once remarked, "If Sherri read it, she knows it."

Sherri had ignored her parents' advice and had followed her heart instead. She thought of the first day that her mother had taken her to the library when she was a little girl. It had been a gray dreary day as most days often where in southwestern Pennsylvania. She remembered holding her mother's hand as they climbed the many steps up to the large wooden doors of the building. With its charcoal colored slate roof and deep reddish brown bricks, Sherri had thought that the building resembled a castle. When she told her mother this, her mother had said, "It is a castle, Sherri. It's the castle that protects the books and all of their great stories." The ideas had fascinated her and now she was going to be working at that very same castle.

Looking out the window of the van, Sherri watched the trees whose green leaves appeared dull in the sunless spring day. Again, she drifted back into her thoughts. She could see Miss Caroline standing behind the dark wooden counter in the middle of the library, her glasses halfway down her nose, her salt-and-pepper hair held up in a bun with bobby-pins, and that forever stern expression in her pale bluish gray eyes. She didn't mind giving any library patron as good "shushing" if she felt they had earned it no matter who they were.

The Andrew Frick Library belonged to Miss Caroline. It was her domain and no one had ever thought to question it. For as long as anyone in Elmdale could remember, she had been the librarian. Some townsfolk had even joked that she had come with the building. That thought brought a silent chuckle to Sherri's lips. Sherri remembered that there was a cornerstone on library that had the year 1899 etched into it. "That would make Miss Caroline well over a hundred years old," Sherri thought to herself and chuckled again.

Sherri's thoughts shifted to the days she had spent at the library as a volunteer in high school. Miss Caroline would often scold her for reading when she was supposed to be putting books back on the shelves or dusting. "Bookworm", that was the nickname that Miss Caroline had given her. Sherri had never been quite sure if that had been meant as a term of endearment or as jab. Never-the-less, Sherri had always answered to it out of respect for her matronly mentor and for their shared love of books.

"Sherri, honey, we're home," came her mother's voice from the now open van door beside her. "Help your father carry your things up to your room while I get supper started. "Let's go, sleepyhead."

Sherri opened her eyes to see her home through the windshield of the car. "Home," she said with a happy sigh. It took a few trips but in no time at all, the contents of her dorm room were out of the station wagon and piled somewhat neatly in the corner of her bedroom. Looking around the room, Sherri sighed again.

"What's wrong kiddo?" her father asked, setting down the last of the items.

"Nothing dad. It's just good to be home."

Her father smiled. "it's good to have you home. I always worried about you while you were at school."

"And here I am all fine and everything. See, all that worry for nothing."

Her father walked over and gave her a hug. "Not for nothing. You're my girl. Your mother and I will always worry about you."

She squeezed him back. "Thanks dad."

He patted her on her back. "I'm going to go and clean up. I suggest you do the same. Your mother will have supper in just a little while. It's best not to show up late. You know your mother."

______

Barbara Zetterberg was known all over Elmdale for her meatloaf. Sherri's smile was a mile wide when she sat down at the dinner table and saw her mother's iconic dish surrounded by potatoes and carrots. After her father said Grace, everyone dug in.

"Save room for desert, dear," her mother said patting her on the hand. "There is a new ice cream shop that opened up down in the square. Your father wants to take you down there after dinner."

"I think I'll need to take a raincheck on that, dad, if that's alright? I kind of want to relax, get my room in some sort of order, and hit the sack early. I need to get up early tomorrow. I don't want to be late. Miss Caroline wouldn't like that too much."

"Who cares what that old bat thinks? The old witch should have retired years ago."

"Todd Zetterberg! Who taught you to talk like that?" her mother said, mock slapping her husband on the arm.

"You know what I mean. That woman's plain old crazy. She was never right in the head."

"Stop it now. That poor thing was traumatized after her fiancée didn't return after the war."

"Yeah, the Civil War," her father responded, giving Sherri a wink.

"Don't listen to him, Sherri. You just be nice to Miss Caroline."

"I will, mom. Do we have any tea?"

"What kind would you like dear? I'll make you some."

"It's not for me, mom. Miss Caroline loves tea. Her favorite is Oolong with just a spoonful of sugar."

"I believe I have a box of mixed teas in the pantry. We'll take a look after dinner."

______

Sherri was up before her alarm went off. She couldn't wait to get to the library and see Miss Caroline. Despite the slight chill in the air, the short walk to the library was very enjoyable as she strolled past the many familiar houses that lined the streets of Elmdale. Holding the tea in both hands to keep it warm, Sherri found herself humming a tune that she remembered being taught in elementary school. As she approached the library, she could see Miss Caroline with keys in her hand at its massive wooden doors.

"Good morning, Miss Caroline. Give me a second and I'll give you a hand opening the doors."

"You will do no such thing. How do you think that I get in here every other morning?' the older woman responded.

"Typical Miss Caroline," Sherri thought to herself.

The two women made their way into the library. Miss Caroline flicked on the light switch to illuminate the library's dark interior. She looked around at the book-filled shelves and gave a slight nod.

"Everything is as it should be," Miss Caroline said with a sense of satisfaction in her voice.

"Did you expect anything to be different?" asked Sherri setting the travel mug down on the counter.

"What have there, my dear?" Miss Caroline asked nodding toward the mug.

"I brought us tea. I remembered that you love to drink Oolong tea. Here," Sherri said handing the older woman a travel mug.

"Let me get us some proper tea cups. I keep some in the..."

"Cabinet by the coat closet," Sherri finished. "I'll get them."

"Bring the sugar bowl and a spoon," added Miss Caroline.

Sherri return a few moments later with two tea cups which were covered with blue and white images.

"I always loved these tea cups," Sherri said, handing one to Miss Caroline.

"Yes dear, I remember. They were a part of a set which had originally belonged to my grandmother."

Sherri nodded.

"You forgot the sugar, Sherri."

"I didn't bring it on purpose. Taste the tea and tell me what you think."

Miss Caroline poured the tea from the travel mug into her tea cup. She slowly raised the cup to her mouth. She sniffed the vapors of the tea for a second and then took a small sip. Her eyes grew wide.

Sherri smiled at the woman's reaction.

"My, this is quite good, my dear. What did you put in here? I usually...."

"Add one spoonful of sugar," Sherri said completing the sentence, and smiled at her mentor.

Miss Caroline smiled back and took another sip.

"I added a teaspoon full of Agave Nectar. It's a bit sweeter than sugar. My roommate in college got me into liking it. I haven't used sugar since."

"This is quite good. I think that I might have to purchase a bottle for myself."

"I have an extra bottle that I brought back from school that I haven't even opened yet. I'll bring it in for you tomorrow."

"Sherri, I couldn't impose on you like that."

"You're not imposing. I offered. I'm just glad that you like it."

Miss Caroline took another sip of the tea. Sherri smiled and poured her own tea into a cup.

"Let's finish here and then get down to work," Miss Caroline said, resuming her terse manner.

"Yes, mam," Sherri responded, realizing the change in the woman's tone.

______

Sherri cleaned the tea cups and travel mugs once they had finished in the sink of the once bathroom that the library had and dried them with a paper towel. She placed the tea cups back in the cabinet and placed the two mugs in her purse. When she got back to the desk, a few patrons had begun to appear.

"Mr. Walker, is that you?" Sherri said as she walked toward an elderly gentleman.

"Sherri!" the man exclaimed, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Where have you been?"

"I was away at school. I just graduated and now I came back here to see you."

"You flatter and old man," Tom Walker said, patting the girl on the back.

"Whose old?" Sherri said, hugging the man around the shoulder. "I see that you still come in to read the paper."

"Every morning. Monday through Friday, rain, snow, or shine," the man said with a grin.

"Is there anything that I can do for you?" Sherri asked the man. "Yeah, can you get some comfortable chairs in this joint. Those old wooden ones are killing my back. Some coffee would be great too."

Sherri smiled at the man. "I'll see what I can do."

"Hey, Sherri..."

"Yes, Mister Walker?"

"It's great to see you kiddo."

"Thanks, Mr. Walker."

"Ted Friday and Larry Thompson will be coming in pretty soon. Stop back over and see them, O.K.?"

"I will," said Sherri with a wink.

Sherri made her way back over to the desk where Miss Caroline was helping a patron check out some books.

"Sherri, would you be dear and put those books that are on the cart back?"

"Sure," Sherri responded. "Anything else?"

"Yes, then start to double check the shelves to make sure..."

"That the books are in their correct locations," Sherri said, finishing the sentence.

"Thank you, dear."

"No problem, Miss Caroline."

Sherri pushed the old wooden cart away from the desk. It struggled to move under the weight of the many books that had been placed upon it.

"Your days are numbered here, mister," Sherri whispered to the old cart. "You've served us here well for many years, but now I think that it's time for you to retire."

______

"Sherri, dear, I'm going to head home for lunch now," Miss Caroline said.

Sherri jerked her head up from the book she had been reading. She had gotten lost in the story and when Miss Caroline had spoken it had startled her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. Look at you. Always the little bookworm; just like you were back in high school. I was just saying that I'm leaving for lunch. It's so nice that I don't have to close the library while I run home to eat. I'm so glad that the trustees brought you back. It's so nice to have a little helper."

Sherri didn't know what to say; "A little helper". Perhaps the trustees had not yet explained to Miss Caroline that she was to be her replacement. Before she could respond, Miss Caroline gave her a wave.

"I'll be back by one o'clock and then you can go to lunch. Maybe you could dust a bit while I'm gone."

Sherri sat with her mouth agape dumbfounded at what had taken place over the past several minutes.

______

Good to her word, Miss Caroline was back at precisely one o'clock.

"Alright dear, your turn. I'll see you back here at two," Miss Carline said as she placed her purse behind the counter.

"Actually, I brought and sandwich and an apple. It looks like the sun's out. I think that I'll just sit out on the steps and eat. Maybe I can get a little color on these pale cheeks while I'm at it."

Sherri knew that she had said the wrong words the minute she looked up from pulling the brown bag from her purse. When her eye's locked onto the cold blue-gray eyes of Miss Caroline, she knew that she was in trouble.

"I don't think that that would be appropriate, dear. A library is a place of learning not a beach vacation spot."

"I'm sorry Miss Caroline, but that's what we did at school all of the time. We ate, drank coffee, studied, read outside on the library steps...on the lawn...it was really nice, quiet, and relaxing."

"Well, that might be how young people behave today at our universities but that's not how we do things here at the Frick Library in Elmdale. We still hold public decency as something of great value."

Sherri started to chuckle and quickly caught herself.

"What is so amusing? Please tell me so that I might enjoy it as well," Miss Caroline said in her best stern librarian's voice.

"I'm sorry, Miss Caroline, I meant no disrespect. I wasn't talking about Sodom and Gomorra. I just wanted to have a little lunch on the steps. It's fine, I'll just head home. It's no biggie."

"I'm sure that it is not," Miss Caroline said and stormed off to help a patron who was waiting.

______

Sherri returned a little before two. Miss Caroline looked up to check the clock as she walked in.

"Here's the bottle of Agave Syrup I told you about," Sherri said as she handed it to the older woman.

"Thank you, Sherri. But really you shouldn't have. Let me give you some money for it."

"Don't be silly. If you enjoy it, I'll consider it to be payment enough. I'm going to go straighten up a bit. It seems like there are a few books left on the table over there."

For the rest of the afternoon, Sherri went about her business of cleaning, straightening, and putting away books. Before she knew it, the lights in the building were being flipped on and off.

"The library will be closing in fifteen minutes. Check out any books that you want to take now. Please put back any that you don't," announced Miss Caroline as she continued to flip the lights on and off.

Sherri slid her phone out from her pocket so that she could check the time. It was 5:45 and the library was already closing. "This is something that I'm going to need to change," she thought to herself.

At exactly 6:01, Miss Caroline locked the large wooden doors to the library. She dropped the keys into her black leather purse and pulled the front of her black coat closed.

"Well then, I guess I'll see you in the morning. Thank you for your help today. It is great to have you back."

"It's great to be back, Miss Caroline. I'll see you at nine sharp."

______

For the most part the next three weeks went about the same as the first day. Each morning Sherri would bring tea for Miss Caroline and herself. The rest of the day would be filed with mundane tasks like dusting, organizing, helping to check out books, and putting books away. The only exception to the routine had come one day when Sherri heard from behind her a voice, which said; "Could you help me? I'd like to check out this book."

Sherri recognized the book immediately and began to turn red. She could feel her cheeks begin to flush and her heart begin to race. She had had the same reaction every time she had heard that voice since she had been in the ninth grade. The voice belonged to Robert Young.

Robert Young had sat in front of her in nearly every class in high school since most teachers seated their students alphabetically. From the first moment Sherri had laid eyes upon him, she had been in love. He was perfect. His sandy brown hair was never out of place. His brown eyes always had a sparkle to them. His smile was made of the most beautiful white teeth anyone had ever seen.

Even though Robert was the star quarterback at Elmdale High school, he had never acted like a jerk like a lot of the jocks did. He had always been kind and fairly humble. It was in a literature class in eleventh grade, that Sherri found Robert's Kryptonite; he loved to read. Since they were often paired for classwork, she and he had often talked abbot the books that they had read and author's that they liked. One day, Robert had even revealed that he liked poetry. On occasion, he would recite a line or two of a poem to her from the top of his head.

"Excuse me, I'm sort of in a hurry. Could you check these out for me?"

Sherri turned around and said, "I'd be happy to, Robert."

Her jaw nearly hit the top of the desk when she saw him. He was standing there were a dark blue uniform of the local police department. He looked a tad older than the last time she had seen him but was amazingly handsome still none-the-less. His expression revealed that he was equally shocked which quickly changed into his broad perfect smile.

"Sherri Zetterberg, look at you. You look great! What the heck are you doing back here?"

"What are you doing here? I thought that you'd be playing football for the Steelers by now. You're a policeman. How did that happen?"

"A two hundred and seventy-five-pound defensive lineman from Auburn threw me two threw ground and then landed on top of me. My teammates on the sideline said that they had heard the crack when my arm snapped underneath both of us. I missed the rest of the season. Even after all the rehab, I could never throw the football quite the same. You can't be a quarterback and not be able to throw the ball."

"Rob, I'm really sorry."

"Don't be. I left school, came back here, and went to the police academy. Now I do what I think I was always meant to do. I get to help people who need help. What better job could anyone ever want? Wasn't it Charles Dickens that said "No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another." Well, I guess I'm not useless."

"No, you're amazing."

The words were out of Sherri's mouth before she realized that she had said them. She quickly felt the flush return to her checks.

Each was staring into the other's eyes, but neither spoke.

"Well, that was awkward," Sherri said breaking the silence.

"Not at all. Ummm, listen I work late shift the rest of the week; but I'm back on daylight next week. Maybe one night we could go grab some coffee somewhere and catch up?"

"That would be great," Sherri responded unable to believe what sounded like being asked out on a date.

"Fantastic. Hey, I really am in a hurry. It doesn't look to good to leave the patrol car sitting empty for too long. I mean I am on duty."

"I'm sorry. Here, let me check that out for you."

As she reached for the book he was sliding it across the counter towards her. When their hands touched for a second, Sherri felt electricity shoot through her body and her knees get weak.

"Are you alright?" Robert asked.

" I'm fine," Sherri responded, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Sherri looked down at the book. It was Milton's Paradise Lost. She smiled.

"Excellent choice, Officer Young," Sherri said returning the book to him. "It's due in two weeks."

"Thank you. I'll be sure to return it," Robert said and gave her a wink. "Remember, keep a night open for me next week for coffee. I'll stop by to confirm the day. See ya."

"See ya," Sherri said as she watched him exit through the doors. Her stomach was filled with butterflies with the thought of going out with Robert Young.

______

Officer Young got into his patrol car and placed the book on the seat beside him. He couldn't believe it. He had asked out Sherri Zetterberg and she had said yes. Little did she know that he had always had a secret crush on her all through high school. Most people at Elmdale High School thought that he had been stuck up because he was the star quarterback. The truth was he was horribly shy. He excelled academically as well which set him apart from many of his athletic peers. The truth was that he loved to read and to learn. This is what had led him to like Sherri.

They had spent many hours in school sitting next to one another and talking. He had always found her easy to talk to. She never seemed to be impressed with him for being a quarterback like most of the other girls, but instead had come across as more interested in his mind. After graduation, he had often missed their talks.

The truth was, he had always been attracted to her. Her skin was perfect. She had never worn makeup and didn't need it. She had kept her chestnut colored hair up in a bun on top of her head. He had often wished that she would let it down, but she never once did. Her beautiful big brown eyes had always reminded him of the eyes that a Disney Princess would have had. The fact that those eyes were always behind a pair of black framed glasses had never bothered him.

"It made her look like a sexy librarian," he thought to himself and chuckled. "Robert Young, you're going to go out on a date with a sexy librarian." He chuckled again and then smiled; happy with himself for finally having the courage to ask the girl out. He reached for the key and started the police cruiser. Checking the side mirror, Officer Young eased the car out onto the street to resume his patrol of Elmdale.

______

It didn't take too many dates for Sherri and Robert to become what the folks in Elmdale referred to as an "item". A few weeks passed when one night, Sherri confessed that she was bored out of her mind at the library. She explained to Robert that the trustees had hired her to take over for Miss Caroline. It seemed that they had been unhappy with the dwindling number of patrons and the fact the older librarian had done nothing to modernize the facility.

Miss Caroline did not seem aware of what was transpiring. Sherri thought that maybe the trustees had failed to mention the situation or that they had and Miss Caroline was simply ignoring it. Either way, Sherri felt that Miss Caroline just thought of her as the high school volunteer that she had once been.

"Sherri, you just can't keep doing what you're doing. You're upset every day. Think about it, if you don't do something soon, the trustees might decide to let you go. They hired you to make changes and nothing has happened in over a month."

"I know that you're right, Bobby, but I don't want to hurt her. She's just a sweet lonely old woman. That library is all that she has. What am I supposed to do?"

"The job that you were hired to do; that's all. You need to address the issue head on. It has been my experience that that is the best way to do things. Just go in there and tackle the subject head on with her. That's what I would recommend. Just do it."

"That's easy for you. I'm not like you. I'm not as confident."

"Listen to me. You smart, beautiful, well spoken...did I say beautiful?"

"Stop!"

"Well, you are. Seriously though, just do it. Trust me, it's the best way."

"Maybe you're right. I'll give it a shot tomorrow."

"That's my girl!" Robert said with big smile.

"I kinda like the way that sounds," Sherri said as she reached in to give him a kiss.

______

"What are you reading there?" Miss Caroline asked as she took off her jacket after she returned from lunch.

"It's called Bloodhaven by B.C. Richards," Sherri replied not looking up from the book.

"Nothing has changed. You're still my little Bookworm. Always reading something or another," the older woman said as she hung the jacket in the closet.

"I do love to read," Sherri replied, still engrossed in the book.

"Bloodhaven? B.C. Richards? I don't recall that title or author. Is that one of ours?

"No, Miss Caroline, it's not. Mr. Richards was a guest speaker on campus last month. After listening to him, I went out and bought this book. It's really good! I actually got to meet him after he spoke. It turns out he's from Cherry Creek. Go figure, the guy's from the next town. It's a small world, right?

"Well, I suppose. What is this Bloodhaven about?"

"Richards likes to write historical fiction with a twist. For example, Bloodhaven is set in colonial times but is about who will dominate in the New World, vampires or werewolves? It's really pretty cool."

Personally, I like to stick to more familiar works. I'm reading Margret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind. This book has stood the test of time."

Sherri nodded in agreement and smiled.

"Don't you ever want to try something new, Miss Caroline? The familiar is great. But new can be exciting, unexpected, maybe even shocking. Don't you think that that could be great too?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps it could be. I'm just happier with what I know and what I can control. You can get hurt wading in to things that you aren't sure about."

"Like what?" Sherri asked.

"Like that young police officer that you have been spending time with. What do you really know about him? How can you tell that he's a good man? How do you know that one day he won't just up and leave you? Leave you to wonder what the heck happened? It's things like these that you can't control."

Sherri noticed a tear running down Miss Caroline's cheek.

"I'm sorry, Miss Caroline. I had heard that you were to be married and that your fiancée had gone off to fight in the war and had been killed."

"Is that what you heard? Frank went off to fight in the South but never came back. I never received any official word that he had been killed. I have no idea what happened to him. He just never came back to me."

Sherri grabbed some tissues from the box on the counter and handed them to Miss Caroline. Seeing patrons coming through the doors, she patted the older woman on the back.

"Why don't you go and freshen up? I'll take care of these folks."

Miss Caroline gave her a smile and nodded. She slowly made her way to the restroom and closed the door behind her.

"How can I help you today?" Sherri asked the two ladies that had just come in. But as she did so, the words "to fight in the South" were stuck in her head.

______

It was nearly five forty-five and there were no patrons in the library. Sherri finished putting back the last of the returns back on the shelves and pushed the cart back to the desk. Miss Caroline was busy filing the patron's cards. Sherri looked at her and felt sad. She had always seemed like a pillar of strength to Sherri when she was growing up. It was hard to see her cry and to realize that she was emotionally crippled on the inside.

"That's the last of them," Sherri said making sure to put the cart in the exact spot Miss Caroline liked it in.

"Yes, thank you, Sherri," Miss Caroline responded without looking up.

"You know that there is an easier way to do that?" Sherri said, nodding toward the card Miss Caroline was filing.

"What do you mean, dear?" Miss Caroline asked.

"A computerized system. We used one at school. We put a bar code that is unique to each book in it. Each patron is issued a swipe card, which has all of their personal information in it. We have a computer with a database of all the books and all the patrons. When the customer comes up to the counter, they swipe their card in a reader. We then use a bar code scanner to scan their books in to the system. In a matter of seconds were done and off they go. The great part is we get a full inventory of all our books and customers. We could do spread sheets to know who owes fines and for how much. It just simplifies the process."

"I see," Miss Caroline said. "So, what I have been doing in this library all these years is no good anymore, is that right? Is it too old fashion now?"

"Please, Miss Caroline, I'm not trying to upset you. I'm trying to make things easier, that's all."

"Things are perfectly fine just the way they are. Don't go thinking that just because I allowed you to come back here to work that you can go around making all kinds of changes; do you understand me?"

Sherri stood there stunned. For as long as she had known Miss Caroline, she had never seen her lose her composure. Now she had seen it twice in one day.

"Well, just look at the time. Get the lights, Sherri while I grab my jacket. Tomorrow will be another day."

As she made her way around the room turning off lights, Sherri had the realization that getting the older librarian to accept the changes that were need at the library would be no easy task.

______

The exchanges that she had with Miss Caroline bothered Sherri all the way home after work, particularly the words, "Frank went off to fight in the South". When she and Robert went out for dinner that night, she brought it up to him.

"Maybe she meant, the south of France or what about South Korea?" he suggested.

"That's not what she said though. She specifically said, to fight in the South."

"Come on Sherri, do you know what you're suggesting? There is no way possible that she could be that old."

"Sorry Bobby. You're right. It's just so darn weird the way that she said it."

"She's getting a bit up there. Maybe it was just some sort of slip. If it's bothering you, ask her. I'm sure that she could clarify it for you."

Sherri looked up and down the menu again and then settled on the Shrimp Scampi. While she watched Robert reviewing his menu, she thought to herself; "I think I'll do a little clarifying on my own."

______

For the next several days when Miss Caroline would go to lunch, Sherri would sneak off to the newspaper and magazine storage room to see if she could find any information. On the third day, watch she found nearly gave her a heart attack. It was an article about the opening of the Frick Library in Elmdale. In the article, it stated that the library's new librarian was a Miss Caroline Marshall. The picture accompanying the article had a grainy picture of the library's open. There in the middle of the photograph was a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to Miss Caroline.

Sherri took out her cell phone at took a picture of the newspaper. She noticed the time on her phone and panicked. It read four minutes after twelve. Miss Caroline has been back for four minutes and Miss Caroline was never late.

Sherri quickly exited the room and closed the door behind her.

"I'm back now, Sherri. You can go to lunch."

"Thank you. Can I get you anything while I'm out?"

"No thank you. It's sweet of you to offer."

"It's no problem. I'll be back in a bit."

"Before you go, may I ask what you were doing in the newspaper room."

"Oh, nothing really. My dad's been getting into this World War Two series on television. He was just wondering if any of our family had served. I said that I would check on it for him."

"Did you have any luck?" Miss Caroline asked.

"No, not really," Sherri lied.

"There's actually a very simple way to find that information out."

"I know. Look it up on the Internet," Sherri responded.

"No. Nothing as fancy as that, my dear," Miss Caroline said, sounding somewhat annoyed. "There is a war memorial over by the post office. It has the name of every person from this town that ever fought in a war. Just look to see if any of your relative's names are on it.

"I know exactly where that is. I'm shocked that I didn't think of that before." Sherri said.

"See, you really don't need all of that high tech to find out what you're looking for. Go on now. Don't be late getting back."

"Yes, Miss Caroline. I'll see you shortly."

"Don't forget to tell your father about the war memorial."

"I won't" Sherri yelled to Miss Caroline over her shoulder as she went out the big wooden doors of the library.

______

Instead of heading home for lunch, Sherri quickly made her way down the main avenue towards the post office. It didn't take her very long to get there and to the war memorial which was her true objective. She had hated lying to Miss Caroline, but something just wasn't right about the woman and she needed to know the truth. Her eyes began their search of the cold gray stones which had many names carver into it; each organized by the war and then alphabetically.

She knew that Miss Caroline had said that her lost fiancée's name had been Frank. In less than thirty seconds, she found the name, Franklin J. O'Connor listed under the Civil War section. Playing devil's advocate with herself, she scanned the other wars: Spanish-American, World War One, World War Two, and Korean. Nowhere else did the name Frank or any version of it appear on the memorial.

"Franklin J. O'Connor," Sherri said to herself, "It's gotta be you."

As she turned around, Sherri nearly bumped into a man who had been standing on the sidewalk.

"I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I..."

"It's quite alright Miss Zetterberg. It's my fault really. I saw you standing there and was waiting for a moment of your time. Do you have a minute?" asked the older gentleman.

Peter Simmons was a life-long resident of Elmdale. He had owned a small real estate business in the town for nearly forty years. He had served on the town's council and had been the mayor for two terms in the 1980s. Even in his advanced years, he looked handsome and carried himself with an air of sophistication. His warm friendly smile helped to diffuse the awkwardness that Sherri had felt moments earlier.

"Hi, Mr. Simmons. I'm on my lunchbreak. I can talk for a bit, as long as I get back to work on time. You know how Miss Caroline can be."

"That will be perfectly fine, dear. Miss Caroline is precisely who I wanted to discuss with you. We are having a trustee's meeting next month and I was wondering if you had discussed with her any of the changes that you had mentioned in your interview or the slightly more sensitive topic of her, shall we say, retirement."

"Actually, I have brought up several possible changes."

"And how did that go?" Mr. Simmons asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not well actually," Sherri admitted, dropping her head slightly.

Mr. Simmons nodded.

"Then am I to presume that the subject of her vacating the librarian's position has not been broached?"

"No, sir" Sherri admitted.

"Miss Zetterberg, the trustees did not hire you to be a high paid library assistant. You were selected to become the heir apparent and the innovator of change. If you feel that you cannot accomplish these goals, then please tell me now so that we can find another."

"I promise that I'll speak with her."

"See that you do before the trustee's meet. I would like to have a small retirement celebration for her at that time. Of course, we would like it if you would be there for it."

"Yes, sir. I really have to run now or I'll be late."

"Miss Zetterberg, Sherri, be sure that you take care of the matters that we have discussed."

"Yes, sir. I promise."

______

"How was lunch dear?" Miss Caroline asked Sherri as she hung up her jacket.

"I really didn't feel like eating. It's a lovely day so I went for a walk instead."

"Did you happen past the war memorial?"

"Actually, I did."

"Any luck finding the names of your relatives?"

"Not really. I was kind of rushed. I'll have to go back when I have more time."

"I see," said Miss Caroline.

"There are some books on the cart that need to be returned. When you're finished, would you straighten out the newspapers. Those old coots left them a mess this morning."

"Yes, Miss Caroline, I'll get on it right away."

______

Shortly before close, Miss Caroline began to cough. After several minutes, she called to Sherri to come to the desk so that she could go to the restroom. From where she was standing, Sherri could hear the older woman having a coughing jag that sounded horrendous. When Miss Caroline emerged from the restroom, Sherri could see that she was extremely pale and was shaking. Sherri ran to the woman and helped her into a chair.

"Are you alright? Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"Now Sherri dear, you're over reacting. I'm fine. Just a little cough is all."

Miss Caroline coughed again. She held a lace handkerchief up to her mouth. When she pulled it away, Sherri could see specks of blood on it.

"You're not well. Please let me call an ambulance."

"Nonsense. Could you imagine what people would say if they saw me hauled out of here on a gurney? They would think that it was time for me to retire. I won't give them the satisfaction."

Miss Caroline coughed several more times. Each cough sounded worse than the last.

"Well, if you won't let me call the ambulance, then at least let me make you some tea. Maybe the warmth will help with the cough."

"Thank you, Sherri, that would be wonderful."

While she was making the tea, Miss Caroline continued to cough.

"Here," she said, returning with the tea "Sip this while I shut down for the day. Just sit here and relax. I know the drill."

Miss Caroline smiled and lifted the cup to her mouth. She closed her eyes as the warm liquid made its way down her throat.

"Thank you, dear. It's just what the doctor ordered."

Sherri smiled at her. For the first time in the many years that she had known Miss Caroline, the woman looked frail. She looked at her for a minute or two longer and then went about the library shutting it down for the night. As she made her way around, Miss Caroline's coughs began to subside.

______

Each day Sherri came to work bringing tea for herself and Miss Caroline. Each day the woman looked more pale and the frequency of the coughs grew. Despite the continued pleading, Miss Caroline refused to see a doctor.

"If I make an appointment for you with Doctor Brown, will you please go?" Sherri pleaded.

"I'm fine. It's just a little cough is all," Miss Caroline responded.

"I've seen the blood that you are coughing up. This is no cold. You need to see the doctor!"

"I'm fine, dear, really."

"If you won't go see the doctor, will you at least stay home a day or so and rest. I can manage here."

Like a viper, Miss Caroline turned on Sherri.

"You'd like that wouldn't you. A chance to get your grubby mitts on my library. Don't you think for a minute that I don't know what's going on around here, missy. I'm no one's fool!"

Miss Caroline began to cough. Her entire body shook. Growing light headed, Miss Caroline stumbled forward and grabbed onto the counter for support.

Sherri raced forward to steady the older librarian.

"Let me get you to a chair," Sherri said, taking the woman by the arm.

Slowly the two women made their way to the closest chair.

"I don't care what you say, I'm calling Dr. Brown right now. You may have pneumonia or something. I'm not taking any chances," Sherri announced to Miss Caroline. To her surprise, Miss Caroline put up no argument.

A few minutes later, Sherri returned holding a cup of hot tea.

"Here. Drink this, it might help," she said handing Miss Caroline the cup.

"Thank you, Sherri," Miss Caroline said taking the cup. "I'm sorry for what I said. I'm not quite myself right now."

"Which is why I called Dr. Brown. I'm taking you over to his office right after we close. Don't think about arguing with me."

Miss Caroline nodded and sipped her tea.

______

After a thorough physical, Dr. Brown announced that Miss Caroline was suffering from exhaustion and needed to rest for a few days until her cough subsided. Seeing the concern in the man's eyes, Miss Caroline said nothing. Sherri helped the woman to get home and insisted that she go to bed. While Miss Caroline readied herself, Sherri made the woman a light supper and a cup of tea.

"Here, I made you something to eat," Sherri said, as she entered the woman's bedroom.

"Dear child, you shouldn't have. I feel fine."

"You heard Dr. Brown. You need rest. Eat this. You need to keep your strength up."

For the first time in the many years that she had known Miss Caroline, Sherri noticed how old and frail the woman looked. The two talked while Miss Caroline finished her supper.

"Let me take this now," Sherri said, reaching for the plate and empty tea cup.

"Nonsense, just leave it. I'll get it in the morning."

"You will not. I'll get these cleaned and put away. You turn that light off and get to sleep. I'll lock up when I'm done."

"Thank you, Sherri. I hung the keys to the library on the hook by the door. Take them with you. You'll need them to get in in the morning."

"Good night, Miss Caroline. I'll stop by and check on you after work. Get some rest."

______

When Sherri stopped to check on Miss Caroline after work on Friday. She did seem much better. Her cough was not nearly as bad and she was out of bed watching TV in her living room.

"Can I make you something to eat?" Sherri offered as she entered the living room.

"No thank you. I had some tea and a ham sandwich not more than an hour ago."

"Do you need me to run to the store for you? I'll be glad to."

"Now listen to me, young lady, I am not an invalid. I feel much better. I'm sure I can make it to the super market over the weekend. Now you run along. You should be spending time with your young man and not hanging out with some old bitty."

"Are you sure I can't get anything for you?"

"Sherri Zetterberg, get going. That's an order. I'm fine. I'll see you Monday morning."

"Alright, if you insist," Sherri said, smiling at the older woman.

"One thing before you go..."

"Sure, Miss Caroline, anything," Sherri said, concern creeping back into her voice.

"Would you hang the library keys on the hook by the front door? I'll need them to get in on Monday. Besides, I don't want you getting too attached to them," Miss Caroline said with a wink.

"Now you're just being silly," Sherri said. "I'll hang them there as I go out. See you Monday."

______

As if she had never missed a beat, Miss Caroline was back at work on Monday. She still had a slight cough but seemed no worse for wear.

Sherri brought them both tea as had become the custom. After struggling with how to break the news that Mr. Simmons had discussed with her, Sherri knew that today would have to be the day. The trustees were going to be meeting on Wednesday evening and Sherri needed to make sure that Miss Caroline was going to be prepared.

It was a little past ten wen Sheri noticed that there were no patrons in the building. She sighed heavily to herself and then headed toward the front desk knowing full well that what she was about to do would not go smoothly.

"Miss Caroline, there is something that I need to talk to you about?"

"If it's my health child, I'm feeling a whole lot better," Miss Caroline said giving the younger woman a gentle at on the shoulder.

"It's not that I'm afraid," Sherri said.

Miss Caroline turned and faced her. She could see the older woman studying her face with concern. Not knowing how to sugar coat what she was about to say, Sherri just began at the beginning.

"Do you know why I was hired?"

"Well I suppose some nitwit on the board of trustees, probably that old coot Simmons, thought that the library was getting to be a bit much for me to handle. While that certainly is not true, I must admit, I have enjoyed having you back. You're a good little worker, Sherri," Miss Caroline said, patting her on the shoulder again.

"Thank you," Sherri said, smiling nervously.

"What's wrong, Sherri?"

"Ummm, Miss Caroline..."

"Out with it, child. Just say what's on your mind."

"Miss Caroline, the trustees hired me for two reasons. One was to bring about change here..."

"Change," Miss Caroline said, turning from Sherri and dropping her head some. "And the other reason?"

"I was hired to be your replacement."

"Replacement...I see."

The older woman moved away from her running her hand across the desktop as she did.

"Replacement."

"Miss Caroline, I'm so sorry. I have been trying to find ways to tell you...."

"So why tell me now?" Miss Caroline shot, stopping at the end of the desk and turning to face Sherri.

Sherri could bring herself to look at the woman. She knew what she was about to say would devastate Miss Caroline.

"The trustees are going to acknowledge your service to the library at the meeting Wednesday. It's to be your retirement party."

"I see."

For what seemed like an eternity neither woman spoke. Sherri finally looked up at Miss Caroline and saw a tear run down her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Miss Caroline."

"Don't be Sherri, it's not your fault my little Bookworm. It's a shame after these years that not one of the bastards had the guts to tell me to my face. Instead the sent you to do their dirty work for them."

Sherri stood motionless, not really sure what to do or say. She saw the look on Miss Caroline's face change from disbelief to pure anger.

"I'll tell you one thing, Sherri. If those little pricks think that I'm going to just roll over and play dead for them; they got another thing coming. This is my library and no one is going to take it from me."

Miss Caroline began to cough violently.

Sherri ran to her. Blood was coming from the woman's nose. Sherri grabbed some tissues from the box on the counter and handed them to her. She grabbed the woman by the arm and helped her to a chair.

"Do you need some water?"

Miss Caroline shook her head no and coughed several more times. Sherri gently patted the woman on the back in an attempt to comfort her.

"Some tea, please," Miss Caroline said between coughs.

Sherri hurried off to make a fresh cup, leaving the older woman in the chair.

______

The tea did seem to help stop the coughing. As patrons began to enter the library, Miss Caroline made her way back behind the desk to greet them. Sherri returned to her chores and the remainder of the morning went by without incident.

"Sherri, when you return from lunch, if it's not too busy. I would like to continue our conversation."

"I don't want to upset you again, Miss Caroline."

"Nonsense, I'm a grown woman. I'm heading home for lunch. We'll talk later."

Sherri watched Miss Caroline head out the door. She dreaded the thought of what the afternoon talk might bring.

______

"So, my dear," Miss Caroline began, "The trustees hired you to replace me and to bring about change here. Let me ask you then, what types of changes do you have in mind for my library."

"I don't want to hurt your feelings, but there are a lot of changes I want to make."

"Such as?"

"Well it's too dark in here."

"Dark? What do you mean by that?"

"All of the wood in here is stained very dark and the library needs repainted. The walls look dingy, faded and almost gray. I've already talked to Jimmy Martelli who owns the hardware store about refinishing the wood and repainting the walls."

"Well that all sounds very nice dear, but that all costs money. I'm sure that you know that are funds here are limited."

"I know, Miss Caroline. I got him to do it all for free. He's willing to do it for free advertising here in the library.

"Free advertising? How do you expect to do that?"

"I was going to take down the big painting of the ship in the harbor over there and use that wall space for advertising. It would be free publicity for businesses or individuals who would help the library remodel. I thought about using that wall space over there for aboard to acknowledge donor contributions as well."

"I see, now we're going around begging."

"Not begging, Miss Caroline, just asking for a little help. People in this community love this place. It's one of the few places that nearly everyone in Elmdale has spent time. They have memories here. Good ones. Now many of them want to give a little something back. Mary Martin over at the nursery said that she would even love to come over and spruce up the outside with some new trees, flowers, and plants. People want to help."

"Does the place really look that horrible, Sherri?"

"I wouldn't say horrible. She just needs a little facelift."

"It's a he."

"What's a he?"

"The library is a he."

"Oh, I see. Well then, HE needs a little facelift."

"Any other changes?"

"Sure, lots of them. I want to make a kiddy section with bright colors and those little plastic tables that are kid sized. I'd like to get some new up-to date books for them. Maybe bring in guest readers from the community and I almost forgot characters in costume like Elmo and Madeline."

"Costumed characters you say?"

"Absolutely, kids love them. I thought maybe Saturday afternoons I would have book club. You know have patrons share the books that they are reading. I don't know, maybe have local writers come in and talk about their books. There's a bunch of people that write in the area. I would love to put a coffee and tea bar over in that corner by the newspapers. With the crazy hours that people work these days, I'd like to extend the hours until nine o'clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I think it would be cool to have a movie on the lawn night once a month in the summer to bring families down here together. You know we could show some great old classics that are based on books. I think that it would be fun."

"Fun? Fun? Fun you say? This is a library. Libraries are quiet. Libraries are for reading. Libraries are civilized places. The next thing that you know, you'll have them in here with animals."

"That's a great idea. People could bring their dogs here one Sunday a month and get a free dog treat. They would need to keep the dogs outside of course, but it would give them another reason to come here."

"Enough!"

Sherri was stunned. The older librarian slammed her hands down on the counter. In her zest, Sherri had failed to notice how upset Miss Caroline had become.

"People come to libraries to read. That is their purpose. My library is perfectly fine the way that it is...gray walls and all. For generations, the people of Elmdale have come to this library to read, to research, and to learn. I will hear no more of this."

"Miss Caroline, what you have just described, people today can do on their cellphones. Look around. There is hardly anyone that comes in here anymore. This library is dying. I love it too much to let that happen. All things change. It is the only constant in the universe. This library needs to change. I am here to see that it happens. I was hoping that we could work together on this transition. I know that you love this place too. I want you to be a part of the change. But if you can' do that, I'll have to do it by myself. I'm sorry."

"We'll see about that," was all that Miss Caroline said and then stormed away.

______

The two women did not speak to one another for the next two days unless it involved assisting a patron. At closing time on the second day, Miss Caroline finished cleaning off the front desk and then toward to face Sherri.

"Will you be back for the meeting?" she asked.

"Do you want me to be there?" Sherri responded.

"Oh heavens yes child. Tonight, will be a night to remember, I can assure you."

"Miss Caroline, if may?"

"Speak your mind."

"You have had a long wonderful career here. I just hope that you don't do anything to tarnish that career tonight. You have always been a woman of grace and class to me. I grew up admiring you. You are the reason that I went into library science. Please don't do anything foolish."

"Foolish? Whatever do you mean?"

"Never mind," Sherri said.

Sherri headed over to the closet to retrieve her jacket and purse. She shut the door and made her way toward the exit. As she passed Miss Caroline, the older woman reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

"Weren't you going to wait for my answer?" the older woman said, anger punctuating each word.

"What answer are you talking about?" Sherri asked, yanking her arm free.

"You asked me if I wanted you to be there tonight. I wouldn't want you to miss it for the world."

Miss Caroline glared at the younger woman.

"The meeting starts at eight o'clock sharp, Bookworm. Don't be late."

Sherri didn't bother to respond. She understood that the older woman's feelings were hurt. What she couldn't understand was why she was being so cruel. Sherri shook her head. One way or another, it would all be over tonight. Sherri couldn't wait for the trustees meeting to be over.

______

Miss Caroline sat there, emotionless, as each of the trustees said endearing comments about the career of the iconic librarian. When Mr. Simmons finished his remarks, he handed Miss Caroline a small box, which was impeccably wrapped. The older woman open the box and started to snicker.

"How perfect," she said, "a gold watch for a woman who will have nothing but time on her hands."

The room went silent as a tomb. Slowly Miss Caroline rose from her chair.

"Thank you all for your kind words. Forgive me, if I find them to be a tad hollow. I have dedicated my life to this building and serving all who have come here. For what? To be put out to pasture like an old mare who is ready for the glue factory. This library has been my life. These books have been my life. Tonight, I would like to read from this book if you all don't mind."

Nervous looks shot back and forth among the trustees. Many fidgeted in their seats. No one said a word.

"Well then, I'll take your silence for a yes. Sherri, would you mind turning the lights up a bit? These old eyes have a hard time seeing."

Sherri got up from her chair and raised the lights.

Miss Caroline put on her glasses. She opened an old book that had been sitting on the table in front of her. The pages were old and yellowed. Miss Caroline had placed a book mark about a third of the way into the book. She leafed through the book to it. Looking up at the trustees and Sherri, the older woman smiled. Raising her arms, she spoke.

"Ego in vobis. Books spiritus est. Qui resistat vultui meo percutiam."

The lights in the library began to flicker. A deep rumbling sound began seeming to come from deep beneath the library. The shelves began to shake. No one in the room knew what to make of it, except for one person.

"Percute nunc!" screamed Miss Caroline as she pointed toward the trustees.

Books began to fly from the shelves and strike the disbelieving trustees. Sherri had understood the Latin and ducked under the table. Books blew apart and pages flew at the patrons who were attempting to defend themselves. The pages were like razor blades slicing through their skin. As the carnage grew in the library, the sound of hysterical laughter could be heard over the screams of the dying.

Sherri pulled chairs close around herself in an attempt to stop the books getting to her, however, the individual pages were cutting her skin to shreds. She pulled herself into a fetal position on the floor to try and best protect her face. She could hear the chaos all around her. There was a loud thud near her. Sherri risked opening an eye to see what had happened. Through the legs of the chairs, she could see the brutalized corpse of one of the trustees. The face was so battered and bloody, it was too hard to tell which person it had belonged to. Sherri passed out from shock.

______

She could hear the sound. It sounded like it was far away. Sherri tried to focus on the sound. She realized it was the sound of a woman coughing.

Sherri slowly opened her eyes. There were books and papers covering the floor. There was blood. There was blood everywhere. There were bodies lying on the floor. The bodies weren't moving. There was the cough...deep horrible cough. It was the cough of someone dying. Sherri knew that cough. It belonged to Miss Caroline.

Sherri slowly slid out from under the table, knocking over a chair in the process. As she tried to stand, she could feel the weakness in her legs. "Loss of blood," she thought to herself.

Miss Caroline stood at a table bent over the book that she had read from. She was coughing uncontrollably. Blood was dripping from her nose and mouth.

"That was quite the trick," Sherri said. Her words caused Miss Caroline to turn toward her slightly.

"I have read every book in this library. I discovered this one about six months after I started here," she said, patting the book on the table. Another fit of coughing hit the old librarian causing her to fall back onto the chair which was behind her. Sherri could see the blood on her face and on her blouse. After a few moments, the coughing subsided.

"A book of spells," Sherri said, as she cautiously inched her way toward the old woman. "The perfect book for an old witch."

Miss Caroline smiled briefly. "How long have you known?"

"I figured it out a while ago. You slipped up when you said the Frank had gone off to fight in the South. The only person with the name Frank on the war memorial fought in the Civil War. That made me curious. I did some more research about the opening of this library. I found an article about it. There was a grainy old photograph in it. It was poor picture. But it wasn't too hard to figure out that the new young librarian in the photo was you."

Miss Caroline began to clap slowly. "Bravo, Bookworm, bravo."

Miss Caroline coughed again. She grabbed her chest and winced.

"That cough is back I see," Sherri said, feigning real concern for the older woman. "Do you feel alright?

Miss Caroline, looked up to see Sherri smiling at her. She was holding a tiny glass vile in her left hand.

"What did you do to me you little bitch?" Miss Caroline shrieked and the doubled over in a fit of coughing.

"You see, I too have read every book in this library. Well except that one, which you hid away," Sherri said pointing to the book in front of Miss Caroline. "That is where your problem lies. Your knowledge is limited to this place. I, on the other hand, have spent countless hours reading books from all over the world. I have combed through articles on the internet for hours. One day, I found a gem of an article. It was a story about a murder in colonial Bermuda. The woman in the article had killed over twenty people. She had experimented with mixing ingredients that were found naturally around her. By combining just the right plants in the right amounts she was able to make a deadly poison. Given to someone over time, it becomes lethal. The best part is since all the ingredients are natural, they don't show up as poison in an autopsy. It appears that the person simply dies of natural causes."

Miss Caroline coughed some more. "It was in the tea."

"Actually, most of it is in the Agave Syrup. Just one of the ingredients is in the tea."

"You drank the same tea as I did." Why didn't it effect you?"

Sherri turned her head toward the glass vile in her hand. She shook it a tiny bit.

"The article also included how to make the antidote."

"Give it to me, you filthy little bitch!" screamed Miss Caroline.

Sherri uncapped the vile. She looked at Miss Caroline for a long minute. She raised up the vile and said, "Not a chance, you old witch." Sherri poured the contents of the vile into her mouth and swallowed. She dropped the vile to the floor and stepped on it, breaking the glass.

Miss Caroline stared at Sherri in stunned disbelief.

"I knew that you'd never give this place up. I just added a little insurance in the event that you'd prove me right. It's too bad though, I always did admire you growing up. If you'd have just gone off quietly, I would have given you the antidote and you would have been none the wiser.

Miss Caroline coughed. Each deep cough echoed off the walls and shelves of the now decimated library. She reached her wrinkled hands up and clutched her chest.

Sherri said now standing directly in front of the other woman. She gave Miss Caroline a little wave. "The End," she said.

Before she could react, the old woman grabbed the book up off from the table in front of her and threw it at Sherri. It hit her square in the face, Sherri fell backwards landing on a pile of books and papers on the floor. Miss Caroline grabbed her chest and fell over, landing on the floor beside Sherri.

______

It was a little after midnight, when Officer Young drove by the library and saw that the lights were still on inside. Sherri had told him that there was a meeting that night, but he found it odd that it would still be going on that late. He pulled the squad car up in front of the library and walked up the stairs to the building. All the training that he had taken at the police academy would never prepare him for the carnage that he saw upon entering the building. Books and papers were scattered everywhere. Shelves were toppled. Blood covered everything. Battered and maimed bodies were scattered across the floor. He quickly called for back-up and for ambulances to be dispatched.

Moving from body to body, Robert Young check for vital signs. He found none. By a table in the center of the room where two bodies lying side-by-side. He rolled over the first body and saw that it was Miss Caroline. Her eyes were wide open and blood had come down her face from her nose and mouth. She was dead. Horror filled him when he saw the face of the second body and realized that it belonged to the woman that he loved. He frantically checked her vitals. She was breathing but just barely. Her nose was smashed flat and her face was swollen and badly discolored. Both of her eyes were blackened.

"Sherri. Sherri. What happened here?"

Slowly the young librarian opened one eye. In a barely audible voice, she said one word, "Witch."

______

It took months for Sherri to recover and even longer for the library. The local news had covered the incident and had failed to provide any cause for the horrific incident. Theories swirled about a pocket blackhole, a localized earthquake, and even devil worship with ritualistic suicide. The only survivor said that she didn't remember much. "Just a loud noise and then everything went black," was her standard reply to anyone who asked.

In time the library reopened and went on to become everything that Sherri dreamed that it could be. The Frick Library became the social hub of Elmdale. The only trace of its original librarian was a small bronze plaque on a wall near the main doors that bore the words: In memory of Miss Caroline Marshall for her many years of faithful service and dedication. Sherri gave it a slight nod of reverence each morning when she opened the library.

______

One afternoon a woman came into the library holding the hand of a little girl. Sherri looked at the girl and shuddered. The child had the coldest looking pair of blue-gray eyes. When the child saw Sherri shudder, she giggled.

"Sherri. Sherri Zetterberg. Is that you? Oh, my goodness. How are you?" asked the child's mother.

Sherri shifted her gaze from the child to the mother failing to recognize the woman.

"It's me, Debbie Wilson. Well, Debbie Jackson now. Remember we were in Mr. Tuttle's class together in tenth grade. I think that it was an English literature class if I recall."

"Yes, I remember now. I sorry, it took me a bit. That was a long time ago. How are you?" Sherri responded shifting her eyes back to the child.

"This is my daughter Caroline. She just turned seven and insisted that I bring her here to get her library card. She reads like crazy. You might say that she's a regular bookworm."

"You said her name is Caroline?" Sheri said, a cold chill going up her spine.

"Yes, she was born on the very same night as the library tragedy that killed the trustees and Miss Caroline. Well, of course, you would know about it better than anyone."

Sheri nodded; not taking her eyes from the little girl.

"I had spent so much time here as a child and I just loved that old woman. I named her Caroline in her honor," Debbi said, as she reached down and rubbed the child's head lovingly.

Caroline looked up at Sherri and smiled. "I'm going to read every book in here. When I grow up, I want to be a librarian just like you. Maybe I'll even replace you one day."

"Well, that would be lovely," was all Sheri could offer.

"Wouldn't it though? It would be just perfect. Just perfect," Caroline repeated, staring at the librarian with her cold blue-gray eyes.

The Charm Bracelet

Cassidy Raine Wolters

Ally was desperately poor. She wore tattered clothes, not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice. There simply wasn't enough money. Not since her father left a few years ago. Her mother did the best she could, but trying to raise two kids working as a waitress was next to impossible.

Ally had one prize possession that remained from those long-ago days when they had more to eat than stale bread - a charm bracelet that she never took off. It was adorned with four charms: a baby carriage, a van, a tuba, and a blue jay.

That familiar, queasy feeling began in her stomach as she got ready for another day of junior high school. Her mother, as usual, was working the midnight shift at the truck stop and wouldn't be home for another hour. There was some bread left on the table, but Ally decided she would rather go without breakfast.

She glanced at her five-year-old, little brother who sat on the floor watching cartoons on a black-and-white television. He seemed instantly aware of her gaze and turned his eyes to meet hers.

"I'll see you when I get home from school," she said, knowing that there would be no response. After all, her brother hadn't spoken a single word his entire life. The other kids constantly made fun of him and called him stupid, but Ally recognized he was a genius. He did things and knew things that other people just couldn't comprehend. She suspected he could talk just fine, if he wanted. Before she left she gave him a hug. She loved him and tried to protect him, but this was a cruel, cruel world.

Ally was a few minutes late getting to the bus stop and by the time she arrived the driver had closed the door and started to pull away. She ran and caught the driver's attention, but he refused to stop. The other kids on the bus taunted her as she was left behind.

She stopped running, stood, and glared. She started to shake with anger and a facial tic made her lips twist into a scowl. She knew she had to calm down so she focused on her breathing and, through tremendous effort, was finally able to relax.

"Guess I'll have to walk," she muttered to herself.

She was halfway to school when a menacing dog raced towards her. Its ferocious barking made her facial tic reappear. The side of her lips began to contort and her head twitched. She tried to calm down, but it wasn't working. "Get away from me or I won't be able to stop it," she yelled. Just as her eyes began to roll back in her head, a whistle sounded and the dog retreated.

The rest of Ally's walk to school was uneventful, though her blood boiled when she walked past the house of her arch-nemesis, Paige, a blonde cheerleader who took great delight in constantly belittling her.

It was a typical day at school. Mr. Stonebraker, the gym teacher, ridiculed her when she wouldn't play basketball and assigned her an after-school detention. She ate lunch by herself, as usual, but at least the rest of the students weren't picking on her. That was, until Paige showed up.

The other kids, while never nice, would at least tolerate her when Paige wasn't around. Not content being the richest, most popular, or best-looking girl in the school, the arrogant cheerleader insisted on being cruel to everyone, especially Ally.

"Wash your hair once in awhile," Paige said with disdain and the comment brought a chorus of laughter from the hangers-on who idolized the cheerleader and wanted to be just like her. But Ally had been tormented by Paige for so many years that she was rather adept at ignoring her.

"Nice dress! Did your mom dig that out of the dumpster at the truck stop where she works?"

The insults continued until the bell rang at the end of lunch. But, if anything, Paige left the cafeteria more upset than Ally, angry that she was unable to get a rise out of her intended victim.

The rest of the day passed quietly for Ally. She served her detention for Mr. Stonebreaker, who made her rebound for him as he shot baskets in the gym. Afterwards, she began the long walk home, mildly upset that the detention had made her miss the bus again. Maybe it was for the best. She wasn't sure she had the patience to deal with the kids and the bus driver harassing her.

As she walked by Paige's house, she saw the blonde cheerleader in her driveway practicing some cheers and pom pom moves. Paige stopped when she noticed Ally. A dangerous look crossed her face and she stormed forward.

"What are YOU doing in MY neighborhood?" she asked, summoning as much venom as she could muster. "People with dirty hair and tattered clothes aren't allowed around here."

Ally continued to walk, ignoring the taunts, but that only made Paige furious. If direct insults weren't working, maybe a change in strategy was needed.

"What's wrong with your little brother? I mean, come on, he's five years old and he can't even talk."

Ally's stride slowed down.

"Is he retarded?"

Ally turned and faced her long-time adversary.

"That's it, isn't it?" Paige crowed, thrilled that she was finally getting a reaction. "Your brother's a RETARD!"

Ally's body started to shake and her facial tic reappeared. The side of her lips began to contort and her head twitched.

"Here, I'll do a little cheer for your retarded brother," she said as she started to shake her pom poms. "Give me an R! Give me an E! Give me a T!"

Ally tried to calm down. She focused on her breathing but it wasn't helping.

"Give me an A! Give me an R! Give me a D! What's it spell? RETARD!"

Ally's eyes rolled back in head and she began to lose consciousness. She heard Paige scream as everything faded to black.

______

Ally was having the strangest dreams. Images of a boy playing the same snippet of a song over and over again on a tuba mingled with the cries of an annoying blue jay that had its nest right outside her window. There was a baby that wouldn't stop crying and a guy in a van who wanted to know if she liked candy.

Paige appeared in her dreams. She was in her cheerleader's outfit, shaking her pom poms, and spelling out a word. A dog materialized and growled at her. It barked and barked and wouldn't leave her alone.

Her eyes fluttered open and she struggled to wake up. She was home, but she couldn't recall how she got here. The last thing she remembered was Paige tormenting her. She had a vague recollection of Paige disappearing and a very fuzzy memory of picking something up off the ground.

She realized her brother was sitting next to her, holding her hand. That's when she noticed her charm bracelet. It was normally adorned with four charms: a baby carriage, a van, a tuba, and a blue jay, but now there were two new additions - a cheerleader's pom poms and a dog.

She looked at her brother and he seemed to understand, just like he seemed to understand everything. At she stared in his eyes, she thought of two more charms she'd like to add to her bracelet: a basketball and a school bus.

The Last Rule

By Doug Ward

It was a bitterly cold morning and it took some extra effort to wrest myself from bed. The warmth of my piled blankets threatened to drag me back to my slumber but I had a big day ahead of me. My latest book was being released and I had a special gift for my publisher.

Before hitting the shower I flicked on the coffee pot. I always liked to have the coffee maker ready to brew so I wouldn't have to fuss with it in my semiconscious, morning haze. I headed for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, I was washed, brushed, and ready to dress. My slippered feet made soft slapping sounds as I treaded toward the bedroom. As a writer, I didn't have any formal work wear. I tucked a gray t-shirt into an old, worn pair of jeans. Black jogging shoes replaced my slippers and I headed back to the kitchen for my java.

The coffee maker gurgled as the last of the water filtered through the grounds and into the pot below. The aroma was heavenly but a quick glance at the stove snapped me out of my euphoria. The clock on the control panel was flashing 12:00. That could only mean one thing; the power had been interrupted at some point during the night.

My heart fluttering in panic, I fished my cell phone out of my front pocket and entered its home screen. It was 27 minutes later than I thought. Taking a deep breath, I dropped my phone onto the counter and glanced back at the warm pot of joe. I was going to have to use my travel mug if I was going to make my appointment on time.

Working for myself, I wasn't used to rushing to a job, let alone being late for anything. The chill in the house warned me that my car needed to warm up so I filled my travel mug and raced toward the door. I didn't stop to put on a jacket because I was coming right back in. Noticing the package in the entryway, I grabbed it in my free hand and went out into the dark.

The package, or present for my publisher, was really a silly gift. When I first started writing books about the zombie apocalypse, I thought it would be fun to make a bug-out bag. A bug-out bag is usually a small backpack loaded with simple things that would come in handy if some apocalyptic event would happen. Inside, it is packed with a sterile straw, rations, a P38, water, a first-aid kit, and other miscellaneous items that could come in handy.

J.D., my editor, hinted that my agent was seriously considering putting one together. I figured, that since there was no imminent need for a bug-out bag, why not give him mine.

The cold air caused my exposed skin to become covered with goosebumps as I forged ahead to my frosty car. The handle chilled my fingers as I pulled the door open and tossed my agent's present onto the back seat. After sliding my mug into the center console's cup holder, I settled into the seat, slammed the key into the ignition and turned it.

As the engine revved, the headlights turned on. Caught in the twin beams of light was a person. From what I saw, she appeared to be injured. Dark blood covered her blouse as well as her right arm.

I gaped for a moment as she hobbled toward my car's hood. A second later, I flew back out the door to see what had happened. As I neared her I asked, "What happened?"

The only response I got in return was a low moan.

She must be in shock, I thought as I gained her side. Trying to soothe her I softly assured her that everything would be all right.

The woman's skin was cold and clammy, a sure sign of trauma. I reached a hand to the side of her face turning her dull gray eyes toward mine. This woman really seemed out of it. Her pale face didn't register any indication of the pain she must've been in.

Suddenly, her eyes seemed to focus on mine. What can only be described as a growl sounded low in her throat as her headshot toward mine. I lowered my crown and braced for the oncoming impact seconds before my forehead struck her nose.

The force of the blow drove me to the ground. To my relief, it had also dropped this crazy lady at my feet. That feeling quickly faded as she lifted her head and with herky-jerky movements, started toward my legs.

Scrambling backward, I kicked rapidly at her face. Long strands of red saliva swung wildly as she took several strikes directly to her face. I gained a little distance and bounding to my feet, I dove through my car's open door.

The injured woman, still on all-fours, was nearly upon me as I closed the door. The click of the latch as I pushed the lock button was a very welcome sound. I sunk back into my cloth seat and watched in horror as the bloody mass rose just outside.

In disbelief, I watched as she slammed her face against the glass with her jaws snapping. This woman slid her face as if probing for an opening, gore, smearing the window in its wake. I wracked my brain for some sort of answer. There had to be a rational reason for everything that was happening.

Then it struck me. This had to be a fan. That's it. I was a guy who wrote horror novels; zombie books. This had to be some unstable person who had found my house.

I secretly cursed Google Maps as I shifted in my seat to get a better view of my attacker.

Her makeup was fantastic. How she could risk what had to be a fake, latex nose in the way she mashed it directly against the glass. She must've spent some serious money on this costume. I looked a bit closer, examining the slimy gore trail. She had to have a hand pump that allowed her to squirt it through a nozzle somewhere.

Feeling a little bit better, I thought about what I should do next. It didn't take long before I realized that I couldn't do much by myself so I checked my pocket for my phone.

Nothing. My cell phone was back in the house. Dumb! I scolded myself. You write books about survival and you neglect to follow your own rules. Always carry your cell phone.

As I berated myself, I watched as my breath turned to fog in the cold. Dammit! Another one of my rules. Always dress for the weather. I shouldn't have gone outside in a short sleeved shirt. What was I thinking?

I was sure it was just an overzealous fan outside my car door but I wasn't certain of her intent, so I carefully climbed over the gear shift and settled into the passenger seat. The woman remained at the window but seemed to be more agitated by my distance from her. That's when I saw two more approaching from the front.

It really couldn't be a zombie outbreak, I thought. It's impossible. But the two new individuals shambled over to the passenger's side where I was currently perched.

That's when it dawned on me. One of my top rules is that cars are death traps. As the new pair slapped their hands to the window, I shinnied back across to the driver's side. I didn't want to hurt anyone so I dropped the car into reverse and backed slowly toward my front door.

As I cleared the three, I saw another stumbling form approaching up my driveway from the street. Having no clear avenue of escape, I slammed the car into park and bailed out running for my front door.

I expected the people to break and sprint after me but to my amazement, they didn't change their gait at all. I gained the porch and hastily threw the door open. Not wanting to waste a moment, I pushed the door closed and secured the lock.

Lungs billowing from my effort, I took a moment and leaned back against the door. Its cold steel radiated through my shirt. My brother warned me not to get a steel door. He said they radiate the frigid temperature in the winter. He was right, but it was another purchase from back in my zombie book writing days.

The solid door lurched in its frame as someone slammed at it from the outside. This jarred me back to the present. Thinking fast, I headed for the kitchen and my cell phone. I scooped it up and dialed 911. A rhythmic buzzing answered my call.

Busy? Since when did the 911 call center have a busy signal! I dialed the three digit number four more times before abandoning that train of thought.

Something was wrong. My first thought was to check in on the outside world, so I headed for the TV. The remote sat perched on the back of the couch. Snapping it up I punched the all-on button and was greeted with an infomercial. Aggravated, I hit the guide button and suddenly, everything went dark.

I screamed in frustration. Item number three on my big list of survival rules; while you still have power, fill the bathtub with water. For those of you who don't live in the country, if you have no power, your well won't pump the life-sustaining liquid.

I calmed down as much as the pounding at my door would allow and tried to gather my thoughts. I wrote books about how people survived the zombie apocalypse for crying out loud. What was I thinking?

I immediately went into my bedroom and put on the tightest clothing I could find. You know, the stuff you don't even look at when you're having a fat day. The sun was peeking over the treetops and I could see well enough to proceed to my next rule. This was the hardest rule of them all.

As I stood in my semi-dark bathroom, shears in hand, I contemplated my long hair. "This better be the real thing," I threatened before clipping the first of the locks from my head.

The irregular rhythm of the pounding zombies punctuated the snipping of the scissors. I won't deny that I shed more than a few silent tears as I cut my long hair close to my scalp. I'm a middle-aged man with thinning hair. At some point, I won't be able to pull off the long hair look. That some point will be sooner rather than later, but the need of the moment overrode my wants so I shed myself of my glorious locks.

You see, I have a long list of rules for surviving situations just like this. If it was any other variety of apocalyptic event I'd have kept my hair. But zombies necessitated close-cropped hair. My reasoning was simple. Like a superhero's cape, it was easy to grab and would lead to the demise of whoever was foolish enough to possess either.

This is also the reason for the tight clothes. They would be harder for a pursuing zombie to grasp. I completed my look with a jacket and a pair of sensible hiking shoes. They were durable and would protect my feet.

Feeling proud of myself for following these rules, I went back into the kitchen. The coffee was still warm so I poured myself a cup and drank it black. I didn't want to risk opening the fridge and letting some heat inside. Not that my house was that warm.

The pounding at the front door was joined by some squealing and rapping at my back entrance. That's where my sliding glass doors were. Like a fool, I'd purchased the glass doors because they were functional and pretty. I can't believe this was actually happening.

I tried my cell phone a few more times before deciding that it was hopeless. The call center was either flooded with emergencies or the staff had abandoned their posts. This would be a lot easier to believe if I could see the news.

Peeking outside I could see that there was quite a gathering around my home. It took me a moment to think of why my house was so popular. That's when I noticed my running car parked outside.

I'd forgotten to shut it off. The lights, including the interior one, had ceased to be a big draw for the undead, but the sound of the engine was bringing them like ants to a picnic.

I either had to shut the car off or use it to escape. Just as I was starting to mull these thoughts over, I heard the idle become irregular. It began to sputter and cough. Dammit! I scolded myself. I forgot to fill up the tank.

That was another of that long list of rules. Never let the tank go under half-full. My dad had told me that this was a good idea during colder months when the fuel line could freeze, but I'd started this rule as a result of writing about the apocalypse. If you have less than half of a tank during any apocalypse, you have half the transportation. It could be the difference between life and death.

As my car's engine sputtered to a halt my heart fell. If I was going to get out of here, I was leaving on foot. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. A car makes noise and attracts the eye. Those are two things best avoided when trying to elude pursuit. But a car is also security, and a means of outrunning the ones chasing you. While on foot, you will tire. The undead never tire.

Hearing the sound of potential undead at the back of my house scared me. Knowing they were pounding at a double pain of glass terrified me. I needed to act now.

I slipped silently into my bedroom and opened my closet door. Staring at the empty area my bug-out bag once occupied, almost made me cry again. It was in my car, with the door open, and undead prowling all about.

I crept downstairs; the whole time, trying to avoid making a noise or catching the eye of any of the life-challenged trying to get in. In my basement, I scanned my workbench for suitable weapons.

I put on an old, worn tool belt and slid a hammer into its holster-like opening. I added a chisel and a long screwdriver and hefted a small hatchet to carry in my hand, ready for action.

This would be my primary weapon. I passed on the wooden baseball bat because I was worried about it breaking. I wrapped my forearms in cardboard using duct tape to secure them and added some thick leather gloves for good measure. Feeling like a knight in my make-shift armor, I was ready to abandon ship.

What I'm referring to is another of my long list of rules. Houses are death-traps. My house wouldn't have been bad initially if it weren't for the car drawing the zombies to it. Now, it was too late. Other undead would be curious and before you know it, my house would be surrounded by a horde.

It was best to get out as fast as I could. I found an old Power Rangers backpack and stuffed in what I could. Ramon Noodles and a few bottles of water. My old stash of K-rations were outside in the car. A few canned goods completed my stores. Being a single guy, I'd let my pantry become nearly empty and that was another violation of yet another rule.

As I climbed the stairs of my basement, I reflected on the rules I'd followed and the ones I'd ignored. I had sinned in the eyes of survivalists everywhere, relying on modern society to take care of me. I'd left my fate to people and factors outside my control.

But now, I was somewhat equipped. I'd spent years contemplating the folly that others would commit. Survival blunders that would cause calamity. Mistakes that led to my characters' demise. It was all an exercise that would inevitably ensure my continuing existence.

I peeked around a corner and saw that there was only one zombie at the sliding glass doors at the rear of my house. An old man stood feebly pawing at the barrier. I wondered if he... it... even knew that the glass was there. Did he know what glass was or did he think there was some invisible shield keeping him from coming inside?

I didn't have time to puzzle this out to completion. Thinking fast, I came up with a simple plan. I crept up to the twin doors. As I neared them I saw my foe become visibly agitated. His actions came more rapidly. He was nearly shattering the large panes of glass in the door.

Holding my breath, I flicked open the lock. Ready to run, I gave the door a yank. I could hear the door rolling open as I raced through my kitchen and into the living room. Circling around the hallway leading to the bedrooms I completed the circuit back into the kitchen. As I did, I saw the back of the old man as he entered the living room. It was now or never.

Hatchet in hand, I darted through the open sliding door. It was quickly becoming a brightly lit morning. What little frost remained, was nearly liquid as the dawn turned to day.

I slowed my pace, not wanting to tire myself unless necessary. I made it to the tree line without being detected and circled around to reconnaissance the front of my house. I was really hoping to regain my bug-out bag. Those hopes were quickly dashed as one of the undead nearby noticed me.

A twig snapping under my foot alerted him to my presence and his eager moan drew the rest. I ran for quite a while. My lungs burning with the effort, I finally convinced myself to slow to a walk. I needed to conserve my energy. I'd neglected to eat any breakfast. Another top rule. When you can, gorge.

Thinking of all the food I'd left in the cupboards and fridge made my belly growl but there was nothing for it now. My home was behind me and I was going to be living on my wits.

I slowed to a walk, making a conscious effort not to make much noise. Even while being careful I was incredibly loud.

Suddenly, a sound to my left shocked me. It was only a squirrel but it was enough to put me on high alert again. I hadn't noticed how much I'd relaxed. The woods always had that effect on me.

As my tension diminished, I heard a cry in the distance. I wasn't foolish enough to rush in, so I continued at my present pace toward the commotion.

Repeated cries taunted me but I was playing it smart. My years of writing zombie apocalypse fiction was paying off in spades. I wasn't going to get fooled by anything at this point. The calls were getting louder as I reached the edge of my neighbor's woods.

I guess I need to explain. My neighbor is an unusually beautiful woman. Her husband had died in an accident and she was stuck with a house she couldn't afford. Cutting her lawn in a bikini had drawn the ire of neighborhood women, but the envy of their men. When I spoke to these guys, they would say the most horrible things about her but I could see the lust in their eyes.

As I reached the edge of the trees, I could see her perched on top of her car. She was resplendent, swinging a long pipe at five undead attackers. In my mind, I counseled myself to move on. Don't try to be the hero. But in my heart, I truly wanted to save this remarkable woman.

Before the apocalypse I'd always known this girl was out of my league, twenty odd years my junior she was a rare beauty. But there was something now that evened the field. I could save her.

Remembering my earlier plan, I thought I could lead them away. They were slow and ponderous and if I could get them to follow me, I could just circle her house and they'd chase me leaving an opening for her to escape.

For this to work, I'd need to be close enough for them to go for me rather than her so I crept up as quietly as possible. As I neared, I saw her take notice and actually try to help distract them from my approach.

Within feet of the surrounding zombies, I swung my hatchet striking my intended victim soundly in the head. I tried to retrieve the weapon, but to my dismay, I found it was stuck securely in the thing's head. As the dead undead dropped to the lawn it took my hatchet with it.

So much for a hatchet being a good choice of weapon. Somehow, I sensed a new rule being formed.

Abandoning my grip I tore off in the direction of her house. I rounded the first corner and smartly drew the hammer from its holster. I was home free, I thought as I rounded the next bend and into a group of nearly twenty-five shambling zombies.

Thinking fast, I did a hook slide. Driving the claw end of the hammer into the turf I used it to pull myself back in the other direction. It was really close. I felt phantom hands at my back for the first few steps as I raced back around the house.

I saw the first of the four remaining undead round the opposing corner as I came hurtling in its direction. The sound of a sliding glass door opening signaled possible safety.

As I sprinted past the oncoming undead I slammed the hammer into its noggin. Just as the hatchet had done, so did the hammer. It stuck fast inside the skull of the toppling ex-zombie.

As the handle of the weapon slid from my grasp I barreled, shoulder first, into the chest of a second, particularly shabby, undead woman.

Like a running back, I shrugged off the contact and dodged the last two attackers. As I did so, I heard the door roll closed with a thud. The lock clicked as I gained the deck and flattened myself against one of the two panes of glass. I have to give her credit. The beautiful woman tried to let me in. It was a ruggedly handsome man who held her back. I urged him to let me in while slapping the palms of my hands against the door frame, but he shook his head side to side and shrugged his apathy. Hearing the undead climbing the stairs behind me, I decided on my course of action. I twisted around and grabbed a lawn chair. Swinging it with all my might I smashed the double panel of glass leaving a large opening for the dead to enter.

I took a nasty bite on my gloved hand as I tried to escape. An unlocked shed became my final sanctuary from the zombie apocalypse. I stayed there until I changed. Having no easy way to end my existence before transforming to my unnatural life, I slipped into death and returned another member of the undead horde.

Before I died, I wrote on the wood paneled walls, in my own blood, the final rule I'd learned. Don't help anyone. No matter how hot she is. For they shall prove to be your undoing.

613 Twinckenham Lane

By Scott Lee

Tom and Jill pulled into the driveway of their new home, their red Nissan Rogue slowing to a stop under the shade of the tall oaks and maples that surrounded the house. As they stepped from the vehicle, they could hear the sound of a rumbling diesel engine in the near distance. Moments later, a large tractor trailer moving van carrying all of their worldly belongings slowly came into view as it made its way up Twickenham Lane. Smiling broadly, Jill turned to her husband and gave him a quick kiss before turning her attention back to the truck.

"I can't believe it's finally happening!" she said excitedly, clutching her hands in front of her chest.

Stepping behind her, Tom grasped the beautiful brunette around her slender waist and rested his head on her shoulder, his hand lightly caressing her belly where their new child was growing inside her. Giving her a quick peck on the neck, he watched the big semi roll to a stop in front of them.

"I know," he whispered in her ear. "We've waited a long time for this."

Taking her hand, the two made their way to the end of the driveway as the moving men climbed from the truck and made their way toward the large trailer, preparing for the long task ahead of them. As the workers moved off, Tom's attention was suddenly drawn to movement across the street. Looking to their new neighbor's property, he noticed a small child – a girl – no more than five, sitting on an old rusted tricycle, just watching them.

Raising his hand, Tom smiled and waived to the little girl, expecting a similar greeting in response. Much to his surprise, none was forthcoming. Instead, the child just sat there, motionless, simply staring at the couple.

"Maybe she didn't see me," pondered Tom. "She must be watching the truck."

Keeping his eye on the girl, he waived again, this time calling out.

"Hello there!" he said with a smile.

Again the girl didn't respond as she continued to stare intently at the young couple.

Having heard her husband's greeting, Jill turned to where Tom was looking.

"Oh, what a cute little girl," she said gleefully, gazing upon the small child. "Hi there, Sweetie," she said, waiving.

For long seconds the child didn't move, her gaze never straying from the couple. Finally, she simply turned and peddled up her driveway, stopping at her open garage. Climbing from the trike, the little girl headed into the garage. As she crossed the threshold, she stopped and turned around, taking one final look at the perplexed couple.

Even from their distance, Tom and Jill could see the look on the child's face. They could see the way she looked at them. It was a look that sent chills down their spine. There wasn't a shred of emotion in the child's face. Nothing. Just a soulless stare that raised the hairs on the back of their necks.

Instinctively, Jill reached for Tom's hand as they watched the tiny girl. As her fingers locked with his, her grip immediately tightened in a search for security. Together the couple watched the small child, rooted to the spot as if stuck in concrete. Then, slowly, the child just turned and walked away, disappearing into her house.

After a few moments, the young couple, in unison, took a deep breath.

"What the heck was that all about?" asked Jill, clearly upset.

"I don't know," answered Tom, nervously. "I've never seen a child do that."

Just then, the couples thoughts were interrupted as one of the moving men came up behind them.

"We're gonna need you to come inside and tell us where you want all this stuff," he said gruffly.

"Oh . . . uh, ok," replied Jill, snapping back to the moment.

Turning, the couple headed towards the front door, still somewhat bothered by the strange occurrence with the little girl. As they reached the entryway, Jill couldn't help but look over her shoulder at the garage across the street. As she stepped into the house, she swore she could see the shadow of the little girl, hidden in the deep recesses of the garage.

Once inside the house, the thoughts of the strange encounter were soon pushed to the back of their minds as the hustle and bustle of the moving process hit full swing. Boxes started arriving in waves, with Jill doing her best impression of a traffic cop as she directed the various moving men to different rooms on the first and second floors of the home. In between the boxes, large pieces of furniture made their way into the residence, most of them ending up in either the living room or the dining room.

Despite coming from a good sized two bedroom apartment, the couple didn't have nearly enough furniture to fill their new four bedroom home, but they were excited at the prospect of finding the right pieces to fill the void.

The moving men were quick and efficient, and after just a few hours the truck was unloaded and the men were on their way. Turning to her husband, Jill smiled as she panned her head from left to right.

"Now the real fun begins," she exclaimed.

With a return grin, her husband pulled her close and kissed her.

"Yes it does," he replied. "Yes it does."

______

Days passed as the young couple worked tirelessly in their spare time to unload the stacks of boxes littering the floor. Both were still working, so by early evening the two were usually exhausted and ready for an early bedtime. Tom did all the heavy lifting, only allowing Jill to unload the boxes with lighter loads. Even though she was only five months into her pregnancy, Tom was still overly cautious with her, much to her dismay. She wanted to help with the house as much as possible, wanting the house to look like a real home sooner rather than later. Right now it looked like a glorified storage unit.

As evening approached on the two week anniversary of their move in, the couple decided to take a walk. Stepping outside, the cool October air provided a welcome relief from their efforts inside of the house. Stepping onto the wide asphalt of Twickenham Lane, the two joined hands and began a slow stroll down the lightly slopping hill.

The sound of dried leaves rustled in the trees as they made their way down the well lit street, the occasional papery oak leaf fluttering past their heads in the breeze. Lamp posts and porch lights dotted the various properties in the neighborhood, giving a warm glow to the cool fall evening.

After a 20 minute loop on few of the adjoining streets, the couple soon found themselves back on Twickenham Lane. As they started to make their way up the hill, the clouds above them suddenly broke, revealing a crescent moon glowing in the night sky.

"What a beautiful evening," Jill said with a sigh.

"Yes, it is," replied Tom.

Continuing on, Jill's gaze remained fixed on the sky above.

"I just love the way the moon shines between the branches of the oak trees," she said quietly. "So peaceful."

Tom just nodded and smiled, enjoying the relaxing moment.

Ten minutes later and they were a few properties away from their house. As they approached their driveway, a shadow appeared on their left. A moment later, a voice broke the silence.

"Hey Tom. Hi Jill."

The couple watched as their neighbor, Joe, emerged into the glow of the streetlight, a large potted plant in his hands.

"Hi Joe," replied Tom, waving his hand.

"How is the newest edition to the neighborhood this evening?" asked Joe.

"Doing good. Just needed a break from all the house prep," answered Jill.

"I hear ya. I remember going through that all too many times," Joe said with a grin. "I don't envy you."

Jill and Tom smiled as their gaze fell on the plant, an awkward moment of silence falling between them. Seeing their questioning looks, Joe stumbled back into the conversation, a look of slight embarrassment on his face.

"Oh, my wife and I thought we'd give you a little housewarming gift," he said as he held out the plant, smiling.

"That's very nice of you," said Jill, as she took the plant from her neighbor. "Our house could definitely use it!"

"Great!" exclaimed Joe. "Denese will be so happy that you like it. She was worried you might not be plant people."

Jill smiled as she replied. "Nothing to worry about. I love plants. This will go nicely in the living room."

"Fantastic," replied Joe.

As the three stood on the street, Jill's gaze strayed to their neighbors house where she saw their young daughter standing at the large front window, just staring at them. Even from the hundred foot distance, something about the way the girl watched them gave Jill goosebumps. Turning to Joe, she gave him a concerned look.

"I don't think your daughter likes us very much," she said quietly, as if she could hear them.

Looking over his shoulder, Joe saw his daughter standing in the window.

"Oh, don't mind Gabby. The last people that lived in your house ran over her cat. Now she thinks that everyone who lives there is going to do the same."

"Oh no!" exclaimed Jill. "That's terrible."

"Don't let her bother you," he said reassuringly. "I'm sure she'll warm up to you in due time."

Jill nodded, a hopeful expression on her face.

"Well, I gotta go," said Joe after a moment. "Another long day of work tomorrow. Night guys."

And with that Joe turned and headed up his driveway while Tom and Jill headed for their front door. Since the young couple's house was much closer to the street than Joe's, they reached the door before their neighbor. Stepping inside, they gave one final look across the street at the little girl who was still staring at them from the window. Then quickly Jill closed the door.

"That little girl totally gives me the creeps," she said as she placed the plant on the coffee table.

______

Another week passed before the first of the nightmares started. Jill, bathed in sweat, awoke screaming in their bed, her hands clenching the bed sheets in a death grip. It took Tom a few seconds to snap her back to reality, and another thirty minutes to calm her enough to lie back down. When asked about the nightmare, Jill said she couldn't remember. This, however, wasn't entirely true.

Jill remembered images; still frames if you will, of the horrifying dream. Images that were so disturbing that she didn't want to impart this information on her husband. She knew it would ultimately affect him the same way as it did her, and she didn't have the heart to do that to him. So instead she feigned forgetting, and did her best to play it off as just anxiety from the move.

But Jill knew that it was more. Deep down she felt there was a reason for it, she just didn't know what the reason was. And the nightmares didn't stop.

Over the next two weeks the young woman awoke six more times, each instance her screams jarring Tom awake and forcing him to draw her back to reality. Each time it took him long minutes to calm her before they attempted to go back to sleep. Eventually, Tom would slip back into slumber, but Jill would remain awake, the images still fresh in her mind. Images so real that she often felt like she hadn't dreamt it at all.

The towering black shape. The glowing red eyes. The clawed hands. The blood. And the pain as . . .

She would force herself to think of something else every time her memory reached that point of remembrance. It was an image to terrifying to relive outside of the nightmare.

Three days later Jill suffered her worst nightmare yet. When Tom awoke to her screams, he was met with a face contorted in terror. Jill's eyes were nearly bulging from their sockets as she clenched at an unseen force at her belly. Tom desperately tried to wake her, but this time proved more difficult than before. With ear piercing decibels her screams continued as Tom grabbed her in a bear hug, holding her arms down for fear that she might hurt the baby. After almost a minute, the woman finally collapsed in a heap in Tom's arms. The moment the screams stopped, the sobbing began.

"It was horrible," she whispered.

Tom held his wife tightly as he brushed the hair back from her face, kissing her softly on the forehead.

"It's OK Sweetie, " he said softly. "It's over now. It was just another nightmare."

With sudden quickness, Jill spun in his arms and faced him, the look of terror returning to her face.

"No! It wasn't!" she exclaimed.

After a pause, she collapsed back into his arms.

"It's coming for me!" she whimpered.

"What's coming for you, Jill?" he asked, his face filled with concern.

"It's coming for me," was her only response.

______

After 15 minutes Jill had calmed enough for Tom to let go of her.

"Let me make you some hot tea, Sweetie," he said as he looked at her weary face. "You just wait her and I'll be right back."

Jill nodded in agreement as her husband quickly left the room and headed downstairs.

Rising from the bed, Jill made her way to the window where bright beams of moonlight filtered in through the trees outside. Looking through the glass, Jill could see the neighbors house across the street through the leafless branches. And in a second floor window of that house she could see a silhouette staring back at her. The silhouette of a small child.

Instantly her chest tightened and the air escaped her lungs. She could feel the unseen eyes of the little girl as they bore into her soul. No, not her soul. Her baby's soul!

As terror welled up inside her, she spun from the window and ran for the downstairs. Her nightgown flowing behind her, she raced down the steps to the first floor and headed for the light of the kitchen.

"Tom! Tom!" she cried as she raced into the brightly lit room. "The little girl! She's . . ."

Her words stopped as she looked at the puddle of blood that lay in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"Tom?" she cried, her voice crackling with fear.

As her body began to tremble, she suddenly felt a presence behind her. With tears streaming down her face, she slowly began to turn. Then suddenly, everything went black.

When Jill awoke it took her a minute to get her bearings. Her head throbbed from the impact of whatever had hit her, and her vision was blurred. But slowly the focus came. As her vision cleared, her eyes went wide as she looked from left to right, panning her head as far as she could see around her. Everywhere she looked, she saw familiar faces. The faces of her neighbors. People she had seen numerous times as she walked or drove through the neighborhood. Dozens of figures stood around her, and they were all holding candles.

As she gathered her senses, she suddenly realized she was bound to a post that was anchored securely into the floor of the basement. Looking down, she saw that it was anchored into what she originally thought was a drain. But as she looked at the floor, she quickly saw that the post wasn't the only thing that was different. In the flickering candlelight, she could see lines painted on the floor. Looking closer at the markings, a feeling of horror washed over her as she realized the lines formed a pentagram . . . and they were painted in blood.

"Why are you doing this," she cried, her eyes looking from one neighbor to the next in desperation. "What have you done with Tom?"

"He's served his purpose," came a voice from the shadows.

After a moment, a figure stepped forward. It was the realtor who had sold them the house.

"You?" said Jill, sobbing. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"My dear," said the old woman. "We're doing this for our survival."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Jill. "What are you talking about?"

"It took us awhile to figure it out," replied the woman. "At first, we thought it was just a series of unfortunate events."

Jill struggled with her bonds as the woman continued.

"The children. They died," she said, staring deeply into Jill's eyes.

"It wasn't until we stumbled upon the markers that we started putting it all together."

"What?" Jill screamed. "Put what together, you crazy bitch?"

"The pentagram. This house is the center. And there are five other houses in this neighborhood that form the five points of the star. You see, she demands sacrifices."

With those words Jill's eyes grew wide.

"It was taking our children. We tried to stop it, but there was nothing we could do."

The woman looked at Jill with genuine sorrow on her face as she turned around.

"It would have taken us all if we didn't give it what it wanted. We had no choice."

"There's always a choice," growled Jill, her fear turning to anger.

"Not in this case, my dear," replied the woman, sadly. "It's an evil older than you can imagine. And it can't be reasoned with."

The old woman paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"It feeds on your fears. It likes to torture with the nightmares before the time of the sacrifice. That's why we gave you the plant. There was a rune on the bottom of the pot that allowed it to invade your dreams."

Jill opened her mouth to speak but stopped her words short, the air suddenly taken from her lungs. In front of her the group of neighbors had parted, and a long shadow that was cast upon the floor began to grow. It was then that Jill remembered her terrible dreams. The still frame images that haunted her after each nightmare. The towering black shape . . .

It was the shadow.

Her heart began to race and her breathing became labored as she struggled to free herself.

Then, from the darkness, a sound joined the shadow. The low, rusty creak of a wheel as it slowly rotated. As the sound slowly grew louder a small silhouette emerged., and within that silhouette Jill could see two glowing red eyes piercing the black veil that was the entity. The child.

The petrified woman screamed in terror as she realized that her nightmare was becoming reality.

Slowly the small shape moved into the candlelight, the rusted features of the antique tricycle becoming visible. With each squeak of the wheel, the child inched closer, until the old metal toy came to rest just a few feet away.

For long seconds the child . . . the thing . . . just sat there. Looking at the helpless woman. It gazed upon Jill with the same soulless stare that she had witnessed before. For long seconds the child looked upon the helpless young woman, as if waiting for an answer.

Then calmly, deliberately, the child climbed from the tricycle and took a few steps forward, stopping just inches from the struggling woman. Then slowly, a small, clawed hand raised up, a single, hooked appendage moving deliberately from the center of her chest to the center of her belly. Slowly the bony finger circled her swollen midsection, the sharp appendage easily cutting the fabric of her dress in the process.

Leaning in, the child pressed it's face against Jill's exposed belly and sniffed heartily. Leaning back, a terrifying smile crept into the demonic child's face.

"No!" pleaded Jill. "Not my baby!"

The creature rejected her pleas as its hand reached out, a single razor sharp claw piercing her skin.

Then came the blood . . . and the pain . . .

Three months later . . .

The old, gray haired realtor pulled to a stop in front of 613 Twickenham Lane as a Jeep Cherokee rolled to a stop behind her. Stepping from her car, the woman made her way to the front door as a young couple exited the SUV and followed behind. As the realtor fumbled with the lock, she turned to the couple.

"I think you're going to love this house," she said with a smile.

The young woman behind her smiled as she subconsciously caressed her baby bump.

"I can't wait to see it," she said with excitement.

A moment later the realtor opened the door and the three stepped inside.

Across the street, from the shadow of the garage, a small figure on a rusted tricycle watched with anticipation, a demonic grin crossing its tiny face.

The Devil's Due

By Jon Flushing

The truck stopped in front of a brown wooden sign. Carved into the sign were the words: Penn Lake Park, Established 1979. The man behind the wheel pushed the gear shifter up into the park position and turned off the ignition.

"Well son, I hope this will be the last time we have to do this."

The young man beside him nodded silently as he pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck.

For a day in early April, the weather was dreary. The sky was gray and there was a slight drizzle. With the temperature in the mid-forties, it made for a miserable day.

"Let's get this over with, Pops," the younger man said as he pulled on the handle to the door.

"Yep," said the older man, zipping up his well-worn jacket. "Let's get it over with."

Duncan Wagner ran his hand through the unkempt long graying hair on his head and sighed. Reaching down he gave the handle on the door a good tug and then pressed his shoulder into the stubborn old door to get it to open. He searched with his left foot for the step that would help him to get down from the cabin of the old truck.

She was a 1942 Chevy COE (cab over engine). Her original dark green paint had long lost its luster and was losing the battle in many places to rust. Her tires were mismatched and in bad shape. Long ago her original bed had been replaced by a flatbed that now showed signs of many years of wear and tear. A single object sat bungeed on the truck's bed; an aqua green colored Porta-John.

In contrast to the truck, the Porta-John was in pristine condition. In bright white letters on its door were printed the words: Jon Flushing, and the slogan, "When ya gotta go, ya gotta go!" On the right side were a bunch of tick marks, which were bundled together in groups of five. Without counting them, Duncan knew that there were 98 of them etched into its side.

"Let's let her down nice and easy, Jack,". He said to his son as he climbed up onto the back of the flatbed. "Be careful, the rain has made her a little slick."

Slowly the two men lowered the Porta-John to the ground as they had many times before. With help from his son, Duncan got down from the truck. The two men walked the object back and forth until they got it to a gravel covered spot near the park entrance.

"Good enough," Duncan said, nodding to his son. " Go ahead and climb on in. I'll be along in a second."

"Whatever you say, Pops," Jack responded, shaking his head. "Whatever you say."

Jack climbed up into the cab of the old Chevy and gave its big heavy door a good slam shut. He could hear rust fall down through the door after he did. He wondered how much longer the old girl would last. Turning his head, Jack watched his father in the mirror standing outside the Porta-John with its door open. Like every other time, he was carrying on a conversation with someone who was allegedly inside.

Duncan had opened the door to the Porta-John knowing who he would see in there. He had seen him many times since first meeting him five years earlier. The man was good looking with jet black eyes. He was always tan and his salt and pepper hair never looked any way but immaculate. The man had an athletic build and was perfectly tanned. His face seemed to never vary from a mischievous smile. Like every other time, the man wore black from top to bottom; today's Adidas athletic suit was no exception. He was the kind of man everyone would automatically like and want to be around. Duncan hated him.

"Good morning Duncan. The weather could be better I suppose," said the man sitting inside the Porta-John. Looking past Duncan, the man surveyed the surroundings. "Good choice, Wagner. I am indeed impressed. Remote, near a park....what do think this time? Maybe we'll get a jogger. What about a couple of Little Leaguers? Looks like a ball field over there. You know Duncan, the young souls are always the best. So much better when it comes to eternal torture. Let's not forget all the pain and suffering it causes their families when they go missing. Duncan, the possibilities here are extraordinary. Are you sure you don't have a wee bit of a demon in you?"

"Fuck you, Flushing. Two more and I'm finished with you for good," Duncan said to the man in black.

"Mr. Wagner, please watch your mouth. Show a little respect here. After all, without me, no sweet Karen. Come on old boy, you have to give the Devil his due."

The man smiled at him, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. He reached out and began to pull the door closed. "Run along, Duncan. See you in a week."

Duncan dropped his head, turned and headed back towards the truck. "Fuck you, asshole," he mumbled to himself.

"I heard that," came the man's voice from inside the Porta-John.

It seemed like it took nearly everything out of him just to open the truck's door and pull himself up inside the cab. Settling in behind the steering wheel, he checked the rearview mirror and then turned the key to fire the old CEO up. After a few tries, the ancient engine turned over. The entire vehicle shook back to life.

Duncan checked the side mirror and began to ease the truck out onto the road. For about fifteen minutes, neither man said a word. Finally, Duncan broke the silence.

"Go on. Say it. Your old man is crazy as a loon."

Jackson Wagner sat there shaking his head, watching the wipers struggle to clear the windshield.

"Why, Dad? It won't do any good. I'm going to just save my breath."

"Suit yourself."

After several minutes, the younger Wagner blurted out, "This shit's gotta stop, Pops. Mom's gone and she's gone forever. All this crap about contracts with the Devil. All this running around shitters all over the freak' place. It's nuts. Dad, come on, you need to get some help. Why don't you move in with Allie and me? She's good with it, Pops. No more of me running around all over God-knows-where with you every weekend in this dumb old truck. If you don't want to stay with me, why don't you take a little trip out West and stay with Jemma for a while. It might be good for you to get away. I know my sister would love to see you."

"I've told you before Jackson, I'm not going to burden you and Allie. The last thing that you need is me cramping your style. As for your sister, she's too busy with her career right now."

"She's between movies right now, Pops. We talked last week. She's worried about you. Go out for a few weeks. Get some sun. Visit with Jemma. Go. It will do you a world of good."

"I can't. I need to be here to take care of...."

"The freakin' Porta-Johns," interrupted Jackson, throwing his hands into the air in surrender. "Whatever, Pops."

"You'll see. When your mom's back. You'll see"

"People don't come back from the dead, Pops."

"You'll see," muttered Duncan. He pressed on the gas and the old Chevy lurched forward.

Jackson closed his eyes and slid down in the seat. The rest of the way home neither man spoke.

______

Duncan put the truck in park in front of Jackson's house. The drizzle had stopped and the sun was fighting its way out between some dark clouds. Jackson opened his eyes and looked around.

"Sorry, Pops. I must have dozed off. Shut this behemoth off and come on in for a while. Spend some time with Allie."

"No thanks. I got stuff I gotta do."

"Like drink to you pass out down at Ziggy's? I told him not to serve you anymore."

"I gotta go. Give Allie a hug for me."

Jackson smiled and patted his father on the shoulder.

"We love you, Pops. Promise me that you'll park the truck at Ziggy's and give him the keys. You can sleep it off in the room he has upstairs. Promise. We worry about you."

"I promise. Things will be better soon. You'll see."

Jackson squeezed his father's arm and then popped open the door of the truck.

"I'll see you next week," Duncan said to his son as he slid out of the cab of the truck.

Jackson waved to his father as he pulled away. He watched the old truck as it slowly made its way up the hill and then out of sight.

______

Duncan eased the old Chevy into its usual spot in the alley alongside of Ziggy's Bar. He didn't bother to lock it. No one in their right mind would steal the old hunk of junk.

One inside, Duncan found his usual spot at the bar. David Bowie's Blue Jean played softly on the old jukebox in the corner. It didn't take Ziggy too long to spot him.

"Yo Wags! The usual?"

Duncan nodded. A few seconds later a cold Miller Lite slid down the bar stopping perfectly in front of him.

"Thanks, Zig. Just keep 'em coming."

Duncan and Ziggy had been friends since elementary school at Saint Joseph's Catholic School. Despite all the many trials and tribulations life had thrown at the two of them, their friendship never wavered. When Karen had died, Ziggy had been right there for him.

"How ya doing, Wags?"

"Good. Soon everything will be great, you'll see. When Karen gets back, it'll all be great."

Ziggy shook his head and wiped up some spilled beer from the bar.

"If that's what gets ya through the night, amigo, then you go right on believing."

One of the regulars down the bar a bit called Ziggy for a refill.

Duncan took another gulp from the mug. The song had changed to Rebel, Rebel. Nothing but Bowie ever played at Ziggy's.

"He still doesn't believe you Duncan, does he? Well, why the hell would he?"

Duncan didn't bother to look. He knew the voice belonged to the man in black. Duncan threw back the rest of his beer.

"You just can leave me alone. Why don't you go fuck yourself and let me sit here and get drunk? Is that too much to ask, asshole?"

"Please watch your language, Mr. Wagner. Look around you, sir, this is a respectable establishment."

The man in black burst out laughing and slapped Duncan on the back.

"Come on, Wagner, cheer up. I got good news for ya. We got another one today. The guy was a Fed-X driver who really had to go. He didn't put up too much of a fight. Where the hell is the fun in that? Am I right or am I right? You know what I mean?"

Duncan turned and gave the man in black the finger. The man was dressed exactly as he was when he had first met him on the very same barstool five years earlier on the night Karen had been buried. He had on the same black Hell's Angels t-shirt, black jeans, and biker boots. Duncan wanted to knock the shit-eating grin right off of the man's tanned face.

"Come on Wagner, chill out. Only one more soul to go and you're free and clear. Let's celebrate! Bartender, get my friend here a drink. I'll take a shot of J.D."

"I don't want jack shit from you, dickhead," Duncan said, turning back toward the bar.

"Except your old lady," responded the man in black in a mocking tone. "Don't worry Duncan, I've been taking really good care of your missus."

Duncan went to throw his beer in the man's face and realized the glass was empty.

"Sucks being you. Drunkard, no job, wife's dead, everyone thinks that your crazy, and your running shitters around for the fuckin' Devil. Look at you. Duncan Wagner the man who once had it all. Fame, fortune, nice house, cars, beautiful wife, great kids. And what did you do Wagner...you fucked it all up. Nice job douche-bag. You're a joke. You don't even beer in your glass to throw at me. What a loser!"

All that Duncan could manage was a feeble, "Fuck you."

"Pathetic, Wagner. Well I'm off to spread joy. There's a lady of few blocks down from here that just found out her husband left her penniless. I wonder what kind a deal I can get outta that old hag? Oh well, better get my game face on. See ya soon, Duncan. One to go buddy."

The man in black stood up and slapped Duncan on the back.

"Later, amigo," he said and headed out the door. A few seconds later, Duncan heard a motorcycle engine fire up.

As he made his way around the bar tending to the needs of his customers, Ziggy had kept an eye on his old friend. Duncan had been having a conversation with the empty barstool beside him. It was hard for Ziggy to watch his lifelong friend continue to slip away.

Duncan drank beer after beer. With each mug, he hashed over what the man in black had said and each time knew that he was right. He had once had it all. The books he had written and the films that were made from them had made the Wagners extremely wealthy. But Duncan was never satisfied. He always wanted more: a bigger house, nicer cars, and expensive vacations. Then there were the infidelities. Through all of it, Karen had stood right by him.

Then one day it fell all apart. Some bad investments, a couple of lawsuits, and bingo.... the money was gone. They lost everything. Duncan had become depressed and turned to the one thing that he had always been good at, drinking.

At first, Karen had prayed for help to save their family. When that didn't work, she had turned elsewhere. Four months later, Karen had had a heart attack. Her life insurance policy bailed the family out of debt with plenty left to spare.

Duncan Wagner was financially set once again. Karen had seen to that. She had sold her soul to the devil to guarantee that it would happen. The man in black had been all too happy to tell him the entire story that first night that he had met him at Ziggy's. He had offered her a three-million-dollar life insurance policy in exchange for her soul. Duncan remembered getting the check. It was from the Jon Flushing Insurance Company. The company's slogan had been; Easy come, Easy go. That very same night the man in black had offered Duncan a different deal to get Karen back.

______

Duncan spent the week doing what he had done most every week since Karen had died; he helped Ziggy around the bar during the day and then drank himself unconscious each night. One night the pay phone rang. Someone answered it and yelled to Duncan that the call was for him. When he yelled back from his seat to find out who was calling, the repose came "Jon Flushing".

"Fuck," Duncan muttered under his breath as he made his way around the bar to take the call.

"What do you want?" Duncan said to the man in black as he took the receiver.

"Wags baby, how the hell are ya? Great news buddy, you're all paid up. The big one hundred, my man. Lady jogger this morning. Divorcee. That little tiger put up one heck of a fight. A lot of pent up anger I bet. I think I'm going to send her back to marry some poor unsuspecting bastard and make that sum bitch miserable the rest of his life. Sounds like too much fun, right? Oh well, you can claim your prize in the morning. I'd get this done tonight for ya buddy, but I'm headed to Russia tonight to piss all over a bunch of bitches. Low self-esteem; you gotta love it. Do svidaniya!"

______

Duncan waited until 9 A.M. to call his son. He thought that that was a reasonable time to wait to call on a Saturday morning. After the third ring, Jackson picked up.

"Did I wake you up son?"

"No, Pops. Just sitting here having some coffee."

"I'm going to come get you."

"You need me to help you lug that shitter to a new spot?"

"Jack, I want you to come with me to pick up your mother."

Jackson Wagner sat holding his mug in complete silence. He didn't have a clue as what to say.

"Didn't you hear me son? It's all over. We need to go get her. I don't want her to stand around there waiting. I 'll see you in ten minutes."

The phone line went to dial tone, jolting Jackson back to reality.

"What's wrong Jackie?" His wife said as she walked toward him to pour more coffee into his mug.

"I'm scared," he said, setting down his phone.

Allie Wagner chuckled and asked, "Of what?"

"That was my dad. He's on his way over. He said he wants me to go with him to pick up my mom."

"Honey, you know your father hasn't been right since your mother died. What are you afraid of then?"

"I'm afraid of him being right."

______

Duncan climbed up into the cab of the old CEO. He turned the key and the engine turned right over. He yanked the shifter down into drive and the ancient Chevy practically flew out of the alley next to Ziggy's.

Butterflies fluttered around in Duncan's insides. He was a nervous wreck. A million thoughts fought for a spot to be considered in his mind: What would he say to her? What would she look like? Would she still love him? Should he ask her about being dead? He didn't know where to begin.

His thoughts shifted. No more lugging the Porta-John around. No more spending hours and hours cleaning the blood and gore out of the interior of the damn thing gagging and retching the entire time. Soon his life would be back to normal. Soon he would be able to hold the love of his life in his arms. He promised himself that he would never screw up with her again. He never wanted to live with the pain of not having her in his life ever again.

Jackson and Allie were standing in their front yard when he pulled up to the curb. He pushed open the passenger side door and yelled, "Come on, get in!"

"Dad, shut this thing off and come inside. We really need to talk."

"Duncan, come on in. I just made some fresh coffee. Have a bagel with us," Allie added.

"No time, Allie. I don't want to keep Karen waiting. I'm dying to see her. It's been five years."

"Duncan, please come in," Allie pleaded.

"Please, Pops, please. I love you. You need help. Please come inside. Please."

Tears were beginning to run down his son's cheeks. Duncan turned his head away and starred out at the sky through the windshield. He shook his head.

"I gotta do this, son. I love your mom too much not to. I was hoping that you'd come with me."

"Dad please. Stop this now. I'm begging you to please stop. Let us help you. Come on, Dad."

Duncan didn't bother to look at the couple. It would hurt too bad to watch them cry. Today was supposed to be a happy day. He wished that it had gone differently.

"No matter what, know that I love you Jack. You, Allie, Jemma, all of you. But I love your momma too and I have to do this for her. Get in and come with me or close the door and stay; but either way I'm going."

"I'm sorry, Pops, but I just can't do this. I hope that someday you can find a way to forgive me, Jackson said, slamming closed the rusty door of the truck.

Inside the cab, Duncan nodded his head. He shifted the old behemoth into drive and started to pull out and the stopped.

"I'm sorry, son, to have put you through all of this. I wish you could have believed though. It's going to be better soon though; you'll see."

He smiled at his son and daughter-in-law as the stood there with their arms around each other's waists. As he started to pull out he waved at them. Allie put her head on her husband's shoulder and gave him a small wave back. Duncan let the old Chevy have some gas and she rolled off down the street. He didn't want either of them see that he was crying.

______

Duncan could see the Porta-John next to the park entrance in the distance. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He pulled the truck off the road a little past the Porta-John and jumped down from the cab. The man in black and Karen were nowhere in sight. Duncan began to panic.

A banging sound started inside of the Porta-John and it began to shake back and forth. Suddenly the door swung open and the man in black emerged. He had on a black Rolling Stones t-shirt, faded black jeans, and a pair of black Converse high tops.

"Greetings and salutations, Mr. Wagner."

"Cut the shit, asshole. Where is my Karen? You better not be reneging on me."

"Asshole? Reneging? Don't you think that you ought to show a little respect here?

"I did everything that you asked. I just want to see my wife now. Where is she?"

"Right behind you," the man in black said, nodding towards an area past him.

Duncan turned around. In the woods across the road, a form began to take shape. With each step, Duncan began to see the image of Karen get clearer and clearer. By the time she reached the edge of the road, her visage was complete.

Karen had on the pink suit that she had been buried in. Jemma had chosen it, knowing that pink was her mother's favorite color. She was smiling. She gave Duncan a little wave.

"Don't just stand there, Wagner. Go to her."

Duncan met Karen in the middle of the road. They fell into one another's arms and held to each other like they never wanted to let go. Duncan kissed her several times and then squeezed her tightly again.

"I missed you. Never leave me again. I love you, Karen," Duncan whispered in his wife's ear and kissed her on the cheek.

"I know," Karen whispered back, pulling her husband tighter.

The man in black made a sniffling sound.

"Love. It's so beautiful. So pure. So eternal. I think I might just cry. Do either of you have a tissue?"

Something inside Duncan Wagner snapped.

Never letting go of Karen, Duncan yelled, "Why don't you go fuck yourself, asshole?"

"I warned you, Wager. I told you that you needed to show me respect."

"Or you'll do what, Flushing?" Duncan said, still holding on to Karen for dear life.

"Or I'll do this," were the last words Duncan and Karen Wagner would ever hear.

The tan colored Buick hit the couple doing a little over ninety-five miles per hour. The driver of the vehicle jammed on the brakes and brought the car to halt leaving long skid marks on the gray asphalt. The front end of the Buick was mangled and covered in blood. The windshield was cracked from the impact of the two bodies. Inside the car, a woman was sobbing heavily.

The man in black surveyed the carnage. The broken bodies of Duncan and Karen Wagner were lying on the road surface in horribly contorted shapes.

The man in black began to clap.

"Outstanding! A two for one. Well played. Oh. Come on. Sherri, get out of the car and check out your handiwork. You are on record pace here. You'll reach your hundred souls in no time at this rate. I have to say; I am really impressed."

The door of the old Buick opened slowly. Sherri Zetterberg stepped out of the car, saw the two dead bodies, and dropped to her knees. She raised her hands to her face and sobbed even harder.

"Why do you cry every time? It's just business. Your fulfilling your contract that's all. There's nothing personal here. You want your fiancé back don't you?"

"Look at my mother's car!" Sherri screamed. "She left that car to me. She loved that car. She would be so disappointed in me."

"I gotta news flash for ya sister, she was disappointed in you a long time ago."

Sherri began to cry again.

The man in black waved his hand and the car began to repair itself; within minutes, it looked like new.

"There; feel better? Now stand up, get your little ass back in the car and go get me some more souls. You only have twelve to go and you can have your fiancé back."

Sherri stood and started to get back into the car.

"Tell Bobby I love him."

"You can tell hero boy yourself as soon as you're done with the contract. That's some guy you got yourself there. Killed in the line of duty. He should have just shot that dumb fuckin' junkie when he came out of that drug store that he robbed. He would have actually been doing humanity a favor. Instead he left his bride to be broken-hearted just two days before the wedding. Well, get moving. The sooner you get me those last dozen souls, the sooner we'll be done with each other. I know that I'm a real dickhead, but trust me sister, you're no freakin' day at the beach either. Hey, I gotta go. I gotta clean up this mess ya made. Later."

Sherri started up the Buick and headed off down the road.

The man in black snapped his fingers a couple of times.

"Gene, Paul, let's go here. Clean up on Isle Nine," he said with a laugh.

The old Chevy CEO and the Port-John began to change shape. Where the two objects had previously been we're now the hunched forms of two demons.

"Let's go, boys. Get your lazy asses moving and get this shit cleaned up. When you're done, head back home. We got some new souls to torment."

The man in black let out a thunderous laugh. The two demons jumped up and down excitedly and then moved out onto the road to gather up the bodies.

"Hold on a second, boys," the man in black said as he walked toward the body of Duncan Wagner.

Looking down at the lifeless corpse, the man in black grinned. He kicked the dead man right in his bloodied face.

Looking at Gene and Paul, he said, "There, now I feel better. You know, boys, I told that asshole, ya gotta give the Devil his due."

It's All Bunk

By Doug Ward

The Fayette County Fair was so picturesque. The sounds of people screaming, as rickety rides twirled them about, added to the excitement of the hawkers calling out for suckers to try their shifty games. I don't know why I loved to visit the fair year after year, but it drew me every time.

As I walked up the midway, I noticed a hand painted sign. It's faded, peeling paint announced Veritas the Witch. I should have walked right on past, but for some reason I stepped to the fore.

An old woman sat in the booth selling spells and curses. Another sign, sitting on the worn wood of the counter, said she would guess your occupation correctly or you'd win a prize. I watched as she looked deeply at the hands of a young man who had accepted her challenge.

Veritas manipulated his meaty paw, turning it over and tracing the lines with her boney, pointer finger.

"We have a coal miner," she announced.

The man lowered his head and retreated from her booth in defeat.

The skeptic in me goaded me forward and I looked into her aged, gray eyes and whispered, "Good guess. Probably ninety percent of these men are coal miners. You could probably see the black residue under his nails. It's all bunk."

"An unbeliever!" she announced to everyone who was near.

"A realist," I corrected, as a small group gathered near.

"And what would it take to make you see the truth Mr. De Murral?" she asked in a loud voice.

Great, she knew my name. I'm a well-known, local scientist who has spoken out against the paranormal. I'd been in the paper and even published a book on the subject. She had to know me from one of those.

"Good guess," I conceded. The crowd was eating it up. Trying to of think of a magic feat she could preform, I immediately remembered playing Dungeons and Dragons when I was young. "Summon a demon, I declared."

The crowd gasped at my words, but the old crone didn't hesitate. "That's a very dangerous request," she said while scratching her pointy chin with her long nails. "I can't endanger the crowd. Meet me in my tent and I'll prove my legitimacy."

The people behind me voiced their disappointment at not being included as I accepted her challenge.

Her tent was very macabre, painted with imagery associated with her dark arts. Inside, it was even more bazaar. Glass jars and bottles held all sorts of strange and disturbing artifacts. It reminded me of scenes from all of the old spooky movies I'd seen in my youth.

"Nice place," I joked as I moved through the dark, dreary interior. "Can I have the name of your decorator?"

"I can assure you that it's all quite real," she mumbled as she sat at a small, round table in it's center. "Come and join me."

I slowly moved forward across various rugs bearing ornate designs. I recognized many pagan symbols adorning each before sitting in the chair she had indicated. It was all part of the show, I assured myself as I wiggled on my seat.

"What, no crystal ball?" I asked, uncertain what to expect next.

"This is a summoning," she chided. "There is no need for such instruments in this instance."

"Listen Veritas, we don't have to go on with this charade," I explained. "I'll let you off the hook. I wont even publish anything about tonight."

She stared at me with a growing toothy grin. As she scratched her long, pointed nose, I thought she was considering my proposal.

Then she emitted a low cackle as she pointed at me and said, "I've read many of your articles."

"Oh," I moaned. "I'm sorry if you didn't find them to your liking."

"They've brought much pain and anger to many of my sisters."

This was becoming uncomfortable. Here I was, about be confronted by one of the people I'd spent so much time debunking. I should've never accepted her offer.

"Once again, I'm sorry. But I was just informing the gullible public about the fraud your kind perpetuate."

"Fraud!" she hissed sharply. "Those people you exposed aren't my kind. They're leeches who use our name for their own gains. They have no power."

Choosing my words carefully, I continued, "And you are so different? Using a simple process of deduction to guess someone's occupation. Telling a person what they want to hear and calling it their fortune."

"Don't associate me with those simpletons," she said waiving a skeletal hand dismissively.

"Then why are you at a fair in a rundown booth. If you have such arcane powers, why not use them to your advantage. Conjure a big house and vast riches. Your very presence here proves you have no powers."

"It's time I show you the truth," she said with fire in her eyes.

Beginning to rise I proclaimed, "It's time I was leaving."

"So, you don't want to know."

Her words held me. I was ready to leave, but for some reason I held my ground.

"Fine," I said, dropping back into my seat, "summon me my demon."

"As you wish," she cooed.

Immediately, the lights dimmed. Candles lit as if by themselves. Moans sounded all around as she began to chant.

"Nice effects," I mumbled. "You're going to have to do better than that."

Veritas didn't respond. She maintained her rhythmic chanting, increasing her cadence every second. I could feel the very air tingling with energy. I couldn't figure out how she was doing it. Lifting a corner of the tablecloth, I checked for some mechanism producing the effects. There was nothing there.

That's when all of my Dungeons and Dragons experiences came to mind. "If you're summoning a demon, where's the pentagram to contain it?"

As my last words left my lips she suddenly brought her spell to its conclusion.

"It's woven into the rug your chair's sitting on."

About the Authors

About Jerry Clark

Jerry Clark is a high school language arts teacher who is enjoying sharing his love of reading and writing with the students of his hometown. Before becoming a teacher, he spent 13 years as an award-winning journalist. He currently resides in Western Pennsylvania with his wife Casey and sons Trevor and Shane.

Twitter: @gclarkavsd

About Scott Lee

Scott Lee is a 1986 graduate of Slippery Rock University of Pennsylvania with a BA in Anthropology. He is a professional archaeologist who's hobbies include drumming, motorcycles, giant earthmovers, hiking, disc golf, and playing cribbage. He is a huge fan of The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones, and loves spending his spare time looking for anything old to photograph or buy.

CONNECT WITH ME ONLINE:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/scott.lee.359126

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/RSLZombie

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RSLZombie

About Doug Ward

Doug Ward currently lives in Western Pennsylvania. He is a graduate of Slippery Rock University. He has a BFA in Fine Art. Doug spends much of his time doing oil paintings, which incorporate mythology and science. Although, his work mostly consists of horror stories, the author is currently working on a fantasy saga of which one story is currently published.

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/doug.ward.754

Website: https://www.dougward.space

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ZombieDoug

About Cassidy Raine Wolters

Cassidy Raine Wolters is a recent graduate of the University of Maryland where she earned a duel degree in English and Education. She was a member of the Wind Ensemble, the Pep Band, and the Delta Phi Sorority. She enjoys reading short stories, romance novels, and Calvin & Hobbes. Her original plays have been performed at the Fells Point Corner Theatre and the Strand. She lives in a studio apartment in a recently renovated Victorian home in Charles Village, Baltimore, with her orange tabby cat, Merlin, and spends most of her free time wandering around the Inner Harbor. She religiously follows the Baltimore Orioles and attends as many games as possible with her grandpa.

Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Cassidy-Raine-Wolters/e/B018T8A3DS/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1449145857&sr=8-1

About The Writers Three

The Writers Three, B.C. Richards, Leonard Herrington, and Jon Flushing, all attended the University of Pittsburgh in the late 70s and early 80s. Not only did they share that collegiate experience together, but also a strange affinity for all things weird. Comic books, D&D, Star Trek, and really bad horror movies were among the many late night discussions that took place in their small North Oakland apartment. After over three decades, the friends decided to turn the plethora of out of the ordinary topics that they love into stories that they could share with the outside world. With the encouragement of author Doug Ward, the trio set out do just that. This is the groups' first foray into tales of the dark and deadly.

Website: https://jflushing.wixsite.com/writers3

About April Ward

April Ward currently lives in Western Pennsylvania. She is attended California State University and spends much of her time doing oil paintings and being in and writing about nature.

