 
### Strange Portals

An Anthology

Presented by

The Ink Slinger's League

First Smashwords Edition 2014

Copyright 2014 Ink Slinger's League

All works copyright of their respective authors.

Compiled by Joleene Naylor

Published by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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

Cover image courtesy of Nav and canstockphoto

Cover by Joleene Naylor

**********

**One of the best parts** **of reading** is being transported to another world and forgetting your cares for a little while. With the holiday hustle and bustle kicking into high gear, even a brief break from the craziness can help you keep on going when you'd rather drop into an eggnog-induced coma.

Within these virtual pages, you'll find portals to twenty-two new worlds, full of all sorts of fantastic things. There are vampires, zombies, and ghosts (Oh, my!), not to mention werewolves and witches. Take a load off and escape into one of these holiday havens, or kick back for a couple of hours and visit them all. They're our gift to you this holiday season.

Enjoy the stories. Enjoy the holidays. And enjoy the eggnog.

-Kay Kauffman

**********

# Table of Contents

Christmas Spirit by Kay Kauffman

Northern Lights by Tricia Drammeh

The Best Gift I Can Give by DM Yates

Against the Evil Eye Adan Ramie

Henry by CG Copolla

Buried Alive by Rami Ungar

Verchiel by Joleene Naylor

Samantha's Day by B.G. Hope

Another Family by Mark R Hunter

The Leprechaun's Gift by Terry Compton

Becoming Harper by Meagan Provan

Artwork by Roger Lawrence

In the Beginning by Bonnie Mutchler

Werewolf by Roxanna Mathews

The Hole by AK Stein

Honor Killing JK Rosaline

A Bloody Story of Vampires by Barbara G. Tarn

A Couple of Dogsbodys by Roger Lawrence

Predator by Joleene Naylor

Travelers of the Loneliest Road by Rami Ungar

Paparazzi by Adan Ramie

Thank You

# Christmas Spirit

By Kay Kauffman

"It's the most wonderful time of the year," Karen sang halfheartedly as she bustled about the kitchen. Sunny Christmas mornings were her favorite and this one was shaping up to be the sunniest yet.

The kids were still asleep, but she knew it wouldn't be long before they were up, the very picture of eager anticipation as they bolted from bed, racing each other to see what Santa had left for them under the Christmas tree. It would be harder this year without Nathan there. But she tried not to think about that.

Karen smiled, looking out the window onto snow that glittered like diamonds. Her ears perked up as little footsteps echoed down the stairs. The stampede had begun, led by Frank and Paul.

"Merry Christmas, Mom!" the twins called as they ran past the kitchen doorway.

"Merry Christmas, darlings," she called back as Sarah, Amelia, and Fred thundered past. She glanced around, mentally checking off items on her to-do list, then poured herself a cup of tea.

"Mom, are you coming?" Amelia, the oldest, called from the living room.

"I'll be there in a minute," she called as the oven beeped. "Just let me get the turkey in, okay?"

"But Mom –"

Karen carefully shoved her biggest roaster into the oven. The scraping of the pan against the rack and the screech of the oven door closing drowned out her daughter's impatient objections as she prayed that the turkey wouldn't dry out or boil over. This year's bird was so big that it almost didn't fit in the pan, but with three growing boys to feed, she'd be lucky if there were any leftovers.

Momentarily satisfied, she grabbed her tea and headed into the living room. The kids had lit a fire in the fireplace while they waited for her and impatience was written on each precious face as she entered the room. For a brief moment, she thought she saw Nathan in his usual place by the tree and she stopped short. She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again, he was gone.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Fred asked as Karen sank into her recliner.

"I'm fine, sweetheart, I'm fine," she said, her voice shaking. "I just thought I saw something, that's all. Now, who wants to do the honors this year?"

"Me me me! I want to, Mommy! Oh, please can I?" Sarah shouted above the others.

Karen laughed. "Hmm. I wonder if someone else would like a turn," she teased, looking at each eager face in turn. "Okay, Sarah, hop to it!"

"Yay!" Sarah shot up from her seat like a rocket and quickly handed out first the stockings and then the gifts.

Karen struggled to keep a smile on her face as she watched the kids sort through their stockings and rip into their presents. She'd always wanted a large family, and five children certainly made for a larger than average family these days, but she never dreamed she'd be raising them all without Nathan. Nothing was the same without him; nothing was as bright and beautiful as it should have been. Especially Christmas.

No matter how bright and sunny the day, Christmas would never be the same without him. Tears began sliding silently down her face.

"Karen..."

She blinked, startled by his voice. Nathan was sitting on the floor at her feet, wearing the same silly reindeer sweater he wore every Christmas. For a second, the dancing reindeer made her smile, but then she blinked again and saw that the only thing on the floor at her feet was a pile of wrapping paper two feet tall. Frank and Paul were pelting each other with crumpled balls of gift wrap while Fred and Sarah examined their new Lego sets and Amelia alphabetized her stack of new books. Karen set her gifts on the end table to her right and slipped quietly from the room, pausing at the doorway just long enough to admire the scene.

The kitchen beckoned, its warmth and brightness drawing her in. She stopped in front of the sink, stared out the window for a moment, and sighed, closing her eyes as she tried to shut out the sounds of merriment coming from the living room.

"Karen, what are you doing?"

She let her head droop at the sound of his voice. "I don't know, Nathan," she said, sighing as he placed his hands on her shoulders. She spun around and buried her face in his neck, shivering at the sudden cold. "I miss you so much and I thought I could do this, but I can't. Not today. You should be here celebrating with us!"

"But I _am_ here, Karen!" He laughed, lifting her chin so she was looking him in the eye. "I'm here with you every day, right here," he said, pointing to her heart. "And I'm with the kids, too."

"Nathan, you know what I mean. That's not the same. I miss you so much."

"I know you do, darling, and I'm sorry it has to be this way," he murmured, wrapping her once more in an icy embrace. "But you've got to let me go. We'll be together again one day, but right now, you're needed here."

"So are you!" she cried, willing him to stay. "I need you, Nathan. Please – don't go."

"I love you. I love you so very much." He glanced back at the doorway, his smile slowly fading. "Take good care of those crazy kids."

"Mom? Are you okay?"

Karen blinked. Nathan had gone; Amelia was standing in the doorway. For a moment she felt terribly alone, but as she looked at her daughter, a funny thing happened. Amelia, who was a perfect blend of her parents and favored neither one nor the other, suddenly began to look just a little bit more like her father. Karen's mouth fell open as Nathan gazed out at her from their daughter's eyes.

"Mom? What's the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What? Oh, nothing, dear. No reason."

"So, who were you talking to out here?" Amelia asked as they slowly headed back toward the living room.

"What on Earth makes you think I was talking to someone?"

"I dunno. But I'd have sworn I heard you talking to Daddy," she said, stopping in the office doorway. "And I'd have sworn I heard him answer. I miss him so much, Mom."

"We all do, honey."

"Do you think he knows?"

"I'd bet my life on it," Karen said, forcing a smile. "But he's always with us, dear; we carry him with us in our hearts. And someday, when the time is right, we'll all see him again."

As they walked through the office, Karen picked up the bible on her desk and turned to Luke. The crinkly paper felt as fragile as the smile on her face as she carefully flipped the pages. She took a deep breath, letting it out as she sat down on the couch next to her daughter.

"Will you read us the Christmas story, Amelia?" she asked. This had been Nathan's favorite part of the day. She couldn't let it die with him, but she knew she couldn't read the passage in his place, either.

"Of course," Amelia said, taking the bible.

Peace settled over the room as Amelia read the familiar story and for the first time in months, Karen didn't feel alone. "Merry Christmas, Nathan," she whispered, "wherever you are."

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Kay's writing. Such as...

Tuesday Daydreams: A Journal in Verse

by Kay Kauffman

Natural poetry at its finest.

Capturing the life and imagination of the author in vivid detail, these poems touch on joy and loss, life's everyday hassles, and the many faces of Mother Nature.

*****

**As a girl, Kay dreamed of** being swept off her feet by her one true love. At the age of 24, it finally happened...and he's never let her forget it. A mild-mannered secretary by day and a determined word-wrangler by night, she battles the twin evils of distraction and procrastination in order to write fantastical tales of wuv...twue wuv...with a few bad haiku thrown in for good measure.

She is currently hard at work on the first book in a fantasy trilogy. Kay resides in the midst of an Iowa corn field with her devoted husband and his mighty red pen; four crazy, cute kids; and an assortment of adorably small, furry animals.

Care to save her from the chaos? You can find Kay in the all the usual places:

At her blog, where she shares random pictures and silly poems; on Facebook, where she shares things about cats and books; on Twitter, where she shares whatever pops into her head; on Pinterest, where she shares delicious recipes and images from her fantasy world; on Instagram, where she shares pictures of pretty sunsets; and on Tumblr, where she shares all of the above.

Links:

Blog: <http://suddenlytheyalldied.com/>

Facebook: <http://www.facebook.com/authorkaykauffman>

Twitter: <http://www.twitter.com/kaysiewrites>

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/kaylkauffman/

Instagram: <http://instagram.com/kaysiewrites>

#  Northern Lights

By Tricia Drammeh

Kayla peered through the ice-encrusted windshield, watching the huge flakes of snow that cascaded around her snowbound car. Towering peaks of white loomed in the distance, majestic, but threatening. Drifts of snow covered the tree-lined highway, making it difficult to tell where the road ended and the forest began. It would be easy to wander off the road and become lost in the White Mountain National Forest. In fact, several people had disappeared in years past.

She wasn't stupid enough to abandon the shelter of her car. Too bad she'd been foolish enough to set out on this journey to begin with. She'd been impetuous, but wasn't completely unprepared. A well-packed survival kit resided in her trunk. If she had to wait out the next couple of days until the storm passed, she could do it. It would be cold and miserable, but she would survive.

A blast of frigid air whipped around her the moment she stepped out of the car. The snow was only a little more than ankle-deep, but at the rate it was falling, the deserted road would be impassible in no time. Her boots were more fashionable than functional, and she slipped and struggled as she made her way to the trunk of the car. In the unlikely event that another vehicle happened to drive by, Kayla put out a few flares. Then, emergency kit in hand, she climbed back inside the car.

She tried to make a call on her cell phone. No signal, but this wasn't a surprise. It was almost impossible to get a signal in this remote area, but she would continue to try at regular intervals. It couldn't hurt.

It had been three hours since her car had slid off the road. Three hours of boredom and fear. But Kayla was a survivor. Blizzards didn't last forever, and in this remote area of New Hampshire, people were used to the snow. As soon as the weather cleared, someone would find her. Until then, she'd utilize the skills she'd learned at her father's knee. She knew how to camp, how to hunt, how to build a fire, and how to survive.

Kayla nibbled on a protein bar and surveyed the contents of her survival kit. A flashlight with extra batteries, thermal blanket, protein bars, water, votive candles, lighter, and a few basic first-aid items. She would start the car once an hour and let it run for ten minutes. This would generate enough heat to keep her from freezing. A votive candle would provide moderate heat in the closed up car and would stave off hypothermia. Her full suitcase provided multiple changes of clothing and she could layer up. Most importantly, Kayla would remain calm and stay with her car—her only form of shelter.

As the sun slid behind the mountains, wind buffeted the car. It was pitch dark now, but she didn't want to waste the batteries in her flashlight. Not unless she had to. Bored and fighting emerging panic, she took deep, calming breaths and focused on the positive. She had food, water, shelter, and a gun. The basics.

Kayla reclined her seat and closed her eyes, hoping to get some sleep, but her mind was too busy to settle. If only she'd stayed in Boston instead of trying to make the drive to northern New Hampshire. If only she'd called her parents before setting out instead of trying to surprise them. If only she hadn't made such a grave error in judgment.

Her father would be so disappointed in her lack of preparedness.

***

It had been a cold, uncomfortable night of fitful, sporadic sleep. Kayla's body was stiff. Her bladder was screaming for relief. The temperature in the car was frigid and little puffs of condensation escaped her lips each time she exhaled.

The driver's side door was iced shut when Kayla tried to open it. She slammed her shoulder into it a couple of times before it finally budged. Huge drifts of snow prevented Kayla from opening the door all the way. She pushed and grunted until there was a gap large enough for her to squeeze through. The snow was knee-deep in spots, thigh-high in others. Kayla stared open-mouthed at the stark, white expanse of nothingness surrounding her. Gusts of wind blew icy flakes into her face as the blizzard raged.

Squatting in the snow, she gritted her teeth against the agonizing cold. Kayla had been camping numerous times. Real camping. Not at a silly, organized camping site with shelters and stocked fishing ponds and playgrounds for spoiled children. Her family camped in the middle of nowhere. They slept in tents and built fires from scratch and killed their own food. She was used to rustic conditions and no stranger to a lack of hygienic facilities, but nothing had prepared her for this type of discomfort.

Back inside the car, Kayla started the engine and blasted the heat for ten minutes to take the edge off the chill. She listened to a local radio station. Panic gripped her as she absorbed the apocalyptic weather forecast. The epic blizzard that brought a white Christmas to the region showed no signs of stopping. Roads were impassable. Flights were cancelled. Thousands of people were stranded in airports.

There was no mention of people stranded on highways. Maybe Kayla was the only one.

***

It was her second night alone in the darkness, and despite her vows to be strong and to keep her wits about her, she cried. She couldn't help it. It was Christmas Eve and she was alone. No one was looking for her. No one knew she was missing. No one was coming to save her.

Earlier in the day, she'd comforted herself with the idea that her father didn't know how stupid she'd been to have set out on her own in a snowstorm. Now she'd give anything to hear one of his stern, survivalist lectures. She'd give anything for the comfort of knowing that someone was looking for her, that someone knew she was lost.

Not lost. Stranded. There was a difference. Stupid people got lost. Anyone could become stranded. She'd been a victim of circumstances. Surely her father would be able to see that.

Lights flickered ahead. Headlights? She leaned forward, her forehead almost pressed against the windshield. No, not headlights. Undulating colors of red, blue, green, and purple rippled and twisted in the sky. The Northern Lights! It wasn't unheard of for the Northern Lights to be visible in northern New Hampshire, but in the middle of a blizzard? She stared at the lights for several moments, in awe of the beauty before her.

Maybe she was lucky. If she hadn't become stranded, she wouldn't have seen the Northern Lights. Oh, who was she kidding? She wasn't lucky. She would have seen the lights eventually. Alaska was on her bucket list. So was Norway. Eventually she would have had a chance to see the Aurora Borealis. Of course, if she'd done things right, she would have seen the lights as part of a tour group. She would have had a camera instead of her crappy cell phone.

She tried to take a picture with her phone, but the windshield was too fogged. The urge to get out of the car—just for a second—was overpowering, but she didn't do it. It would be foolish to leave her shelter when it was pitch dark outside. A flashlight wouldn't ward off wild animals. It wasn't worth letting all that cold air into the car just to take a picture.

Fighting back a wave of self-pity, she stared at the lights until she could hardly keep her eyes open. The lights were fascinating in a way. If she stared long enough without blinking, she could almost make out patterns and pictures. Sometimes the lights seemed to be moving closer, but that was just her imagination playing tricks on her.

Her eyes flickered shut, but the Northern Lights still danced behind her eyelids. And the wind whispered in her mind, telling her it wouldn't hurt to get out of the car. Just for a minute.

***

Day three of captivity. Despite the driving wind and snow, Kayla was determined to get out of the car and get some exercise. She prided herself on her mental fortitude, but last night had scared her. Claustrophobia had set in and she'd almost succumbed to the overwhelming temptation to exit the car. Well, it wasn't her fault. Even a hardened soldier could fall victim to PTSD. It could happen to anyone. Kayla's bizarre thoughts the night before weren't a symptom of mental illness. Just a natural reaction to stress.

When she got out of the car to relieve herself, she did a few stretches. It was hard to work out in the middle of a snowdrift, but she tried. Hell, just the exertion of walking from one side of the car to the other was exhausting.

When she got back inside the car, she started the engine and listened to talk radio while she ate her protein bar. The weather forecast was bleak, but Kayla refused to give in to negativity. She forced herself to remain calm and to focus on more than her dire situation. She listened to a re-run of a syndicated political program for a few minutes. With everything that was wrong with the country, it was foolish for her to worry about a snowstorm. She should use her time alone to contemplate solutions to the world's problems. Maybe she'd run for political office. Her father always said she'd make a better senator than half the clowns in Washington. Her father said she could do anything, but wasn't doing nearly enough to live up to her potential. Maybe this snowstorm was a wakeup call.

She wondered what her family was doing right now. It was Christmas morning. They'd probably opened their presents. Maybe they'd tried to call her apartment and were wondering why she didn't answer the phone. Part of her hoped they weren't worried about her, but part of her hoped they were. Maybe they'd report her missing.

Or not. Kayla had always been fiercely independent, a trait her father valued. If they called and she didn't answer, her father would assume she was either putting in extra time at the office, or that she was at the gym working out. No. Her folks wouldn't worry about her just because she didn't answer a phone call.

In an effort to chase away the boredom, she rummaged in her glove box looking for reading material. She retrieved the maintenance manual for her car and flipped through the pages. She forced herself to stop looking at the time on her cell phone. The minutes crawled by. The snow piled higher. The car interior became smaller and smaller until everything was closing in and she couldn't breathe. She opened the door a few inches and took deep, gasping breathes of cold, crisp air. An eternity passed.

She looked at her phone again. Only ten minutes had passed since the last time she'd checked.

***

Darkness fell. The third night alone in her icy prison. She turned the key in the ignition, anticipating a blast of warm air from the heater. The welcome voice of a radio broadcaster. The cheery glow of the dashboard lights. But the car engine sputtered and died. Again and again, she tried to start the car. Screams of frustration, anger, and terror burst from her throat. Fists pounded the dashboard.

Wolves howled in the distance. Several. Many. How could they possibly be out in this blizzard? Terrified, Kayla grabbed the gun in her glove box. If those wolves came anywhere near her car, she'd shoot every single one of them. Every single one. She started to open the car door, but remembered she wasn't supposed to leave the car for any reason. Her father had always told her not to leave the car—her only shelter—if she was stranded in a snowstorm. And her father knew everything there was to know about survival.

The urgent aching in her bladder would have to wait until morning. As a precaution, she wouldn't drink any water until sunrise, even though her lips were chapped and her throat as dry as sandpaper. What was it her father had taught her about dehydration? She couldn't remember.

Her gaze flitted from window to window, searching for signs of the wolves whose howls seems to be coming closer. Instead, she saw the Northern Lights again. They were so beautiful, even more beautiful than they'd been the night before. Ribbons of color melded, creating shades of indescribable hues. Through sheets of driving snow, the light seemed to be glowing brighter, coming closer, becoming more vibrant. Images formed in the lights—indistinct but somehow familiar.

Kayla tore her gaze away, blinking rapidly to clear her head. Like mirages in the desert, the lights held her captivated, tricking her into believing they were more than they were.

But, God, they were so beautiful.

She spared another glance at the lights. They were closer still. Dancing. Pulling apart. Coming together. Becoming distinct.

She squinted. Emerald and ruby orbs blinked and flickered. The colors of Christmas. She could see it now—a Christmas tree with brightly wrapped presents underneath. Family grouped around a fireplace. Trays of food lined a buffet table. Kayla could almost smell the roasted turkey, spicy pumpkin pie, the fragrant aroma of mulled wine. Her mouth watered. Lively conversation and laughter drowned out the gusts of wind. If she could open the car door, she might be able to hear it more clearly.

Kayla placed the gun back inside the glove box and pushed open the car door. She held her breath and contorted her body, barely able to squeeze through the tight opening. Whispers floated in the wind, begging, cajoling, enchanting. She stumbled toward the light and the voices that beckoned. The lights dipped down almost touching her. She reached out, but they twisted out of her grasp.

Each step was heavy, labored, but still she persevered, dragging her feet through mounds of snow. Icy hands tugged at her coat. Driving snow obscured her vision. She swiped at her frozen face with stiff hands, tried to rub her tired eyes with fingers that could hardly feel the cold anymore.

"Hurry," the wind-whispers urged. "Closer, Kayla. You're almost here."

"I'm coming," she cried. Her voice was carried away by a swooping gale.

Snow rose up to meet her when she stumbled, but it wasn't as frigid as she'd expected. Its pillowy softness embraced her, inviting her to rest awhile. But the whispers urged her on. The whispers and the lights.

The snowflakes became twinkling fairy lights and the wind became music. Christmas carols. Joyful laughter. The sound of happiness.

She chased the lights through thick trees. The colorful ribbons undulated over tree limbs, leapt over fallen branches, made their own path for Kayla to follow. When hulking beasts rubbed white fur against her frozen body, she welcomed their warmth. She longed to stroke their sleek coats, but her arms were too heavy to lift.

A raspy tongue licked her face. Then another. And another. She laughed at the tickly wetness against her skin. Wolves surrounded her, welcoming her. Their exuberance knocked her to the ground and she lay in a bed of pine needles and snow.

Licks turned to nips. Nips to bites. It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. The wind-whispers sang sweet songs of comfort. And the lights danced and danced.

***

The storm stopped. The car was found, but Kayla was not. Her father told the authorities that Kayla would not have wandered off on her own. Not without her gun. Not unless she was coerced. She'd had survival training, after all. She knew better. It just didn't make sense.

The snow melted. Spring arrived. Then summer. When winter came again, the wolves began to hunt.

***

Kayla bolted through the forest. Snowflakes pelted her face. She stopped at the edge of the tree line, waiting for instructions from her leader. Her nose twitched at a familiar scent. She sat back on her haunches, watching.

In the distance, a hunk of metal was almost completely obscured by drifts of snow. A human crouched down nearby, her frightened eyes studying the harsh, unforgiving blizzard raging around her. A jolt of recognition sparked something in Kayla's mind. A memory?

Whatever it was she thought she'd remembered was blown away with the next gust of blistering snow. Wind-whispers filled her mind, driving away thoughts of the past. Ribbons of blue, green, and purple lights danced across the horizon and the wind-whispers became screams.

When the human staggered through the snow, the wolves began to circle, eager to feed. But only a little. Only as much as the lights commanded. Only enough to initiate the newest member of their pack.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Tricia's writing. Such as...

The Séance:

By Tricia Drammeh

Ninth grade can be a nightmare when you don't fit in at school, your crush chooses someone else, and your parents tell you they're having a new baby. Abby was prepared for normal high school problems. She wasn't prepared for a demon.

Abby has always been fascinated by the paranormal, but after an ill-fated séance, she discovers not all Spirits are benign. A dark entity unleashed during the summoning sets out to destroy Abby, and within days, she loses her best friend, incurs the wrath of her parents, and becomes a prisoner in her own home. With time quickly running out, she assembles an unlikely group of helpers: the most hated guy in school, a retired psychic, and the cute clerk from her favorite bookstore. Unless the demon is defeated, Abby and her new baby brother won't stand a chance.

*****

**Tricia Drammeh is a wife and** mother of four children who lives in New Hampshire. Her published works include the Spellbringers series, Better than Perfect, The Séance, and The Fifth Circle. She is currently working on her eighth novel. When Tricia isn't writing, she can be found devouring books, chasing cats, or consuming vast amounts of coffee.

Links:

Website & Blog: <http://www.triciadrammeh.com/>

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tricia-Drammeh-Author/453408644723825

Twitter: @triciadrammeh

#  The Best Gift I Can Give

DM Yates

"No, no, no. Do it again and correctly. I haven't all day to watch you make so many mistakes." Melissa tromped over to Danielle. "What's your problem today?"

"I'm in correct posture."

"If you were a duck. I said position three. Look at how you're standing. Your left foot is turned out and your right foot isn't far enough out. Correct it now."

Seven year old Danielle sighed. Again she assumed third position. "Is that better?"

"Better? Look at your arms. No, it's not better. Every part of you must be perfect. You don't look commanding. You must make the audience feel your strength in your movements."

"You're too mean. I hate when you teach."

Melissa slapped her across the cheek. "Never talk back to me. I am _the_ principle ballerina at this academy. There's never been one better except for my mother."

Susan's hands slammed hard on the piano keys.

Melissa turned to her. "What's your problem?"

"You shouldn't hit. These are young dancers, most 7 years old and some younger. They're just learning."

"Don't tell me how to instruct. You're only an assistant."

"And you are only helping Shirl."

"You should know your place. To you, she is Madam Shirley."

"I've had enough." Susan stormed from the room.

"As if anyone would miss you. That's laughable. We'll go on without the music. Everyone, start from the beginning."

The class groaned but did as they were told. As Melissa continued to criticize each student, many stifled tears.

"Melissa, this class is dismissed." Shirley stood in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. Shirley was tall and lean and her wrinkles and gray hair showed her advancing age. She owned the academy and no one but Melissa dared to talk back. Susan and Raya stood beside her.

"Did you run off to tattle on me?" asked Melissa to Susan. "What's she doing here?" She nodded towards Raya.

"I asked her to meet with us, and does it matter if Susan said anything? After all, no one would miss her anyway. Isn't that what you said?" Shirley stopped Danielle and leaned forward whispering encouraging words in her ear then gave her a hug. Danielle smiled and skipped from the room.

"You're getting too soft in your old age," said Melissa.

"If you think 56 is old, you just wait until you're my age. I have always taught with proper discipline without abuse. You will not strike another dancer."

"You'll retire soon and maybe then we'll get a proper instructor. Danielle will learn from this."

"This is my academy. If and when I retire, I'll choose who will take my place. Did I ever hit you?"

Melissa scoffed. "As if you ever needed to. I'm as great a dancer as my mother was, if not better. The entire world knows who I am."

"You're so dramatic," countered Susan.

"Mommy and daughter side by side. The only reason you work here is to stay close to Raya and to beg favors for her."

Shirley looked at Susan concerned. "You contacted him for me?"

"I've already scheduled it but it seems rather harsh."

Shirley turned to Melissa. "You won't like this but you're not dancing tonight. Raya will take your place."

"What? You're punishing me for being strict? Your lackey had no right telling you."

"It has nothing to do with the class."

"Raya isn't equal to my standards. She'll be an embarrassment to this academy. Look at her. She lacks confidence."

"She's standing right here and you can say such mean things about your roommate? You two grew up together in this very building. She's the only friend you have and look how you treat her. I choose each girl carefully based on talent and ability. Raya dances as well as you do. Besides, there's no choice. You'll be meeting with your benefactor tonight. He has a gift to offer you."

"He's never needed to meet with me before. Tell him to send the gift." Melissa waved her hand in the air.

"I don't presume to tell this man anything. He's paid your bills most of your life and caters to your every whim, including all the personal dance instructors you've insisted on over the years and all your expensive clothes. He's been most generous to our academy. If it's his desire to give you a present in person, you'll go. Max will drive you."

"How insufferable. My time is precious plus people pay to see me perform, not some wanna-be like Raya. I refuse."

"It's been arranged already. I felt it was time he get to know you. I also expect you to be at the concert this afternoon."

"Another waste of my time. Those girls are too young to dance well. I've traveled to many places as a guest dancer. You should be honored that I even stay here."

"Their parents are eager to see them perform. They don't care how they dance. Just make an appearance. All my dancers will be there, and dress warm for this evening. It's quite cold outside. And as I've told you before you may leave and go where you wish."

Melissa was furious. her green eyes sparkled with anger as she turned to Raya. "Not one mistake or I'll make you pay. People expect me. Don't be too disappointing." She glared at Susan. "Such a whine-baby, crying to Shirley over everything. Why don't you go sweep the floor now? Isn't that part of your duties?"

"Enough," ordered Shirley. "How Raya dances isn't your concern and what Susan does isn't your business. You will refer to me as Madam Shirley or you can find another academy."

"I see no reason to respect you. I'm your equal. Any other place would love to have me."

"I gave your mother a promise that I would look after you and train you. That's the only reason you're still here but if you prefer somewhere else, go apply. You are now an adult. Have you had other offers? I don't think so. You're too difficult to work with. We've all spoiled you and you've become cold and arrogant. This behavior must stop."

"I'm telling my benefactor tonight about how you're treating me and I'll demand another academy."

Shirley shook her head. "Demand is the wrong word. Be nice to him. Remember he pays for your every whim."

Melissa said nothing but walked proudly out of the room.

"You're dismissed too, Raya. You'll do fine this evening or I wouldn't have picked you."

"But I don't hold myself as elegantly as Missy does."

"You do once the curtain is up and that's what's important."

Raya, ever the shy one, nodded, and then glanced at Susan who gave her a wink as she left.

"Here's the address where she's to meet him." Susan handed Shirley a piece of paper.

"I only hope we're doing the right thing."

"We've put it off too long. Look at her attitude. We only wanted the best for her but we turned her into a monster."

"I wonder what will he do?"

"I have no idea, but I'm afraid Missy's life is about to become difficult."

Later that evening Max drove Melissa to the appointed spot. She was tired after having spent the entire afternoon dealing with parents. Normally she wore her hair up in a bun, but this evening her long golden hair waved down her shoulders. She wore a heavy light blue Fendi coat trimmed in white fur with a matching hat and white gloves, high-heeled leather black boots that came to her knee caps and carried a Fendi black hand-bag. Although an expensive brand of clothing, it was her favorite. She had only one goal in mind - to impress her benefactor.

"We're here," said Max.

Melissa looked out the window. "Here?" She shuddered. A dilapidated church loomed over the forsaken area, a wooden bench nearby. Across the street a row of boarded-up buildings cast an eerie ambience over the area. The place seemed deserted. "I refuse to get out here."

"I'm told he'll meet you on that bench."

She watched a coatless man with a scrubby beard and unkempt hair enter the church. "Do you think that's him?"

"I don't know but I understand the homeless stay in the old church at night to get out of the weather."

"Why don't they just get jobs? Useless people if you ask me."

Two women wearing blankets for coats entered the building.

"Look at them. Have they no taste in style? Honestly. Blankets. I'll wait here."

"I'm sorry but Madam Shirley needs me back."

"What? You're leaving me all alone with rabble? I won't get out. Take me back."

"Look, I have orders to drop you here and that's what I have to do. You're to sit on the bench and he'll be here shortly."

"Ugh. What kind of wealthy person would want to come here?"

"He delivers clothing, blankets, and soup to the church."

Melissa scoffed. "What a waste of his time and money, and I've always admired him for his wealth." She thrust her arm over the front seat and snapped her fingers. "Give me your newspaper."

Max handed her several sections.

She exited the car but didn't move. He rolled down the window and cleared his throat loudly.

"Fine, but my clothes better not get dirty." She walked to the bench touching the seat carefully with one gloved finger and wrinkled her nose. Deciding that it wasn't worth the wait; that her benefactor would have to meet her somewhere she approved of, perhaps Chef Jacque, an exquisite restaurant that she favored; but it was too late. When she turned back, Max and the car were gone.

Carefully she spread the papers along the back and seat and sat down, grasping her handbag tightly to her. She watched the homeless entering and leaving the church out of the corner of her eye, frightened that one would sit beside her.

The time passed. Her benefactor was late. She trembled from the cold and fear. Her nose began to run and she took a tissue out of her purse, dabbing at her nose. She'd had enough. She pulled out her phone to arrange a taxi but her phone didn't work. The battery indicated it was fully charged but there seemed to be no service in this area. _"What a surprise,"_ she mumbled sarcastically.

That's when she saw him. The beggar in a tattered jacket and torn jeans with dirty sneakers on his feet. His golden hair was long and tied in a ponytail. A knit cap sat neatly on his head covering his ears. And he was walking straight to her, daring to gaze at her.

" _Let him try something. I may look weak but years of dance have made my legs powerful. He'll grab my arms and that's when I'll kick him."_ She watched him as he came closer, disdain written on her face.

"Hello." He sat next to her and smiled. "I had no idea how beautiful you were but now that I see you close up, you are something to behold."

"Get lost. I'm waiting for someone." She crossed her legs, pulled her handbag closer, and stared straight ahead.

"What a night," he said. "It's a clear sky and the stars are twinkling brightly. It's chilly and we're being showered by gentle falling snow and all is quiet. Absolutely spectacular."

"I don't need a weather report and if you don't leave, I'll call the police."

"No need. They drive past every hour and I'll be happy to signal them over, if you wish. They know me quite well."

"I'm sure they do. I said I'm waiting for someone so go away." She grabbed the papers and pulled them to the edge of the bench then slid there.

"I'm amazed how much you resemble your mother, except for your hair and eyes."

"How dare you!" she shrieked. "Don't you dare talk about my dead mother, you vile person."

"I used to watch her dance. It was as if she floated in the air. So nimble. So graceful. I miss her so much. I've come to your recitals since you were small and you dance like her."

"I said don't talk about her. You have no right. I don't want to hear about her from something as vile as you. What are you, a stalker?"

His face fell into consternation. "It is as Susan said. I had hoped for better. Your mother was kind, not like you."

"Stop it!" she yelled.

Just then a police car cruised by slowly and she jumped up and waved furiously at them. The car stopped at the curb and the two officers approached.

"Why, good evening, Jacob," said one.

"Good evening, my friends. Lovely night, isn't it?"

"It is that," said the other. "We thank you for the gift baskets and safety vests you sent for us and our canines. Every year, you remember us."

"And why shouldn't I with all the hard work you do protecting this neighborhood."

Melissa stared back and forth from the police to the man, first surprised then angry.

"If you're through socializing with this vagrant, I suggest you arrest him for hassling me."

The two officers looked at her confused then one turned to Jacob. "Is she bothering you? We'd be happy to take her in and keep her overnight as a courtesy to you."

Jacob chuckled. "No, we're just having a conversation."

The officers nodded, gave her one more curious look, and then left.

"Why I never."

"Be nice to others and they'll be nice to you."

"If you want money, I'll give you what I have. Just leave."

She withdrew a small wad of cash but Jacob held a hand over hers.

"You better keep it. You'll need some for the bus ride home."

"Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't be seen on a public bus."

He feigned surprise. "Why, I would think it a bit cold for you to walk."

She took out her phone and held it up. "I'll be calling a cab." Again she tried to use her phone but still it didn't work. "Ugh. No service around here?"

He smiled. "I've had your contract terminated."

"You can't do that. You don't have the right. When my benefactor gets here, he'll see to it that you're properly punished."

"I am your benefactor."

She looked him over then snorted. "Sure, I can see that."

He stared at her, a strange look on his face then he spoke. "I was fairly new around here. Where I come from, there's so much happiness and dancing. I was lonely one night when I heard a symphony play so I went in to listen. Not only was there an orchestra, but on the stage your mother was dancing and I fell in love instantly."

She started to speak but he shook his head. "Let me finish. I hadn't expected to fall in love but who could resist her? So after the performance I went backstage and I could tell that she was strongly attracted to me too. The months passed and I continued to attend her dance troupe's shows and I donated large sums of money. She and I spent time together whenever we could. I finally confessed my immense love for her but told her due to my family's business, we could never marry. I told her a secret then. She understood and yet accepted me. She too had no time for a family. Dancing was her life but she asked for one thing. She wanted a child—my child. I was elated at the prospect of having her even if it was for one night.

"When she informed me of her pregnancy, I vowed to support the child and her but when she delivered, it was triplets. You have a brother and a sister, you know. Your brother has followed in my footsteps and is a well-known philanthropist. Your sister is shy and humble and will soon return to my homeland where she'll become a teacher."

Jacob started to get up.

"Wait."

He stayed seated.

"Who are they? Why don't I know about them?"

"It's the custom of my homeland that you discover yourself first before you discover others, that you contribute to the world before you give to yourself. It is to my dismay that I've played an active role in spoiling you so you haven't tried to find out anything about yourself and you've become insensitive to others.

"Your mother became ill after delivering the three of you and we felt it best to adopt all of you to other homes. My son went to a worthy but poor family who worked hard for every cent they earned. They were childless without extra money to adopt so they were thrilled when I offered him to them. I also assured them that he would have whatever he needed. Throughout the years they rarely asked for any help and taught him the importance and honor in hard work and giving.

"Your sister's family was equally grateful and were able to support her although I sent money from time to time. When it came to finding a home for you, your mother just couldn't give you up. See, you resembled me and still do. She couldn't raise a child and continue her career with her ill-health so she quit dancing to take care of you but it took a heavy toll on her.

"You were only 2 years old when she realized your talent. She knew she hadn't long to live and so she went to her friend Shirley for help. Shirley took you into her academy where she continues to watch over you. I thought it best to leave you there, hoping that would put you on the road to unconditional love and sympathy for others but I gave you whatever you wanted while I watched your talent grow. I would continue to support you had I not received the call earlier today that your personality had become intolerable, that you were selfish, arrogant, and mean. You chose to emulate your deceased mother and convinced yourself that you are better than anyone else.

"That Susan. My life is none of her business. How dare she call you."

Jacob smiled. "I'm glad she did and I insisted on finally meeting you. I see now that everything she said is true." He sighed and gazed at the stars. "Your life will become quite different. I will no longer support you. This is the best gift I can give you." He stood.

"What will I do for money? For lessons? How will I buy my clothes?"

"That's for you to figure out now. It's interesting that you aren't touched that I'm your father or that you have a brother and sister. You didn't say, "Wait, daddy," or "Wait, father.""

"Fine. Wait, father," she said mockingly.

He shook his head. "Not good enough. The bus will be by soon and it does run past the school. You will have to pay to ride it. When you finally figure everything out, you'll know how to reach me. You were meant for great things. You come from royalty."

"Royalty? Do I have some sort of inheritance then? Who are they? Maybe they'll give me money."

"Is greed so deeply embedded in you? You must discover who you are, where your mother is, and who your brother and sister are, and learn to feel emotions before I'll talk to you again. Here's the bus. You better hurry across the street or you'll miss it and it's the last one tonight."

Melissa glanced as the bus approached. She turned back to Jacob but he was gone and she sensed her aloneness. She hurried across the street and the bus halted. As she boarded she held out several bills. The bus driver looked at her frustrated and took the appropriate amount, handing her back change.

"We don't like to hold up the route. Next time have exact change," he said curtly and waited.

Melissa didn't move. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do.

"Are you gonna sit down so I can go? Hurry up. Find a seat."

Embarrassed she sat down behind him. "I'm getting off at the—"

"Do I look like I care? Just pull the cord when we come to your stop."

As she sat back in the seat and the bus started off she noticed a young man across from her eying her from her face down and especially staring at the wad of bills in her hand. He stood up and started towards her and she hurriedly shoved the cash into her purse.

"Sit back down," ordered the driver. "We're moving."

The young man did as he was told.

Melissa leaned forward. "Thank you," she whispered.

"No talking to the driver when the bus is in motion," he responded.

The ride back to the academy was long and the bus was cold but she soon saw her stop and quickly pulled on the cord. When the bus paused she hurried off and without looking behind her ran quickly to the door, slipping and falling as she tugged on the handle. She got up carefully but now tears flowed freely. She walked straight to Shirley's office and threw open the door.

"How dare you," she screamed at Shirley.

Both Shirley and Susan looked up. It was evident they had been expecting her.

"Nice of you to barge in. Obviously we weren't discussing anything important. Did you have a nice visit? Where's your gift?" asked Shirley.

"My wonderful present is that he cut me off. Can you believe that? My phone's already de-activated and he made me ride the bus here. The bus! Worst of all, he claims that he's my father. I want him arrested now."

"Susan, we'll continue tomorrow. Perhaps you should leave. Take a seat, Melissa." Shirley waited until Susan had gone.

"He told you the truth. He is your father."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"It was their wish that I didn't."

"It's all that stupid woman's fault for interfering with my life. I demand you fire her."

"I told her to call him. Unfortunately, you're in no position to make any requests." Shirley took a moment to write on a sheet of paper then turned it towards Melissa. "If you wish to stay here, I'll give you a discount on everything. Normally lessons are $800 a month. I'll only charge you $400. If you don't have enough for daily lessons, then each lesson is $50 an hour, no matter the instructor. Rent for your room is $100 a month. The meals are $5.00 each. You can pay by meal or pay ahead for the month."

"You never charged me for anything before."

"That's because your benefactor took care of everything. If he's cut you off, you're now responsible. You're paid up on everything until the first of the new year. That leaves you just over three weeks before payment is due."

"This is cruel. Where am I supposed to get money?"

"Everyone else pays and I'm giving you discounts. You're no different than the other dancers."

"I'm your best performer. What if I work for you, instructing classes?"

"I'm sorry but we've already discussed this. I can't trust you not to be mean." Shirley shuffled through a drawer and pulled out four index cards. "I try to help students as much as possible. These are places that are hiring. One of them is for a janitor here which I need immediately."

"Oh, you don't really expect me to work?"

"If you can't pay, you must leave."

"Talk to him, please. Make him change his mind."

Shirley grimaced. "He's already called. We're not to contact him again. Only you can do that."

"I don't know how. He didn't give me his number. Why won't you talk to him?"

"Contracts were drawn up years ago. I could lose everything if I tell you anything or interfere. He's doing this for your own good. He's forbidden me to discuss your situation with anyone."

"I hate him. What kind of gift is this, to leave me penniless?"

"I can't get involved. What I gave you is the information you need. That's all I can do. It's late. You should go to bed. For each violation of my rules I charge you a $10 fine."

"And you call me selfish?"

"I never fined you before because of your father's generosity but it takes money to run this academy. It's 10:05. Go now or you'll owe me $10."

Melissa grabbed a $10 bill and slammed it on the desk then stormed out and up to her room. When she entered, she tossed the cards onto the floor then threw herself onto her bed and wept.

Raya sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What's the matter, Missy? Didn't your benefactor show up?"

"Oh, he came and he says he's my father."

"What good news. Did you get your gift?"

"You know what my gift is? Nothing. He won't support me anymore, and that's supposed to be a good thing."

Raya climbed out of bed and picked up the cards. She looked at Melissa shocked. "Madam Shirley wants you to work?"

Melissa sniffled. "That man told her he won't pay for me so she said I have to get a job. She claims she's helping me by giving me those cards."

"Working's not so bad. I've had to have a job all along and my mother works here to help with the cost. Most of us do work."

"And that's why none of you are as good as me. Did you goof up tonight?"

"No. I got a standing ovation." She beamed.

"I always get one. It's no big deal."

Raya went through the cards. "The best one is to be a janitor here. Of course, it's also kind of embarrassing. I did it for a while and the other girls will tease you but it's better than having to clean in the boys' section."

"Never."

"Well, this one is for waitressing. That's not so hard. I've done that too and you get good tips but you're on your feet and moving a lot so you come back really tired. You'd have to take the bus both ways and that would cost you."

"No thanks."

"This one is to hang advertisements on doors but the area's not close and you'd have to use the bus. It doesn't pay much."

"What else?"

"The last one's for the fast food place just down the block."

"Didn't you work there?"

"I did."

"Ugh. Nope. I remember you'd come back smelling like hamburger and fries. If I have to work, I'll hang the ads. No one from here will see me and I won't have to hang them all. After all, how would they know if I did or not?"

"You'll get fired. They do phone surveys to make sure you've done your job."

"They won't find out. Anyway, first I'll use my credit cards."

"He's probably closed the accounts."

"He wouldn't dare. I'm sure he's just put limits on them." She went to her computer. Card after card had been closed, the bills paid in full. "How could he? Wait. Here's a new account for a debit card and a charge card. See? He's prepaid them."

Raya looked at the screen. "Prepaid means you can only use them when there's a balance on them. See? They're both at zero. I think he wants you to work and put money on them."

"What a cruel man. I hate him, and I was going shopping tomorrow for a Christmas dress." She pulled out her cash and counted it. "I only have $35. That's not even half enough for the dress that I want."

"You'd better find work soon. Our payments are due January 1st." Raya yawned. "I don't have much money to spare but maybe I could help you."

"Could you? I'll need about $300 for the dress."

"Three hundred dollars for one dress? I don't have that kind of money. I meant for your meals or something."

Melissa sighed and went to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind her then slid down to the floor and cried.

The next day as they headed to breakfast Melissa asked, "Raya, will you give me some money? I don't need much, just for some stamps so I can apply to different dance troupes to teach."

"Oh sure. We can put $10 on your account. You'll have to take the bus to the post office to get the stamps and maybe buy some envelopes."

"No you won't," said Shirley who was walking behind them. "Melissa, your father's words were very clear. No one in this institution may loan or give you any money. I won't jeopardize this place over $10. If I hear you ask anyone for money or see anyone give you any, I'll fine both of you. Now, I have stamps and envelopes that you can buy. See me at your break."

Melissa did just that and wrote several letters. She had high hopes of being accepted by all of them then she could make her selection. In the meantime all the dancers were busy preparing for the Christmas concert to be held on Christmas Eve day. One week passed and the responses trickled in one by one. No one had accepted her. She had no choice but to work so she took the door to door advertising.

She did exactly what she told Raya she would. She put a few ads out and threw the rest away but after two days she was fired. She applied at the restaurant but only stayed one day. As Raya mentioned, Melissa returned tired and aching and performed terribly at practice. The janitor job was out of the question. The thought was too humiliating so she went to work for Peppers Burgers. To her surprise, she actually enjoyed it. Many of the employees were from the academy and she found that they could trade and pick up extra shifts.

More astonishingly, she had friends—real friends. No one spoke to her before. Now, when she sat down for meals she was surrounded by young men and women who worked with her. It used to be only Raya would sit with her, and sometimes Susan. After a week and a half, she realized that she wouldn't have anywhere near the money needed to stay. She had no choice but to accept the janitor job.

Melissa sat in Shirley's office waiting. Shirley had left a note for her to meet with her. Melissa smiled when Shirley entered but Shirley only frowned as she took her seat.

"Payment is due soon. How are your finances?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about that. I'm willing to accept the janitorial job."

"It's no longer available. I'm sorry. I had to hire someone right away."

"Couldn't I work here somehow? I'll do anything."

"I have nothing to offer you. Melissa, it's time that you and I realize you won't have the money. I suggest you start looking for a place to live."

"But I've been working. I'm trying."

"I know, and I've noticed that you've even made friends but this is a business. I can't keep you here free and not give the others the same opportunity."

"You made a promise to my mother."

"You're an adult. I'm no longer obligated to babysit you. I think you'll have no choice but to leave."

Melissa stood and nodded her head, fighting back the tears.

When she reached the door, Shirley said, "I wish there was something I could do. I've seen the change in you. I'm truly sorry."

"I understand."

Alone in the bedroom, Melissa brooded when an idea came to her. She knew exactly what she had to do. Late that night when Raya was sleeping soundly, Melissa went to Shirley's office and tried the door but it was locked. She had expected that and used one of her old credit cards to jimmy the door open. She shut the door quietly behind her and turned on the desk lamp. Then she began to search for information on either her father or mother.

"Ten dollar fine for being out of bed after hours and another $10 fine for breaking into my office." Shirley was angry.

"I'm sorry. I just need to find a way to contact my father."

"He said you knew how."

"I have no idea."

"No difference. I could have you thrown out for this but I'll just charge you the fines. Back to your room."

"Could you at least tell me what you know about them?"

Shirley sat down. "Your mother was my best friend. We grew up together and both of us loved dancing. Although I was older, she was much more skilled."

"Her name was Alyssa Reynolds?"

"Yes."

"Where did you two grow up?"

"Right here in this town."

"But she's not here anymore so all I have is my father."

"I know you think I'll give you information, but I won't."

"Tell me something about him. It may help me locate him."

"I know little about him. His name's Jacob and he's wealthy. That's all I know because he likes his privacy. I can tell you this much. When you were born your mother adored you. She said you looked so much like him. That's it. That's all I know."

Melissa returned to her room. If she didn't come up with enough money soon, her performance at the Christmas Concert would be her last. For days, she dwelled on her problem until finally another answer came. Across from Peppers Burgers were a pawn shop and used clothing store. She began to sell whatever they'd accept. Those items meant nothing compared to having to leave the academy, the only home she'd ever known but by the performance she still hadn't enough money.

She danced her heart out, knowing it was her last performance and the audience loved her. Afterwards, she returned to her room. Raya was about to leave.

"I've never seen you dance like that before. You were amazing. The audience couldn't take their eyes off of you."

"Raya, where are all your things?"

"I gave them to charity. You do know I'm leaving tonight."

"But why?"

"I have to go to my father's home. I'm very excited about it. I'll be teaching many different subjects."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Don't you want to make a career of dancing?"

"I've known for a long time that this wouldn't be my future. I'm adopted. My real dad explained everything to me."

"I don't understand. I didn't know they weren't your real parents."

"I just found out recently. My mother and I talked about it and she's okay with my decision. You better hurry and change. The Christmas party's starting soon and most of our friends will be leaving for Christmas break like they always do." She kissed Melissa on the cheek. "I'll miss you but I have to hurry. I'm meeting my dad and brother. I'm glad I discovered you. You were the last part of the puzzle."

She hurried down the stairs. As Melissa started to change, she suddenly grasped what Raya had said. She threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater and hurried down the stairs.

"Raya, wait. Raya."

"She's left already," said Shirley. "Is something wrong?"

"She's my sister, isn't she?"

"That much I can tell you. Yes, she is. Come on. The party's started."

"Where'd she go?"

"I don't know. Her brother picked her up."

"Her brother? My brother?"

Shirley guided Melissa into the great hall where everyone was partying but Melissa wasn't in the mood. Then she remembered something else - the many times Susan and Raya were together. She made her way through the crowd to Susan.

"Are you my mother too?"

"I wish I could say yes, but your mother did die."

"All those horrible things I said to you, the mean way I treated you. I'm sorry."

Susan hugged her. "The past is the past. I guess you know Raya is your sister?"

"Yes but I don't know my brother. Is he here?" She looked around.

"No, he's not a dancer. Missy, you'll find your life meaning, just as Raya did. You'll see."

"Do you know how to reach my dad?"

"I only got his number from Shirley but I threw it away after I called him."

"I need to find him."

"I think you've known all along where he is. Raya knows."

"The church! It must be. I've got to go there now."

Susan looked worried. "It's getting late. You shouldn't be in that area alone."

"I'll be alright. Somehow I know he won't let any harm come to me."

She should have worn a jacket but she was in a hurry. It was freezing out and the bus was chilly but she could only think of one thing and that was to find her father. She got off at the stop across the street from the old church and as the bus drove off, she realized how dark and empty the area was. She folded her arms over her chest and ran to the church and up the stairs. Once she entered, she couldn't believe the number of people wrapped in blankets sitting or lying everywhere.

She walked gingerly around everyone. "Dad?" she whispered. "Dad, are you here?"

"Here, girl, you need a place to sleep?" A woman grabbed her by the arm. "Come with me."

"Let her go." A young man pulled the woman's hand off Melissa. "Go on now. She's with me."

"I found her first."

The look on the man's face made the woman scurry away.

"You have to be careful in here, Melissa. There are good and bad everywhere. She's one of the bad."

Melissa looked up at him. "You know my name. Then you know Jacob? I'm trying to find him."

"I know him. Are you sure he's here?"

"He has to be."

"Then we'll find him together." He led her to the stairs going down into the basement but she stopped, unsure. "You either trust me or you don't."

"How did you know who I am?"

He grinned. "Can you guess?"

"You're my brother."

He bowed his head towards her. "Very good. I'm Aiden. Now you have all the answers but one - where your home is." He held out her hand and she grasped it.

They continued down to the basement where more people were gathered. Along one wall was a long bar. "That's where we serve them," he explained. They usually don't sleep down here but it's winter and there are so many more looking to get out of the cold."

He continued down a long hallway to a door that opened into a cleaning closet. "After you."

Melissa studied him, unsure and afraid but something did feel right and she entered. He shut the door behind him and led her to the opposite wall where he slid his hand across it. The wall opened and in front of her were stone stairs, dimly lit, going down.

"Aren't there any lights?"

"It gets brighter the farther down we go."

As they continued down, she smelled dirt and dust. The farther they went she began to hear sounds - people laughing, animals calling out, birds chirping, and a waterfall. Now it smelled strongly like earth and plants. Aiden was right. She could see daylight ahead and soon the stairs ended.

In front of her was an amazing world buried deep in the earth. She gawked at the sights in front of her, colors so vivid, animals of all sorts roaming freely, and she felt the soft warm wind as it whistled past her, shaking the leaves on the trees. Aiden led her farther to a wooden bridge that crossed a river where fish jumped about carefree.

"Father, she's arrived," he called.

She heard his steps before she was able to see him. His green eyes twinkled at the sight of her. He was bare-chested and wore green pants. A small crown entwined by ivy was woven in it. Walking with him was Raya wearing a shimmering short pink dress and a ring of colorful flowers on her head. They both had wings; her father's golden, Raya's pink and sparkly.

"My daughter, I worried that we would never re-unite. You're very important to our world. You see, you were born first making you the heiress to our kingdom."

"What is this? Where am I?"

Jacob smiled softly at her. "It'll take time to adjust." He pointed behind him and on top of a mountain stood a golden castle made of tan stones with ivy and flowers growing from top to bottom and around. "That's our home and this is our world. We belong to a race of fairies and our sole job is to bring relief to those above. We are known by those who believe in us as People of Peace."

"But I thought fairies were make-believe and tiny. Am I dead? Isn't the Underworld was where the dead and evil dwell? I read that in a mythology book once."

"There are many parts to the Underworld. Ours is just one land. There are other domains exactly as you describe them but they leave us alone and we leave them alone."

"Am I safe here?"

Aidan chuckled. "Why is it that is always our concern? You'll learn, my sister, that this is a nonviolent world."

It was then that Melissa noticed Aidan had changed into brown pants and was also shirtless. His wings were green and brown but what drew her attention was his elongated ears. She looked curiously at Jacob and Raya and they had the same ears. "Are the ears and wings real? Where are mine?"

Raya placed a wreath of roses on her head. "As you grow and develop here, so will your ears and you too will have wings. With your golden hair I predict you'll have lovely golden wings like father's but wings are painful when they shoot through your skin, kind of like when teeth grow."

"Will I see my mother again? Did you bring her here?" she asked Jacob.

He held both her hands. "We do not touch the dead but she will always remain with you in your heart. I still love her to this very day and keep her memory within me. Your life with us will be a happy one. You'll be trained here for a while then you'll work above as we do and you'll excel at taking care of others, for you've opened yourself to love. Come. Your grand-parents anxiously await you, heiress to my throne. A celebration awaits and we can't wait to watch you and Raya dance."

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of DM Yates' writing. Such as...

Lone Hero

By DM Yates

Aberforth, home world to dragons and people is at war. Dragons are fighting each other and the human race is in danger of extinction. Einarr is born in a dragon's companion line. Due to an ancient magical ritual performed by Zavat, a powerful dragon, Einarr is chosen to help bring about the end of the war and issue peace back to Aberforth. This will be no easy task for Einarr since the war will last throughout his lifetime. As a child, Einarr develops a hatred for all dragons after witnessing their cruelty in battle, yet he accepts Zavat's request to help find a solution to the dragons' disagreements. Together, Einarr and Zavat make a formidable team who learn to work together and along the way Einarr realizes that there are good and evil dragons, just like there are good and evil people **.**

*****

**DM Yates grew up in Ashtabula,** Ohio where she started writing stories and poetry as soon as she learned to read and write. She attended BYU Idaho, BYU Hawaii, and BYU in Provo, Utah.

Although writing and poetry are her passions, she didn't take it seriously to publish until her later years.  
She is the Author of fantasy/new age/spiritual romance stories, starting with 'Always.' The second in the series, 'The Lone Hero' was published in Dec 2013 and continues the tale of Einarr.

Her poetry book, Stepping Stones to Love Honor and Respect is a collection of poems dealing with various topics, such as love, honor, respect, spirituality, new age, pain, and Earth.

Her first children's book was also published in Dec 2013. 'Gingerbread Castle' is a children's holiday illustrated rhyme book for children ages 6 - 8 years old.

DM Yates is an independent self-published author.

Links:

Website: http://dmyates.weebly.com

Twitter: @merridm

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/DMYatesAuthor>

#  Against the Evil Eye

By Adan Ramie

Zyna Koprowski stared at shadows on the ceiling and hummed, deep and low in her throat, trying to drown out the sound of crying. Casmir never woke to the crying, not even when it reached a fever pitch and the baby struggled to breathe.

She slid out of bed and into her slippers, then padded down the hallway of their little apartment. She peeked inside the nursery, though she knew exactly what she would see. Little Halina was fast asleep, perfect and still, only the shallow movements of her chest betraying life.

She went in only to check the bag of stones nestled at the foot of the bed, to push a tip of the whirling clover mobile above the baby's head, and slide a finger over the horseshoes hung over the window and door. Everything in place, she padded out and closed the door behind her. She crossed herself in the darkness.

When she slid back under the quilt and shut her eyes, the crying started again. She covered her ears with her hands and curled into a tight ball against her husband's back, knowing that when the crying ceased, she would sleep, and when she slept, the nightmares would come pouring back like the black ink of the ocean in burning lungs.

She could still see his face, and the piercing knowledge in those round eyes that stared up at her, even with her eyes slammed shut. He would only stop crying when the milk was gone and the blood came. She wondered, in the weeks before his death, if one day he would simply gulp the life out of her body and her husband would find them there on the floor of the nursery, she a bloodied shrunken corpse and the baby grown full and strong, a man with the same face as his father. The men would bury her in a plain box with no marking, as if her life was only to create him. Ryszard.

When she woke, Casmir was gone and she was alone in the apartment again. Alone but for Halina, who never made a noise, who could go a full day hungry without a whimper. The blistering rash that broke out when Zyna forgot to change her diaper didn't even make the girl wince. She was a quiet, uncomplaining being, and Zyna despised her the more for it.

Nevertheless, she dropped her feet to the floor and went about her duties. She tidied the bed, washed her face, brushed her teeth and dressed. She walked past Halina's room without a look in, down the hallway and into the kitchen, where she made breakfast and ate by herself with the morning's paper. Finished, she cleaned the dishes and the kitchen, then grabbed a bottle of breast milk from the refrigerator for Halina.

The baby was sitting upright, peering out the window when Zyna opened the door, and she stopped mid-stride as the child pulled her eyes from the view and the golden, piercing orbs descended on her. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the crib and handed the icy bottle to the stern child, then turned and walked back out, tapping the horseshoe above the door before closing it tight.

Ryszard had refused the bottle from day one, and despite her body's aching insistence that she rest from the arduous delivery, he nursed greedily. He was consistent, wailing every two hours for another feeding, a shriek that made the neighbors stumble or start when they heard it. For the first few months, Ryszard seemed a healthy, albeit demanding, child. True, he pushed away from her maternal embraces and growled when she cooed over his crib, but without her mother or husband to tell her different, Zyna almost believed he was just a typically mean little boy.

Zyna stopped her ironing, Casmir's work shirts, when she heard the soft thud of the empty bottle hitting the nursery floor. She waited, not moving even to blink or breathe, straining to hear the wail of need that never came. When she began to feel faint, she sucked in a breath and continued on, chastising herself on the burn where she'd carelessly left the hot iron.

If Casmir would have had a say, Ryszard's life would've been held above hers in delivery, and the baby born blue and still would have been more important than the traumatized woman on the bed. But the doctor stayed with her, and left the child to the busy nurses as they wheeled her to surgery. Of course they revived him, and she heard him cry for the first time racing down the hall with a mask on her face. Even then she knew something was wrong, but she dismissed the thought in an opiate cloud.

When she was awake and feeling almost human, they wheeled her into the NICU to see him. His limbs were still tinged blue, but he screamed and kicked like a healthy baby.

"Been crying all night, won't take a bottle, nothin'," the nurse told her when she left him there. "You need to feed him."

Zyna struggled, the writhing bundle in her arms screeching until the nurse stepped forward and, with hard, calloused hands, helped him latch on. He went silent save for the grateful gulping, and an occasional wet cough as he breathed in the milk. The nurse laughed, brushing her hands on her uniform and shaking a head in amusement.

"A healthy appetite, after all that fuss with the bottles. He's just a breast man, no worry there. He'll be a fine son," she finished, patting Zyna roughly on the shoulder and shuffling out on her worn white sneakers.

In her apartment, Zyna broke free of her reverie, startled she was still at the nursery door, then walked downstairs, leaving Halina in her crib. She slipped two letters into the OUT box and jimmied an old key into her post slot, then left the building. She would shop, have lunch, and maybe stop off for a movie after. All the while, little Halina would barely move, never making a sound to alert the neighbors. No one would ever know that the soft spoken foreigner from 3G abandoned her baby for hours at a time.

With Ryszard, there had never been a moment's rest. A feeding came between every task and every chore, every necessary bodily function, every meal and every nap. He would shriek and wail until she dropped a section of her top and picked him up. He gnashed at her breast like a lion tearing at a gazelle corpse, and even without teeth, left her nipples torn, bleeding and sore. He would always look not at her but at her breasts, as if the rest of her existence was meaningless; she was his personal milk machine.

Zyna stopped at the little produce cart to chat with the boy there before she bought the same full bag she ordered every week and went on her way. Halina was curious about food, and for that Zyna was thankful. She mashed fruits and vegetables by hand and tried a new item every week. Halina never showed any aversion. Ryszard had fought the mush so hard he injured himself.

After shopping she strolled, full of sunshine and fresh air and life, back to the dreaded building that held her. When she got in, Casmir would still be gone and Halina would be waiting, mouth closed, her eyes wide as saucers as she analyzed her surroundings. The thought dampened her mood, but she kept up the pace, her smile a plaster mold by the time she was again in front of the shabby building.

At the door of the apartment, Zyna stopped and put her sack of groceries down. She stared at the doorknob, her reflection haunting on the polished brass, beckoning her away from this place, these people. Some part of her wondered if Casmir had been cursed, or if she had, or if their travel to America had doomed their offspring. Could she have broken a mirror or been crossed by a black cat unknowingly? She grunted and jammed the key in the lock, jerking up her groceries as the door opened.

Casmir's hat and coat on the rack startled her. Her mouth went dry. What would he say when he found out she'd left the baby alone? How long had he been home? She slid the grocery sack onto the counter and peered down the hall. The nursery was open, but quiet.

She slipped off her low heels and walked on the balls of her feet to the nursery. If he was holding the baby, he wouldn't strike her and she had time to get away. If Halina was asleep in her crib, Zyna would be locked in the apartment again. The last time he punished her, Ryszard had passed in the night; he strangled on a slip knot tied to his sleeping dress. It was meant to ward away evil, particularly effective against the evil eye. She wondered if Ryszard had done it to punish her as Casmir beat her one way then another, her muffled cries as much from pain as relief.

But in her confinement, he'd kept her tied spread eagle on the bed. He had created Halina in that bed, slamming up against her aching thighs and laughing as her skull banged rhythmically against the wall. When the doctor diagnosed her concussion weeks later it was with additional congratulations: she was pregnant again.

Holding her breath in the dim hallway, Zyna peered around the door into the room Casmir had painted twice, from Little Boy Blue to Rosy Cheeks Pink. Only it wasn't pink, it was red. Red, brown and black smeared the walls, the furniture, even the glass of the window. Halina sat amidst it all, on top of the meat sack that had once been her father, sucking a clot off one dainty finger. When Zyna picked her up, instead of turning away in disinterest as she always had, the little girl locked eyes with her mother and smiled, her two new teeth glistening under a sheen of vermillion.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Adan's writing.

**Adan Ramie lives in** Texas with her partner and children. She has been published by Skin to Skin, MicroHorror, and is soon to be published by Paper Tape Magazine and the A Murder of Storytellers anthology, Beyond the Nightlight. She is working on two manuscripts, and the first of which, a LGBT thriller, will be published as an eBook in 2015 **.**

Links:

Blog: http://adanramieblog.wordpress.com

Twitter: <http://www.twitter.com/adanramie>

Facebook: <http://www.facebook.com/adanramie>

Google+: <https://plus.google.com/113266484951012825522/posts>

#  Henry

By CG Copolla

"I'm here to see my son. He just got out of surgery."

The Vampire was lying.

It wasn't his son that had undergone open heart surgery for the last few hours. It was his great-great-grandson, a meager boy of six that no one thought would survive the night. Especially not Henry, who'd been restless the entire day before. Locked in his coffin, he couldn't will himself to sleep, knowing that the very last of his kin was lying chest-open on a table while humans did their best to save him. Henry thought himself selfless. He could save the boy simply by killing him. It would be quite easy. He would have a companion to share all immortality with, and it would ensure that Eli, his great-great-grandson, would never be sick again. But could he do that? Could Henry risk Eli's immortal life by freezing him at six? What kind of life would that be for a vampire? Unconvinced it was what he should do, Henry forced himself to stay put in his coffin and leave Eli's fate to the doctors.

"He's down the hall. Room 222."

Henry nodded, keeping his pale face to the ground, his focus on the shiny linoleum floor that accosted his eyes with such harshness. Eli didn't belong in a place like this. He belonged out in the country, where Henry liked to roam for weeks upon weeks, where the nights blended into one another and muddied then into months. Years passed this way. A century passed this way. He was somewhere in Montana when he'd learned that his great-great-grandson was born, and that he was given the name Eli after a far-removed relative.

Henry had long since deserted the family he'd known, having fallen into a great depression after the horrible incident—when he'd gone too long without quenching his all-consuming thirst and, in a desperate moment of hunger, launched himself at his granddaughter-in-law. He never meant for it to happen. But he couldn't stop himself. He drank her clean and quickly, leaving a sallow shell of a body behind. Afterward, he was full, his strength renewed and his energy spiked. In the first few minutes he felt young again, like he did at nineteen, when he himself was turned. Except, looking down at the broken, sunken face of the woman his grandson had fallen in love with, Henry knew what he'd done. What'd he given up to quench the monster that reigned inside him.

"Sir?" a woman called.

Henry paused. The lilt of her voice was heavenly. It was warm and coaxing and reminded him of the way caramel dripped in a slow, languid motion. It reminded him of his young wife, Mary, who he hadn't seen in over a century. It reminded him of vulnerability. Lifting his head, Henry kept his curse to himself. The nurse was slender and smiling with long auburn hair clipped to the back of her head. It was the same color Mary had possessed, nothing like the short black crop Henry kept.

"There's a cafeteria on the other end," she leaned toward the counter, toward Henry, and her scent washed over him. He shivered only slightly, politely following the direction as she pointed further down the hall. "...If you're hungry. And there's coffee in the waiting rooms."

"Thank you," Henry whispered.

He meant to leave—he really did. But something rooted him to the ground, refusing to let him go. She so resembled his Mary, and couldn't be much older than his young bride was when he returned home that first night. Mary had been terrified. The look in his eye...the strength in his body... and that crazed hunger he felt. Like his granddaughter-in-law, he couldn't help it. He needed a taste. Just a little taste. There was something about auburn-haired women that drove his thirst to the limit. Like they were wearing his need for blood on the outside, like they were inviting him to drink.

He knew he shouldn't, especially with the last of his kin down the hall. That was why he was here. Family. The family he'd nearly destroyed. But could he face the overwhelming scent when he entered Eli's room? What if he wasn't strong enough? Henry roamed the country for a reason. Weakness and guilt.

"Sir?" the pretty nurse frowned.

Like all the times before, it didn't seem a choice. "What's your name?"

"Carla."

"Carla..." he repeated, liking the way it rolled off his tongue. He found her gaze and locked on. "You are very beautiful."

A faint blush rose to her cheeks. "Th-thank you..." she stammered. It was already working.

"What's in there?" he gestured to the door in the wall behind her.

"C-cleaning supplies," she gulped. "It's a janitor closet."

He would do it quickly, he promised himself. He was not here for her and the guilt over this would torment him for months. Normally he didn't feed on humans. He made the decision to abstain after what happened with his wife and granddaughter-in-law. Of course there were times he slipped, but as a rule, he kept his sustenance to small creatures, most on the verge of dying. In fact, it had been three weeks since he last fed, and it was on a small alley cat who had wandered by at the right time.

But he needed this. It would give him strength. "Accompany me?"

Completely hypnotized, Carla nodded. She led him toward the janitor's closet and opening the door, she entered first. Henry was right behind her. He didn't give her a moment. Gripping her skull with one hand, he yanked it to the side and felt her bones crack under his fingers. What little scream she had died as he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck. Henry shuddered in pleasure as it tore, as the delicious flavor drenched his incisors, coating them in rich bliss. _Oh yes_ , this is what he needed.

It only took a few minutes to drink her fully. When he was done, he pulled out of her body and she collapsed to the ground at his feet. This was the part he hated. Her eyes, which were warm and friendly before, stared ahead at nothing now. Who would find her? What would they think? Henry couldn't bother himself with these thoughts. They would keep him awake in the upcoming days and right now, he had more important things on his mind. Wiping a last drop from his lip, Henry carefully left the closet and closed the door behind him.

That was over and he could do what he came to.

Locate Eli, the last of his kin, who had been orphaned in an automobile accident.

If he woke up, he would face a life of hardship and pain.

If he woke up.

Once he reached it, Henry paused at the door. He shouldn't be here. He knew he shouldn't be here. Eli didn't know him. And Henry, as he proved only minutes earlier, was a monster. But what choice did he have? The boy had no family, no one to take care of him and Henry had been so lonesome for so long. It only made sense that they should be paired.

Pushing the door open, Henry walked inside.

Eli was asleep in the bed. Tubes were placed inside his nose and needles stuck in his arms.

Henry tried not to breathe in the alluring scent of blood. He'd tried his hardest since first entering the hospital, grave concern for his last living relative overpowering every other need. He even tried to staunch it with the nurse. But with this much blood surrounding him, it was difficult; Henry did not deny this. Hunger rose inside him again. Moving closer to the bed, he looked down on little Eli, very pale and still, and his hunger grew to pain.

Eli resembled his own son in the sharp curve of his cheekbones and his hard, long brow. He was copper-haired like his great-great-grandmother, a trait that threaded itself throughout Henry's descendents, mocking and ridiculing him with each passing generation. But this was the last of his family. He knew it. He'd checked and checked again. This was the last body who carried his blood and with a quick sniff, he knew it in his heart—the boy would not survive.

The human doctors had done everything they could, but Henry could smell death. He, himself, had reeked of it for over a century and it was how he was able to select his prey. They were already doomed, either dying of starvation or sickness that could not touch him. He had hoped Eli would survive this, having left his recovery up to the capable doctors of a generation far surpassing healers of his own day. But now he knew for certain: Eli would die.

Henry sunk into one of the plush hospital chairs.

What to do?

With the boy's death, his own immorality would perish. He would have nothing left in the world, no stamp of him having ever lived, no future generations to prove he was here; he had existed. Wasn't that what family was for? He'd stayed away to keep himself alive, to keep his family alive and now the last of them had come. And it was all left in this tiny frail body, this boy he never knew, would never know. Unless...

"Eli," Henry said, but the boy did not stir. " _Eli_ ," he tried again and moved to the side of the bed.

Henry examined the needles and the steady breathing of his great-great grandson. He'd perched over many victims like this, watching as their last breath seeped out, leaving them still and cold. This is when the guilt would start. But the boy was still breathing and Henry wasn't at fault. Not this time. Not yet.

Slowly trailing his fingers along Eli's soft brow, Henry tried to imagine him as an older man, something he would never become. Even if given an immortal life, Eli would grow no older. He would be frozen like this, with no possibility of creating new life. Would it be fair? They would have each other at least. They would not be alone.

"I could teach you..." Henry whispered. "I could show you things you would have never seen before. And you would never be alone..."

Henry paused, as if waiting for Eli to agree, but the boy did not move.

"It would be difficult, I do not deny this. And there may come a time when you hate me, but you should experience more than six years," Henry spoke into Eli's ear. Still, he hesitated, waiting.

Waiting.

Was this right? Would he be saving the last of his kin... or dooming him to an endless misery? What to do?

What to do?

Henry looked upon the boy's gentle face. If he died, Henry would perish—he knew it. And if Eli lived, even an immortal life, his blood would continue to flow. Henry would not be the last. He would not be alone.

The vampire sunk his teeth into his own wrist and held it up. A few red drops dripped through Eli's parted lips.

There.

It was done.

Henry sunk into the plush chair again, head in his hands, and waited.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when a harsh beep rang out. It only took a moment for the humans to flood the room, rushing around the bed. Henry merely watched. There was nothing he could do but wait. It would all be over soon. The humans probably thought their presence was necessary, but it didn't matter at this point. Eli's death was inevitable.

"Sir!" one of the nurses rounded toward him. "You must leave. Sir! Now! Please, you must leave!"

Henry nodded only once, stood up and left the room.

Had he done the right thing? Given Eli immortality when his life would have otherwise ended? Would he be bitter toward Henry? Would they find a good companionship over the years? Would they explore the new centuries together? Henry walked and walked around the hospital and into neighboring woods where he lost track of the time. Too many thoughts consumed him, thoughts of the past and of his family that he hadn't seen in years. New thoughts excited him, filling him with hope and wonder for a future that would prove happier than his past. Henry wouldn't be alone anymore. He walked and walked and walked under the treetop canopy, deciding how he would explain to Eli what he was and how they would need to survive and what joyous things awaited him in this great, wide world. _Soon_ , Henry thought. Soon I won't be so alone. Soon I will have the family that was taken from me... and that I took from myself, he thought sullenly.

His heart thumped in excitement.

Absentmindedly, Henry stepped past a barrier of thick oak trees.

He only had a moment before meeting the light.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of CG Copolla's writing. Such as...

Escape from Harrizel

by CG Copolla

Fallon is just like every other Arrival brought to Harrizel—an alien planet restoring the human race after a fatal war left Earth in ruins. But once viewing the all-day work camps and the nightly, orgy-like atmosphere, Fallon suspects her hosts, the Dofinikes, might have a secret agenda of their own.

*****

**C.G.Coppola is a huge fan of Oreos,** but not so much oatmeal raisin. She loves the cold, but somehow still finds herself in sunny Florida, where she grew up and obtained her creative writing degree (go Noles!). Maybe one day she'll migrate north. New York would be nice. Or Amsterdam. For now, she lives with her boyfriend and entirely too much stuff in their cramped two-bedroom apartment. She hopes this will change soon.

#  Buried Alive

By Rami Ungar

I guess all my troubles all began with Chuck, who was my mother's husband and my little sister Misty's father, an obsessive man and constantly convinced that the women in his house were up to no good. Chuck would check my breath when I came home after work to see if I'd been drinking or smoking, upend Misty's room if he suspected she'd been taking snacks from the pantry, and forced Mom to nightly body inspections to see if she'd been with a man while he'd been at work. None of us liked Chuck. I'd urged Mom several times over the years to leave him, but she had no job skills, no family to rely on, and no initiative of her own. Chuck was our only source of income and Mom was willing to put up with his torment if it meant giving Misty and me a stable home.

But then the other day, Chuck had spotted a hickey on Mom's neck. Or he thought it was a hickey. I don't know what he thought he saw, I never saw what it was that he believed pointed to infidelity, but to Chuck it was a hickey, and that meant Mom was as good as guilty. Normally I didn't get involved when Chuck was angry about something, but I tried to intervene that night when Chuck threatened to throttle Mom. The man's eyes looked like they might break out of his skull when I stepped between him and my mother.

"That's enough Chuck." I said. I was precocious then, seventeen years old, a young woman who wanted out of her miserable life and sure I could change the world, or at least stand up for my mom when she couldn't stand up for herself. Maybe if I'd stayed quiet that night, things would've worked out much better than they had. Maybe I wouldn't be what I am now.

I never thought for one moment that Chuck would get violent. Sure he talked a big game, threatening to smack us silly if we ever defied him or his ridiculous rules, but when it came right down to it I'd never seen him so much as poke anyone in the chest. That night though, Chuck was not the same monster I'd known. He was a totally different monster, one that was worse. I realized that the moment he pulled out the revolver. All my bluster, all my power, all my strength went out of me the moment I saw it and I knew I'd made a huge mistake.

"Go to the shed." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. I gulped at the sound of his voice

"Chuck—!" Mom began, taking a step forward, maybe to try and get his forgiveness for the both of us or to take a bullet for me, I wasn't sure which.

"GO TO THE SHED!" Chuck shouted, cocking back the revolver's hammer. Without another word Mom and I walked out to the shed, ever aware that Chuck was walking behind us with that gun pointed at our backs. In the shed, Chuck ordered us to each take a shovel and then had us march out to the garden.

The garden was at the moment just a big earthen patch. The weather lately had only just warmed up, and Mom had been planning on planting vegetables this weekend if it was nice enough. I wondered why Chuck had made us go here, when he said "Dig."

We all looked at him for clarification and he repeated what he had said before. "Dig." he command. "Dig at that spot. Dig until I tell you to stop."

The revolver came to point at Mom's chest, and we got the message. Pointing the shovels in front of us, we began digging in the spot where Chuck had indicated, throwing patches of dirt behind us as Chuck watched from a distance safe enough from getting whacked or having dirt thrown in his eyes by my shovel but close enough that he could make sure we were working and not slacking.

The shoveling was tough work. Over and over I threw dirt behind me, feeling the sweat start to pour out of my forehead and under my arms. Even worse, there was still a chill in the air, and I was only wearing a sweatshirt and sleep shorts and slippers. I was alternately hot and cold, and cold was beginning to win. I could see Mom was in the same position as I was, sweat running down her brow even as she shivered. I was glad Misty wasn't out here, that she was safe in bed with no idea what was happening. If Chuck had forced her to come out here as well...

While we shoveled, I kept hoping that someone would see us and come to our rescue, or at the very least ask what was going on so that we could signal for help. But it was much too cold for anyone to be outside at this time of night, our yard had big wooden fences that reached above my head and it was already dark. The chance that anyone would come by to see us shoveling dirt behind us, let alone a police officer responding to a neighbor disturbed by the late-night gardening, was a very slim chance.

When the hole was deep enough that I had to struggle to get out of it, Chuck said we could stop digging. Mom and I sighed in relief, leaning on our shovels for support. Our break didn't last though, because then Chuck was ordering us out of the hole. Slowly, stumbling several times, we clambered out of the hole, holding our shovels out in front of us. As soon as we were out though, Chuck had a new set of orders for us: "Drop the shovels and go back to the shed."

Mom tried reasoning with us. "Chuck, isn't this enough? We get the picture—"

"GET BACK TO THE SHED!" Chuck growled, aiming the revolver straight at my forehead. We obeyed.

Misty and I never went into the shed, and Mom only went in to get gardening tools. The shed was really Chuck's domain, especially on the weekends, and we rarely disturbed him when he was in there or wondered what he was up to. When we were inside, Chuck went to something big and covered in a black tarp. He pulled it off, and we saw a big box, six feet tall, made of wood, six-sided and rectangular, with hinges on one side and latches. What the heck did he need a big crate for?

"Chuck—"

"Sweetheart—"

"Carry it out." said Chuck, in no mood for questions or pleading. Lifting the crate by its shorter ends, Mom and I carried it out to the pit we'd just dug, a pit I now guessed at least eight feet deep.

"Throw it in." he commanded. We did, and the lid bounced open on its hinges, resting against the side of the pit. Mom and I watched him as he strode up to us, the revolver pointing at our chests the whole time. "All I ever wanted was quiet and peace in my home." said Chuck, spit flying from his lips. "An obedient wife, quiet kids. That's not too much to ask for, is it? But no, it's not good enough for you people. No, you need to get under my skin, and do everything you can to make me feel like I'm not the man in my own house. Well no more!"

Chuck rammed the revolver into Mom's chest a moment before pulling the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was masked by her chest as bones broke and her insides exploded. I watched her fall into the pit, landing in the crate with a crash.

"Mom!' I shouted, but then I felt the gun against my chest. I looked at Chuck and I felt tears at the edges of my eyes. "Please." I said, pleading. "I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want me to do. Just don't kill me."

Chuck grinned. "You know, once I would've taken you up on that offer." he said. "You don't know it, but you've got a fine ass. But not tonight. Don't worry, I'll take care of Misty for you. After I tell her Mommy and her big sister abandoned her because they didn't love her anymore, I'm sure she'll behave better than you two ever did. Maybe she'll grow a nice ass while she's at it."

"Chuck—" I took a step backwards and slipped. The moment I began to fall, Chuck pulled the trigger. There was a bang, and I fell into the crate on top of Mom. My head smacked against the edge and I was out.

When I came to, the first thing that hit me was that the back of my head and chest hurt. Rubbing the back of my head, I felt something wet and sticky. My eyes opened, but it was so dark I thought my eyes were still closed. And then I saw light piercing through slits in the...crate. I was in the crate. Just as that revelation hit me though, I heard something heavy and loose smack against the top of the crate. Particles of dirt fell through the spaces between the boards, landing on top of me and falling into my lungs.

I coughed and pushed against the crate, but something was keeping it down. "Chuck!" I cried, coughing up more dirt. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, I thought you were dead." said Chuck. "You'll be that way soon, I guess."

I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but then I realized it: Chuck had made us dig a six-foot deep hole, then had us throw a big wooden box into the hole before shooting us both and throwing us in. Now I couldn't open the lid and Chuck was throwing the dirt we'd dug up back into the hole. He hadn't thrown us into a crate. He'd thrown us into a coffin. And he intended to bury us in it.

I started hitting the coffin lid with all my strength, but still it wouldn't budge. The dirt kept coming down and sifting through the spaces, but then less and less dirt started to fall through. Eventually the smacks of dirt became muffled and finally I couldn't hear them at all. At that point I stopped hitting the lid, feeling exhausted in the complete darkness. I lay my arms down, only to feel something sticky underneath me. I shifted around and my right hand fell on a left hand other than my own.

I froze, remembering who else had been thrown in the coffin with me. Soundlessly my lips formed the word "Mom" and I touched her face, looking for some sign of life. All I felt was cold skin and drying blood.

I lay there on top of her, unable to process what was right below me. My jaw moved up and down several times as my throat struggled to make a sound. Finally I was able to croak out, "Mom?" When there was no response, I started to cry. "Mom. Mom! MOM!" I shook her shoulders, wanting some sort of response, any response. She couldn't be gone, I hadn't helped her to stand up for herself yet, I needed her to be with me to help me take care of Misty, I had to have her with me so that she could see me graduate!

Nothing happened. I stopped shaking her shoulders as her head lolled around on the wood floor and fell against her chest, sobbing. The cloying smell of blood and meat filled my nostrils and I gagged, but I still didn't move. My mom was dead. I'd wanted to do so much for her, I wanted to prove to her that there was hope, that life didn't have to involve Chuck. I had had it all figured out: I was going to go to college somehow, get a degree, then help my mother get a divorce and custody of Misty and have them move in with me, away from that beast. It would've been perfect, it would've saved us all.

And now we were in a coffin. Mom was dead, I would be that way soon enough, and Misty was stuck in Chuck's clutches, where he could do whatever he wanted to her and no one would—

Suddenly a thought occurred to me. Chuck had shot me. He'd shot me full in the chest. And I'd hit my head hard on the way down. Chuck had even thought I was dead. So then...why was I still alive? Slowly I reached into my sweatshirt and touched my chest, searching for the hole where the bullet had gone in. My fingers roamed around, close to where I thought Chuck had fired—"Ow!" I hissed as my middle finger touched the edge of the bullet hole. The skin around it felt burned, and it seemed to go in deep, yet there wasn't any bleeding as far as I could tell. I raised an eyebrow, confused. How could that be?

Slowly, ignoring the pain, I inserted my finger deeper into the wound. Strangely, the pain didn't feel that bad. It felt more like getting pricked by a needle rather than an open, gaping wound. When my finger was all the way inside and I still couldn't feel the bullet, I withdrew my finger. With my other hand, I touched the back of my head, which was feeling a bit more manageable than it had before. My fingers felt a cut back there, but the blood flow had ceased and I barely felt the pain from touching it.

I climbed off Mom and pushed her body to the side, giving me some room. I needed to think, and I couldn't do that with her beneath me. How was it that I was still alive, with a bullet hole in my chest and a cut on the back of my head? I should be in a lot of pain at least, but I—

There was a clatter and a bright light shined in the tiny coffin, blinding me for a second. I looked again and it was my cell phone, the screen and numbers lighting up the coffin so that I could finally see everything, including Mom, who was even bloodier and more disgusting than I had imagined.

I stared at her, the vacant eyes, the gaping hole in her chest, the gore and blood that stained her skin and clothes and the wood she lay on. Her mouth was open wide, like a perpetual yawn that would last forever. I held a hand to my mouth, trying to keep my stomach from betraying me in this small space.

There was movement in her mouth. I gasped, moving as far back away from my Mom as I could, barely an inch. I wasn't sure if I'd seen what I'd actually seen, her tongue moving around even though there was no way it could move. But what if...what if it had?

"Mom?" I said, shaking. There was another flicker of movement in her mouth and I nearly screamed. Slowly a beetle crawled out of Mom's mouth, skittering down her face and towards the head of the coffin. I watched it move before I slammed my fist into it, smashing it. The bug crunched underneath my fist, it's guts mixing with the blood already on my fingers.

I used my phone light to see what was on my hands before looking over at Mom's body. That thing had been inside her mouth. I shuddered. How did that thing get in there? Had it been trying to make a meal out of Mom? I was disgusted by the very thought of anything wanting to make a meal out of her. How could anything want to make a meal out of a dead body? I never even ate fish or chicken, and I couldn't imagine why anyone or anything, even a small beetle, would want to eat my mother.

I glanced at Mom again. Already there was a weird smell coming off her, though it wasn't the smell I thought might come with a corpse, all rotten and meaty. It actually smelled rather pleasant, like bread baking or scented candles in a candle shop. And yet not truly like that either. No, it was different...

Wonderful...

Succulent...

I dropped my phone and climbed back onto her, drawn in by the smell. As if in a daze, I inserted my finger into her chest and scooped up some of the mangled organs before popping it into my mouth. I chewed on it, savoring the aroma, the texture, the flavor. Oh, it was so good! I'd never had anything like it before. And I had to have more. Slowly I inserted my face into the wound, tearing at the chunks of skin, scooping organs into my mouth, breaking bones to get at the rich, tasty flavor.

I don't know how long I lay on top of her, gorging on her body. It was only when my stomach felt full and I tumbled off her, sighing with satisfaction, that I realized what I'd done.

I tried to sit up, but my head hit the coffin lid and I fell back with a groan. Then I realized who I was still lying next to and scooted away, staring in Mom's direction. Slowly I picked up my phone again and shined the light on her. I let out a scream as I saw her, half her face eaten away, her jaw fully exposed, her dress ripped away so that her chest, now just a bloody, gaping hole, could release even more of that aromatic smell than before.

I stared at her in horror. What had I done? It didn't make any sense. I didn't even realize what I was doing, but that couldn't be, because I'd just eaten my mother! How could that even be possible?

And then I remembered the bullet hole, the cut on the back of my head. There was a name for what I was. I dropped my phone as I realized what I'd become. As the light went out, I whispered a word, a word that described exactly what I was.

"Zombie."

"Mom, I'm sorry." I said. I'd been silent since I'd realized what I'd become. That felt like hours and hours ago. Time seemed funny in the coffin. At one point I was sure I'd only been in here a couple of hours, but at the next I was certain it had been days. It didn't matter though. What use did a zombie have for time?

"Mom, I'm really, really sorry." I continued, my voice hoarse. I couldn't see her that well, my phone light was off, but I knew she was there. And that she was probably listening too. "I know I shouldn't have eaten you. I still remember who I am, I shouldn't have had any reason to want to eat you. It just happened.

"But you know, this is all your fault." I said, giggling. "You shouldn't have married Chuck. Even if you did, you should've divorced him a long time ago. I'm sure you could've if you tried. But you didn't and with every passing year, Chuck got worse and worse, and then he finally snapped! And guess what? We're in here, you're dead, and I'm a zombie, and I'm going to eat you all up just to stay alive!" I burst out laughing, banging my head against the coffin lid and hitting the sides with my fist and feet.

There was a clattering noise, and I stopped laughing and moving, a bit of clarity returning to my mind. That was my phone. Slowly I felt around for it, searching for it. Finally I found it near my thigh and brought it to my face, pressing the center button to unlock it. Why hadn't I thought of this before? Please let there be bars, I needed bars!

I felt tears in my eyes as I saw three out of four bars on the screen. I didn't know how it was possible to have reception down here. I didn't care. I just dialed in those three magic numbers and listened to the dial tone. After three rings, there was a click at the other end of the line. "911, what's your emergency?" said a female voice.

"I-I'm in trouble." I said. "My stepdad's trying to kill me. I'm actually surprised I'm still alive." I gave her my name and gave her a quick version of events, leaving out the revelation that I'd become a zombie and eaten my mother.

After I finished, I listened for the dispatcher's response. After a nerve-wracking pause, the dispatcher said, "That does sound like a problem."

"Of course it is!" I said irritably. "Listen, my address is four-four-nine-two Amber Coast Drive—"

"But you forgot to mention something, didn't you?" asked the dispatcher.

"I'm sorry?" I said, confused.

"Well, you did munch on my face, didn't you?" said the dispatcher. "I'm currently also missing most of my internal organs. And who do I have to blame for that? My zombie daughter."

I dropped the phone, suddenly aware that the dispatcher wasn't talking to me through the phone, but in the coffin itself. The phone's light shown on my mother, her jaw still hanging wide open. I reached out to her, my whole body trembling. "M-Mom?" I said.

Suddenly Mom's hand reached up and closed around my wrist. At the same time, my mother turned her head to face me, her vacant eyes suddenly filled with life and with anger. I screamed as Mom pulled me towards her, trying to look away. With her free hand she grabbed my face and forced me to look at her.

"You said this was my fault." said Mom with undisguised rage. Seemingly without her muscles, her jaw was moving up and down in time with her words. Her eyebrows arched downwards, her forehead creased with anger.

"Please Mom!" I sobbed, trying to struggle away. I felt a hot feeling between my legs and I knew I'd wet myself. "You're hurting me. I'm sorry!"

"Sorry?" Mom repeated, raising her voice. "Sorry?! I took care of you for seventeen years. I married someone I hated, someone I knew wasn't good for me, because I couldn't hold down a job and because no one else would have me! I pleaded, I begged, I did things I promised to never do, all so you could have a roof over your head. And what do you do? You look down on me and call me weak!"

"I don't think that." I said. "I swear I don't!"

"Liar!" Mom shouted, her teeth coming dangerously close to my face. "You always thought you were better than me. You never once considered that I put up with Chuck for your sake! Did you ever think that I hadn't thought about leaving him? That I was giving myself up to him so I could provide for you! I gave you everything! Even if death, I'm trying to help you! I let you eat my face off and turn me into a freak like you!"

"NO!" I screamed, freeing my wrist and face from her and curling up in a ball, as far away from her as I could. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."

"You know what baby?" said Mom. "I'm hungry too. So how about I eat that smart little face off and we call it even? You're already covered in me, so it'll just be taking back what's mine!"

"Stop it!" I screamed, closing my eyes and bracing myself for the feel of her teeth. When nothing happened, I opened my eyes again. The coffin was dark again, but I could hear the dispatcher talking to me. Apparently the 911 call from before was still going on I couldn't understand a word she was saying though, like my mind couldn't process what was happening to me.

Slowly I reached over to Mom's body and felt it. My fingers brushed her jaw and her head lolled away from me, as dead as before. Quickly I pulled back my hand, my heart beating against my ribcage. So what had happened before...did I imagine that? Or had Mom just told me her true feelings after having bottled them up after all these years?

Suddenly I felt overcome by a wave of emotions, rage, grief, and fear. I started crying again, banging on the lid and sides of the coffin with my feet, clawing through the lid with my fingernails. "Let me out!" I shouted. "Let me out! Let me out!" After a while I stopped screaming and let my arms and legs rest, feeling utterly exhausted. I had to get out of the coffin. I could feel it strangling me, working its way into my head and clawing at what was left at my sanity. But how could I get out? I'd already tried to claw my way out of the coffin and had only ended up mangling my fingers, which ached dully as they bled. Plus there was six feet of dirt keeping the lid bolted down, and that was if Chuck hadn't put a lock on the lid.

"I wish I was dead too." I said, looking over where I knew Mom to be. When she didn't answer me, I felt strangely disappointed. "I wish I was dead like you. That way I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be a zombie trapped in a coffin."

"Maybe you are dead." said Mom, and I felt relieved to hear her speak. "Maybe this is actually Hell, and you're being eternally punished."

My eyes grew wide at her suggestion. "I hadn't thought of that." I said. "What did we do to deserve it though?"

"I didn't do anything." Mom replied. "I sacrificed myself for you and went to Heaven. You, on the other hand, got a big head and thought you could live your life better than I ever could, and now you're being punished for your pride by being put in a place where a big head is no use."

For a moment, I didn't know how to reply. Then I said, "That makes sense."

Suddenly there was a crunching sound. I looked around me as the coffin trembled. "Mom?" I said, feeling something like panic clawing up inside me. "What was that?"

"More punishment," was the simple reply.

Before I could ask what she meant, there was another loud crunch, and the coffin began to shrink around me, growing smaller and smaller. My eyes darted in every direction, trying to find a way out, a place that wasn't shrinking, anything to help me. My heart beating faster and faster, I put my feet and hands against the coffin lid and pushed.

"That won't do any good, sweetie." said Mom. Just as she said, the coffin continued to shrink despite my efforts. As the lid came closer and closer to my face, panic overtook my mind and I screamed.

"Good luck in this place." said Mom, her voice sounding far away. I looked in her direction and could see her clearly. Even though the coffin was shrinking, Mom was getting farther and farther away from, waving at me with one hand while the other propped up her mangled head. "I have a feeling you'll need all the luck you can get."

"Mom, don't leave me!" I cried, the lid pressed to my face, the coffin's side pushing into my arm and shoulder. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to treat you badly! I didn't mean to eat you! All I ever wanted was for you to live the life you deserved!" My head was pushed down against the floor as I was forced to bend my knees and bring them up to my chest. Soon I would break into pieces, I could feel my bones straining in the increasingly tiny space. What would happen to me if I broke? Would I still be undead and aware as a squished-up mass of blood and meat and bones?

I heard cracking noises and was sure they were coming from my body. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever came next.

The pressure ceased, startling me. Opening my eyes, I looked around and the coffin had returned to its original proportions. Even weirder, I could see light in the coffin. Light! How was that possible? From above me I heard voices shouting.

"I think we hit something!" said one.

"I heard screaming! Get a medical team over here!" said another.

There was the sound of shovels picking up and throwing back dirt coming from above. I watched, wondering if this was a trick of my mind, another torment from Hell, or something I dared not hope for. One of the men outside of the coffin asked if anyone was inside. I was too afraid of what might happen if I answered. Something metallic snapped and clattered on top of the lid, and then the coffin lid swung open. Standing on the coffin edges, two men in police uniforms looked inside. One of them gazed in and a look came over his face like he was about to throw up. The other stared at me and Mom for about ten seconds before tentatively taking my hand. Tentatively I took it. Somehow the physical feeling of that hand reassured me.

The officer who had helped me out asked me my name. I just looked at him in a daze, unable to believe this wasn't a trick. I was out of the coffin! I was out of the coffin—!

But Mom wasn't. I looked back at her, her mangled body, the body I had destroyed, the body I had eaten because I was hungry. Again I felt tears well up in my eyes and I thought my legs would give out from under me. The officers rushed to help me, easing me out of the pit and into the arms of waiting EMTs, who laid me on top of a waiting gurney. As they started examining me, I heard one of them wonder aloud how I was still alive, while another mentioned that my leaving my phone on during the 911 call had led them straight to me. I tuned them out, and turned my head to the side, towards my house—and saw Chuck being arrested by two detectives while he yelled he'd done nothing wrong.

At once a deep rage ignited in me, and I sat up and tumbled off the gurney. "Mom." I said, staggering towards Chuck. The EMTs tried to pull me back onto the gurney, but I just shrugged them off, intent on reaching Chuck, who had seen me and was staring at me with a look of incredulity. "I'm sorry Mom." I said, walking faster. "I'm sorry." And I was sorry. At this point it didn't matter if what happened in the coffin was a hallucination or real. What Mom had told me had all been true: I hadn't been there for her, I'd judged her and I'd never realized how much she'd sacrificed for me.

Well, I was going to make up for that now. She'd suffered for my sake, so I would return the favor. "This is for you, Mom." I said aloud as I reached Chuck. Before he could say a word, before any of the police officers around me could stop me, I grabbed Chuck by the shoulders and dug into his neck with my teeth.

The two detectives pulled me away from Chuck, but by that time it was too late, there was a gushing fountain of blood coming out of his neck. I chewed on what little flesh I'd managed to tear away before swallowing, thinking that it was the best thing Chuck had ever given me. Didn't taste too bad either.

As the EMTs rushed around Chuck, I looked at one of the detectives and asked, "Where's Misty?"

"Er..." said the detective, not sure how to respond. Finally he cleared his throat and said, "The little girl's upstairs in her room. Social Services are coming to get her."

"Call them off." I said. "I'm her sister. I'm taking care of her. But first I need a shower." I freed myself from the detectives and walked into the house, heading towards the stairs. Yes, I'd take care of Misty. I'd take my mother's place and raise her as she should be. This would be my atonement for all that I'd done, and I would make it the purpose of why I'd become a zombie.

Let anyone try and stop me.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Rami's writing. Such as...

Snake

by Rami Ungar

**How far will you go for love and revenge?** When a young man's girlfriend is kidnapped by the powerful Camerlengo Family, he becomes the Snake, a serial killer who takes his methods from the worst of the Russian mafia. Tracking down members of the Camerlengo Family one by one for clues, the Snake will go to any lengths to see the love of his life again...even if it means becoming a worse monster than any of the monsters he is hunting.

*****

**Rami Ungar is a student at Ohio State** University who is studying History and English. For Rami, scaring people and writing are two of his greatest talents, so merging them is like a marriage of two great loves. His influences include Stephen King, Anne Rice, and James Patterson. When not writing, Rami enjoys reading, watching TV, and sneaking up on people when they least expect it.

In addition to blogging and writing and publishing horror fiction, Rami is also a writer and administrator for the blog Self-Published Authors Helping Other Authors and works at Ohio State University's Student Financial Aid office. His bucket list includes getting a bed made from a coffin, a hearse converted into his personal Scare-mobile, and running down the street in an actual Dalek suit yelling "Exterminate! Exterminate!"

But before he can get to any of that, he has to do his homework.

Links:

Blog: <https://ramiungarthewriter.wordpress.com/>

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/RamiUngarWriter>

Twitter: <https://twitter.com/ramiungarwriter>

Self-Published Authors Helping Other Authors: <http://selfpubauthors.com/>

Wattpad: <http://www.wattpad.com/user/RamiUngar>

#  Verchiel

By Joleene Naylor

"Open your eyes."

The words were a command, and he obeyed. The room was blurry and he blinked to bring it into focus. Dark shadows were held back by the light of a single candle. The furniture was sparse; a bed, a table, a chipped wash basin. He knew their names, but not where they'd come from. There was no familiarity in the scarred wooden walls or floor. Or in the woman kneeling next to him.

She mopped at her mouth and came away with blood. He followed the long drips down her chin to see crimson splattered on her ample cleavage. Black hair was pulled back and cocoa colored skin shimmered in the candlelight. Her dark eyes held expectation; expecting him to know her. Expecting him to understand. Expecting him to speak. He thought he could handle the last one at least.

"Good evening."

She laughed, long and loud, her full scarlet lips open and her white teeth flashing. Something seemed out of place about the fangs. He ran his tongue over his own teeth to find the same thing. Perhaps they weren't unusual after all.

Her laughter faded, but the hilarity lingered in her eyes. "That's all you have to say?"

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked around the room for inspiration. A window hung open, letting in night time air. A tattered traveling bag lay on the floor, stuffed nearly to capacity. A pair of worn boots were discarded near the door. A leather bound book lay on the table. He felt no connection to these objects and found no clue to explain what he was doing there or who she was.

Or who he was.

"I must admit that I am at a temporary loss for conversation. If you would give me a direction, I would be happy to accommodate you."

"I imagine you would." She broke off and her amusement died. Her eyes narrowed; scrutinizing. "You're not jesting."

"Should I be?" He sat up and rubbed his head. Was he the kind of man who jested? He looked at her serious expression and decided that he'd liked the laughter better. She was somehow beautiful when she smiled, but when she frowned...yes, perhaps he was the kind of man to jest. "I could try to come up with something to amuse you if-"

She caught his chin and pressed her face close to his. He sank into the depths of her dark eyes, like drowning in molasses. Sweet and thick, it pulled him down and he inhaled, expecting some spicy aroma. The connection ended and he dropped back into the room.

She released him and pulled to her feet. He watched in fascination as she marched circles over the creaky floor, mumbling unfamiliar words. Her long skirt swished with her movements. Left. Right. Left. Right. Swish. Swish-

She stopped abruptly and stared at him. Her prying gaze made him uncomfortable and he looked down to see his pale naked chest flecked and smeared with blood. Instinct screamed about an injury, but a quick examination found none. Was it her blood? The same blood that was drying on her chin and breasts?

"Are you hurt?"

"Of course not. Why would you-" she broke off as comprehension dawned across her features. "No." Her voice turned to a purr, "No, sweetling, of course not. The blood is yours. Don't you remember?" He stared blankly and she laughed, like tinkling bells. "No, you don't. You don't remember anything."

"It appears not." He looked around the room again, but it was as foreign as the last time. "Who are you?"

She turned away and walked circles again, muttering to herself. He concentrated on her soft speech to find that the words were a mixture of languages; someone who knew too many and mixed them up in unguarded moments. "Jorick...Master...alone...why not?...Why shouldn't I?...deserve...yes."

A decision apparently made, she snapped around and faced him. Her dark eyes ran over his sprawled body and a lusty smile played across her lips. "I am Kateesha. But you can call me Master."

"Master?" He used the bed to pull himself to his feet, as if he could better challenge her claim at his full height. His legs seemed steady enough, and he stepped in front of her, to study her as she'd studied him. Her long dress brushed the floor, the skirt stretched across well rounded hips. The bodice was tight, so that her full breasts seemed to spill out the top in a mound of cleavage. He had a sudden desire to touch her, taste her, trace her with his fingertips. If she wanted to be his master then who was he to argue?

He stepped closer; close enough to kiss, and whispered, "Master it is. But who am I?"

She traced his collar bone with a long nailed finger. "My slave. My sweet pale angel. My..." her eyes strayed to the table and the leather bound volume. "My Verchiel." She stepped back, arms open, and stopped next to the bed. "Come, sweetling. The change is complete. Come dance with me and then you shall feed as you have never fed before."

He wasn't sure of much, but he was positive that he wasn't the kind of man to say no to such an offer.

***

She clothed him in a clean shirt and he helped her with her corset. When they were dressed she led him out of the room and down a hall to the quiet town outside. Dirt streets wove between silent buildings. The inn they'd exited was brick, while the other structures were wood. He could see the town spreading into the distance, and the further it reached the worse it got, until the buildings were barely more than shacks.

That was where they went; past the shacks, until the town fell away to open fields and starlight. A single structure sat alone. The open door splashed feeble light on the dirt path before it, as if trying to push back the darkness and everything that lived in it.

"You're hungry," she whispered.

He absently rubbed the spot where she'd bitten him in the course of their lovemaking. He could still taste her blood on his tongue, spicy and hot, but she was right. It wasn't enough. He wanted more. Needed more.

"Then come, my pale angel. Come and feed." She drifted towards the building, like a dark wraith whose feet didn't seem to touch the earth. He shook off his admiration and hurried after her. He didn't understand the game yet, but she had promised to explain if he only tried to play.

The building was a single room. Rough benches were arranged in rows, facing a table at the far end. A candle sat in the center and splashed flickering golden light. Above it on the wall hung a wooden cross, and in front of it knelt a graying man. There was a word to describe the scene, but it disappeared as the scent assailed Verchiel's nostrils. Thick. Hot. Warm. The smell of food. Of warmth. Of life.

He was so hungry.

The world blinked out and then back in when Kateesha pulled him away. Her voice was soft and amused. "He's empty, angel. He has no more to give."

Verchiel looked down to see himself covered in blood. Crimson blossoms stained his shirt, and when he wiped his face he came away with scarlet. He looked from himself to the man he crouched over; the priest whose throat was torn out and already clotting. Blood soaked into the man's graying hair and his glassy eyes stared at the rough wooden cross, praying for a salvation that would never come.

Verchiel stepped away from the body and wiped his hands on his shirt, but it did little good. There was blood everywhere. Blood on his trousers. Blood on his coat. Blood on his shoes. As he stepped backwards he left ruby footprints on the bare wooden floor. So much blood, and the sight only made him hungry.

"You've had enough for the moment. One should never gorge." Her sparkling eyes belied her words, as if she was speaking against a favorite sport. "We should return to the inn before anyone sees you."

***

She poured water into the basin and ordered him to wash. He splashed his face and checked in the cracked mirror. The smeary reflection looked back with violet eyes and hair the color of crimson. The same color as the priest's blood. The man had been a priest, a holy man. Someone who was good. Sacred. Verchiel knew that – or thought he did, though he wasn't sure how. Was he the kind of man who would kill a priest, or was he the kind to venerate them? Perhaps he'd been one of them himself. If only he could remember.

"You don't need to. You have been reborn."

He looked up from the basin and met her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You were once mortal like the priest. Human." She stopped next to the basin and lifted his hands from the red tinted water. "But no longer. We have been washed in blood, kissed by the darkness, blessed with the curse. Mortality no longer holds meaning for us. Time is irrelevant. The cold claws of age will never touch us, never take us to the grave... so long as we feed." She dropped his hand with a splash. "Humans, mortals, they are nothing. They are born, they grow old, they die. Their life is a flash, a moment, a single breath, while we go on. Better. Stronger. More beautiful. Do you understand? We are apart from such creatures. Above them. They are our cattle."

"Do you mean that we rule them?"

"My father did once. Now there are...laws." Her nose wrinkled. "The old ones sit on thrones in the Holy Roman Empire and lay down edicts that give themselves power and subjugate us to their whims. But do not worry, my pale angel. The day will come when the old ones will lay dead and we will rule the mortals. My father has promised."

Verchiel dried off and dropped onto the bed. "Where is your father?"

Her lip curled. "I know not. I left him and my...brother with the Ottoman's, and may they rot!"

He drew back from her sudden anger and she took a deep breath, as though to calm herself. "Never mind. The sun will rise soon. We must be somewhere safe before its light touches the land. Come."

He cast a regretful look at the bed, but followed her to the hall and down to a crude wine cellar. She settled him between the casks and curled up against him, her head on his chest. With a soft sound that made him think of a cat, she stroked his chest and closed her eyes. She was soon asleep, perfectly still in his arms like a lifeless doll. He brushed a stray hair back from her face and pressed his memory. He recalled waking in the room, Kateesha's laughter, the walk to the church. But there was nothing before except a vague impression of pain. Darkness and light warring and then pain and then... and then Kateesha.

If only he could remember.

***

Verchiel woke to blue tinted darkness. Like the night before, Kateesha hovered over him, but this time there was no blood, only her smile. "Good morning."

He returned the greeting then stood and stretched. He ran through his memories, and found only the previous night. The space before it was blank, as if he'd simply dropped into being, fully grown and immortal.

"And what if you did?" Kateesha asked. "Is it not better to start fresh than to wear the past like a weighted mantle?"

"Is that what you do?"

She averted her eyes and motioned him up the stairs and to their room. With a teasing smile she stripped off his clothes, then pushed him down to the bed. He reached for her but she stepped back.

"Tut, tut. I didn't say you could touch yet, sweetling. Be a good boy and stay here and I will bring you a treat."

She disappeared through the door and he wondered where she'd gone and when she'd be back. _"I'll bring you a treat"_ was very vague. Was he the kind of man to take such things, or was he the kind who took charge?

He lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling, but it offered no answers. From Kateesha's attitude with him it was obvious they were lovers, but were they more? Husband and wife, perhaps? It didn't feel right, but then what was a feeling? How could he tell which ones were right and which ones were wrong?

It was a maddening circle and he closed his eyes and tried to dismiss it.

The door opened and Kateesha reappeared. She lit a candle and then beckoned towards the door. Verchiel started to sit up, when a girl walked in. Her almond eyes stared shyly at the floor and her long black hair fell around her shoulders to hide her face. He reached for the blanket to cover himself, but Kateesha shook her head and winked.

"Come, child," she purred and motioned the girl towards the bed. She obeyed with hesitant steps, and came to a stop next to it, her eyes downcast. Kateesha lifted the girl's chin and forced her to look at him. Her cheeks flushed and she shied away quickly and murmured something in a foreign language.

Verchiel looked uncertainly from the girl to Kateesha and tried to figure out what she expected him to do. He could smell her mortal blood and his stomach rumbled. But if Kateesha had merely planned her as a meal, why was he left naked in a bed? Logic told him one thing, and hunger another, until he backed away from the trembling mortal.

Kateesha mock pouted. "Don't you like her?"

"Y-yes, she's-she's fine...In what way do you wish me to like her?"

Kateesha laughed and pushed the girl. With a cry of surprise she sprawled across the bed, one hand on his naked thigh and the other in the middle of his chest. The scent of her was too much and he grabbed her, ready to sink his fangs into her throat, when Kateesha pulled her free.

The girl stumbled backwards and Kateesha snapped something at her that he didn't understand, then moved to the edge of the bed and sat next to him. She leaned close and traced his ear with her tongue. "You are an unwieldy pupil. Did I say you could touch her yet?"

His attention was on the mortal as she disrobed to reveal creamy smooth skin, narrow hips and small breasts. His stomach twisted, but not from lust: from hunger. He started to climb off the bed, when Kateesha slapped him hard enough to knock him back to the pillows.

Hand to his cheek, he turned angry eyes on her. "What was that for?"

"You weren't paying attention!" she snapped. "Apologize."

There was a moment where different personalities warred against each other. Should he slap her back? Should he knock her aside and take the girl? Should he follow her commands? He didn't know who he was, of what he was, or whether he would be the sort to allow her dominance. The smell of the girl's blood was driving him crazy, so he chose the path of least resistance. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry, what?"

He was speechless for a moment, and then guessed what she was after. "I'm sorry, master."

"Very good. Last night I allowed you to take the priest with reckless abandon, but tonight we are playing a game called self-control." She ran a long nailed finger from his thigh to his collar bone. "You are very hungry, aren't you? You need to learn that sometimes you have to wait." She punctuated each word by smacking his hand, then she turned to the girl and motioned her to join them.

The girl obeyed, but there was something wrong with her. Her eyes were vacant and her movements stiff, like a lifeless puppet.

"You noticed." Kateesha smiled. "Yes. I am controlling her. If you are good, I'll teach you to do it one day."

The girl climbed onto the bed and over the length of him, holding herself above him, her face close enough to kiss. He could feel the heat of her legs against his, the warmth that radiated from every inch of her naked body. His heart hammered in his chest and his eyes strayed from her lips to the subtly pulsing vein in her neck. It was only Kateesha's dark gaze that stopped him from tackling the mortal and drinking her dry.

Verchiel barely noticed when his mistress moved back from the bed to peel off her own clothes. Every ounce of concentration was on not attacking the girl. Then, she leaned closer, mouth open, as if to kiss him.

Kateesha's furious shriek was what brought him back. He straddled the mortal in bed, her blood hot in his mouth and running down his chin to stain the bedclothes. The ragged bite above her left breast bled freely and the smell was intoxicating. He moved to drink again, even as Kateesha shouted and hit his naked back and shoulders with her fist.

Before he could sink his teeth into her again, Kateesha ripped the girl from his arms and flung her across the room, leaving a streak of blood on the floor boards. "I told you to wait!"

He wanted to feel sorry, he even tried to feel sorry, but the emotion wasn't there. All he felt was hunger.

He moved towards the girl and Kateesha slapped him hard enough to knock him off the other side of the bed. He sat up, shaking his head, in time to see Kateesha scoop up the girl's body and storm out of the room. He made to follow her, but the lock clicked from the outside before he reached the door.

As his blood lust cooled, he cleaned himself and the room, leaving the pile of soiled linens in a heap at the foot of the bed. With nothing else to do he turned to Kateesha's leather bound book. The pages were thick with brittle edges, and the ink faded. He didn't understand the alphabet, and the fantastic pictures only confused him more. There were images of monsters, half-animal half-human concoctions, and winged people. He'd have called the former angels except they looked wrong; not beautiful but terrifying.

It was late when Kateesha returned, and his stomach rumbled hopefully. He'd hardly had his fill before she'd taken his meal away.

"And being hungry will do you good," Kateesha snapped, her hands on her hips. "Perhaps you'll remember the lesson better. The people of this town are already in a panic after they discovered the priest. I admit, that was my fault. I underestimated his importance; what is one missionary after all? And I should have made you clean up after yourself, but I was caught up in the excitement of my first fledgling."

"Fledgling?"

"It's what you are," she said impatiently. "I made you into this – into an immortal god. But from now on we need to practice the caution my brother so often preaches. If you want to stay here, you must learn self-control, or else the villagers will riot and we will have to either leave or die!"

"You said they are weaker than us."

"Of course they are!" She started to pace, as she had the night before. "Individually they are weaker, or in small bunches, but when they unify – when they band together in an army and come after you with fire and swords, when they tie you to a stake and burn you, or leave you for the sun to destroy. We are stronger than they are, but we are not so strong that we do not burn! My father could lay low this village with a thought, but you and I could not. Not yet. We could kill them all, of course, one by one, but together...together they would overtake us. Do you understand?"

He wanted to. He really wanted to. But, he didn't. They were either weaker, or they weren't. If they could band together and annihilate their superiors, then how superior were they, really?

"Superior enough," Kateesha snapped and then relented. "Fear of them is not the only reason you need restraint. How can one enjoy their meal if they rush through it? Think of the pleasure we could have both derived from that child had you not selfishly taken her?"

He stared blankly and she made an aggravated sound. "Never mind, my innocent angel. Tomorrow I will show you. For now the sun will be upon us soon."

He followed her out of the room and down to the crude wine cellar. Like the night before they settled between the casks and she lay her head on him.

He stared at nothing and asked, "You were gone so long. Where did you go?"

"I had to dispose of her body first, and then I was hungry and lonely."

The suggestion in her tone left him with mental images of her dark body twined around someone else's and a dart of jealousy lanced through him. He drew a tight breath and then forced words out. "Kateesha. What are _we_? What is our connection?"

"Do you need a label so badly? I told you. I am your master and you are my fledgling. There is no such thing as monogamy in this world, sweetling. It is only a pretty lie men press upon women to make sure the child they bear has the blood of their husbands, meanwhile their husbands bed whom they please and call their partners whores."

"That is an unromantic view."

"The world is unromantic. You have forgotten that, perhaps, or perhaps you have been lucky enough not to notice yet. In time you will learn the truth of man's ugliness, an ugliness that follows even into immortality. Now sleep. Tomorrow you will begin to understand."

Despite the order he lay awake, after she had drifted off, and stared at the dirt wall. Her words played through his head and he wondered which it was. Had he never discovered the darkness in the world, or had he simply forgotten it with everything else? Her tone was bitter when she spoke of men – of husbands – and her inclusive words hinted that she found them all to be something domineering and distasteful. Had he been like that? Had he lorded over his wife and done what he pleased behind her back? Was that the kind of man he was?

He didn't know, but he hoped not.

***

It was hunger that woke him the next evening, though he found Kateesha already up and wearing a new dress. She helped him stand with a smile. "Are you ready?"

He nodded and they headed outside into the night. A handful of stars glittered overhead and the familiar buildings sat quiet, their windows glowing with candlelight. It was early evening, and the moon had yet to make an appearance.

A woman walked down the street, her eyes on the ground and a basket clutched in her hands. The wind picked up and Verchiel could smell her scent on the air; smell the blood in her veins. The warmth. The life.

He was so hungry.

He knocked her to the ground before Kateesha could stop him. The woman struggled, but her limbs were frail, and her skin was easy to bite through. Her hot blood gushed into his mouth and he gulped it again and again. Kateesha pulled at him, shook him, shouted, but it was as if she was on the other side of the window glass; ineffectual and unimportant.

She ripped him loose and he fell back on his knees. He wiped the crimson liquid from his mouth and chin. Like last night he was soaked in red, soaked in the dead woman's life. His eyes strayed to her face, frozen in terror, mouth gaping and crooked teeth biting at the air. The pool of blood spreading under her made him his stomach rumble and he licked his fingers.

"What did I tell you?" Kateesha complained as she pulled him to his feet. "Half the townspeople saw that!"

Verchiel looked up and down the quiet streets. "I don't see anyone."

"That's because they're hiding. This is the moment when they're terrified; weak, helpless, too afraid to strike back. If you give them time to recover they start to think, start to bluster, and soon one finds themselves chased by a mob of furious mortals. I thought I had left that world behind!" She broke off suddenly. Her voice dropped, as though she was talking to herself. "But I was alone then. I'm not now. Perhaps it would be different now. Perhaps..." Her eyes flashed and she paced in a circle. "I haven't seen him in action. I don't know what he can do...he is new...weak perhaps...but insatiable. I saw him; saw his blood lust, saw his attack. If that was unleashed, unrestrained, what could he be then? What could _we_ be?"

She spun back, as if suddenly remembering he was there. "We must leave now or else strike while the iron is hot. The choice is yours."

He looked from one building to the next, saw the trembling silhouettes of the villagers, and felt a soft buzzing of fear. Was it theirs, or his own? Until his memories returned, this was the only place he knew – the only buildings and streets he recognized. This was as much home to him as any place could ever be, and the thought of leaving it for something vast and unknown...he wasn't sure what it filled him with. Was he the sort of man who would want to stay and cling to the familiar, or the kind who craved adventure?

"Do you want to stay?" Kateesha stepped close and ran her fingers under his chin. "We can. We just have to kill everyone who saw you." A devilish smile curved across her lips. "Shall we?"

Verchiel hung back uncertainly as she burst through the nearest door. Screams poured into the night and he hurried inside. The household was in disarray; furniture overturned and dishes broken. Kateesha pinned a man to the wall, her hips moving against him as she drank from the bleeding wound on his throat. A woman huddled in the corner, a child in her arms, begging in a language Verchiel didn't understand.

The scent of blood filled his nose and for a moment he was lost to it. The screams of the woman pierced through the blood haze, and he looked down to see the limp child in his arms.

" _She's smaller than you, you must protect her."_

He dropped the body and moved back with enough force to knock over a stack of pots. For a moment a memory had been there; something before Kateesha and the blood, but it was gone, replaced by the sobbing shrieks of agony as the woman hugged her dead child to her.

Kateesha was suddenly at his side, her dress front soaked in crimson. With a snarl she grabbed the mortal woman and snapped her neck. She tossed the body to the floor and turned to him with a grisly fanged smile. "Do you want more?" She frowned suddenly. "It was a shadow of a memory, of a life before, nothing more. You are above that now; above the mortals' rules and morality. Did not her blood taste the same as the woman on the street? The same as the priest or the girl you took last night? They are all the same now, no difference between man, woman, or child, between king and peasant. Death and blood are the great equalizers. Come, we must strike while fear lives in their hearts."

He followed her from building to building, leaving a trail of death. Though the first three households fell without a struggle, by the time they made it to the inn the owner had gathered both his courage and a length of wood. He caught Verchiel off guard and knocked him off his feet. With his second swing he aimed for Kateesha, but the vampiress was more prepared and in a single motion she ripped the make-shift club from his hands and flung him across the room.

"You want to play?" she asked and laughed. She tossed the wood from hand to hand as she advanced on him.

The man stood slowly, wiping blood from his face with an angry fist. He shouted foreign words at her; the same language the mother had used. Verchiel pulled himself up, muscles tense, ready to defend Kateesha if he needed to. Before he could reach her, the man's brains were splattered on the wall.

She tasted a finger full of the gore and then tossed the club aside. "Didn't he have a wife?"

"I don't know."

"Of course not. You don't remember getting the room. It's no matter, we'll sniff her out."

Kateesha moved to the small corridor and inhaled deeply. Verchiel watched as her breasts rose and fell with each long breath. Her eyes lit with success. She motioned him to silence and crept to the wine cellar they'd sheltered in. The woman crouched between the casks, where they had hidden from the sun. Tears slipped from her almond eyes, and she rattled off pleas that sounded like nonsense.

Kateesha grabbed her by her slender throat and hoisted her up into the air. The woman choked and pried at the hand that held her, legs kicking. Kateesha rattled something back to her in her own language and then tossed her towards Verchiel. "This one is yours, sweetling."

The woman landed at his feet, her hands at her throat as she choked on spit and terror. He stood motionless as she caught her breath and raised herself up on one arm. She rattled off strange words, and though he didn't understand them he somehow knew their meaning. She begged for her life, for the life of her unborn child, for her husband upstairs. It was too late for him but-

Kateesha took a step towards him. "Go on. Take her. She's yours."

He crouched next to the mortal woman and held her eyes. He could feel the terror that coursed through her; taste it as though it was his own. Since he'd woken to see Kateesha's bloody face over him, he'd tried to determine what kind of man he'd been before. Had he been the kind who would do something like this?

Kateesha's words finally made sense. It didn't matter what kind of man he had been. What mattered was what he was now, and the man he was now had no interest in murdering a woman and her child – even if she was lesser than he was- just to guarantee he could remain in a village that wasn't even his home.

He stood and wiped his messy hands on his shirt. "You asked if I wanted to stay here or go somewhere else, and I've decided. There's nothing here. Let's see the world."

Kateesha cocked an incredulous eyebrow. "Just like that you've changed your mind?"

"Of course." He grinned and held out his hand to her. "What do you say? Shall we leave this village and find somewhere new and exciting?"

She studied him and then shrugged. "As you wish, my pale angel. Come, let us see the world. I'm interested to see just what you will become." She walked up the stairs, leaving a trail of silvery laughter behind her.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Joleene's writing. Such as...

Shades of Gray

by Joleene Naylor

**When Patrick is found dead in his apartment,** Katelina is left in a vacuum of uncertainty with no leads. Then the enigmatic Jorick appears. In a single sweep he turns over the rocks of reality to reveal what hides underneath in the shadows; monsters that she thought only existed in horror movies.

Trapped in a nightmare, Katelina is forced to accept the truth of vampires; vampires who want her dead for her association with Patrick. Jorick saves the day, but what should she do when her hero turns out to be one of the monsters? Can she really trust – and even love – someone who isn't human?

Caught between light and dark, Katelina and Jorick must travel down a path of mystery and terror as their pasts are slowly revealed and their passions ignite, in a world that smells like blood and tastes like fear.

**Look for the action-packed sequel,** _Legacy of Ghosts!_

*****

**Joleene Naylor is the author** of the glitter-less Amaranthine series, a world where vampires aren't for children. As a compliment to the novel series, she has also written several short stories, including the Vampire Morsels collection, and has plans for an Amaranthine Encyclopedia. In her spare time, Joleene is a freelance book cover designer and for-fun photographer. She maintains several blogs full of odd ramblings, and occasionally updates her website at JoleeneNaylor.com. She and her husband live in Villisca, Iowa near the famous – and reportedly haunted - "axe murder" house. Though she enjoys the paranormal, she refuses to invite the ghosts for a visit. Between the cats, dogs, and turtles, her house is full enough.

Links:

website- http://JoleeneNaylor.com

author blog: <http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/>

FB author page: <https://www.facebook.com/joleenenaylorbooks>

twitter <http://twitter.com/joleene_naylor>

good reads: <http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3165393.Joleene_Naylor>

#  Samantha's Day

by Barbara G. Tarn

"Why are you so obsessed with that boring Earth?" Sonia protested, her hands unstoppable in underlining her words. "Why don't you come with me for a change? Those Sire are such hunks! And they can't believe we're more powerful than them, so they're easy prey..."

Samantha snorted, bored.

"Since when are you looking for Prince Charming?" she replied. "Are you becoming the Princess on the Pea?"

"Huh?"

"Just some Earthling mentioning that in Italian 'pea' is another word for 'dick'..."

"Well, what's wrong with that? You think you're Sleeping Beauty?"

"No, I'm just not looking for any kind of males, especially not alien Humanoid males."

"Technically we're also aliens. We don't live on Earth, but on Silvery Earth," Sonia retorted, glaring at her identical twin sister. "We're witches for our beloveds! At least for the Sire we're just another race of Humanoids they never heard of, from a planet they have no idea where it is!"

"I don't love anyone," Samantha snapped. "I told you, I'm not interested. A couple of Earthlings are cute, but this doesn't mean I'd spent time with them. They'd quickly grow old, much like your precious Sire."

Sonia sighed and looked away, frowning. "Why are we the only immortals in the multiverses?" she complained. "There aren't that many men on Silvery Earth!"

"Why can't we convince any mortal to follow us here?" Samantha replied. "The youngsters have brought four teens from Earth, but we never managed to convince anyone!"

"At least you don't have the monster addiction," Sonia said with a sigh. "Jessica's favorite fable is still Beauty and the Beast. Have you seen her latest conquest? Somewhere between a yeti and a Sasquatch? Yikes. Dunno how she stands all that hair."

"...said the gal who once had a crush on a werewolf," Samantha commented with a smirk.

Sonia rolled her eyes. "You're impossible," she spat with a final glare, jumping to her feet.

Samantha scoffed as Sonia stormed out of the room. Good thing they stopped sharing long ago in spite of being twins. But when they'd reached the age of attraction to boys, they'd split, so they could date who they wanted. Their older sisters Veruska and Vanessa had done the same.

They'd reached immortality so long ago, they didn't remember what it meant to grow up. Frozen at twenty-three, Sonia, Samantha and Jessica spent their time visiting other worlds, observing or playing tricks like faeries or young witches.

Samantha didn't know why she liked Earth. It was changing so fast, it made it tricky to follow the evolution of its inhabitants. Although she could travel both in space and time, so if she wasn't happy with the 21st century, she just went back to some funnier era. She'd been considered a witch or a goddess, depending on when she showed up with her immortal face and body, and what she did to get noticed.

Once again she turned to Earth's present and noticed it was almost Christmas. The planet was so globalized, that everybody seemed to be prepping for the Holidays, no matter the official religion. Samantha thought it was funny that the world had become so small thanks to technology.

She fondly remembered the body switches and decided to check on her victims. First she observed Valery, now in Johnny's body, cuddling in Sebastian's arms. Then Marian and Chris doting on their baby. And then Johnny, in Valery's body, climbing the stairs of his new career – more and more like career woman Pat.

Samantha sighed. At least her first body switch had had a permanent change, although not what she'd originally done. She transferred herself in the fortune teller's room on Earth and sent Valery the impulse of going back to the place that had changed her life.

"Hello, Johnny," Samantha greeted, noticing how the young man seemed more mature now. "Or should I say Valery?"

Valery-Johnny grinned. "It's good to see you, Samantha. Where have you been?"

"Here and there." She shrugged, shuffling her tarot deck.

"Switching bodies?"

"Nothing permanent – like yours. Want me to read your future?"

"Ah, no, thanks. I'm doing just fine. Who knew I needed a sex change to be happy?"

"So, is Sebastian treating you well?"

"He's awesome. Thank you for giving me this male body."

Samantha chuckled. "So you don't mind the ass thing?"

Valery-Johnny blushed but smiled. "I'm getting used to everything and I'm finding it quite pleasurable."

"Good, good. Live long and happy, then."

"Thank you. Will I see you again?"

"I doubt it." Samantha winked. "Adieu."

And she vanished to go back to her room with a satisfied sigh. She stared at the unicorn cards on her table, then willed a screen to switch on. Keith and Harith had come back from their Diwali in India, and seemed blissfully happy and oblivious of the week-long body switch that had thrown Harith into Ciaran's body. Ciaran himself was in Ireland with Charlene, Colin and Hugh. Christmas with his mother, like he'd promised his American wife and two kids.

Samantha remembered the conversation with Sonia and wondered if Ciaran regretted refusing her invitation to come to Silvery Earth. She had to wait until he was alone in the bathroom before startling him with her sudden appearance.

"Hello, Ciaran!" she greeted, waving.

He'd been washing his teeth and almost choked at the sight of her reflection in the mirror. He spat out the toothpaste and swirled around with eyes wide in shock.

"You're not going to switch me again with Harith, will you?"

"No, no, don't worry." She smiled, raising her hands with her most innocent expression.

He exhaled, finished brushing his teeth, then turned back to her.

"So, what do I owe the visit to?"

"Just wondering how you're doing."

"We went hunting for faeries yesterday. Ireland is the land of the little people after all."

"Cool! And did you see any?"

"The children did. I guess I'm too old..."

"...to believe. Yes, we got that part." She chuckled.

"Samantha," he chided. "I know you're real, and I can see you, but you're not a fairy, are you?"

"Not really. Although Silvery Earth might look like fairyland to you."

Ciaran smiled. "Maybe, but I'd rather be here and now. I'm glad I refused your tempting offer of immortality."

Samantha rolled her eyes, a little disappointed. "Good for you. Give a kiss to Colin and Hugh for me."

"Won't you do it? It's almost Christmas, they'd love it. And even if it's a very white Christmas, you're not really going to be snowed in if you stay a little longer, are you?"

"No, but I've got things to do," she replied. "Busy busy. So stay well and be happy."

Again she vanished in a flash as Charlene's voice called, "Ciaran, who are you talking to?" Samantha shook her head. She wasn't interested in the reply. Ciaran had declined to follow her – again. What a pity.

Time to check on the last people she'd switched – Pat and Babs. Manhattan looked great at Christimas time, but Pat's high society lifestyle was totally boring for Samantha. She turned to Portland and found out that Babs had gone back to Italy for Christmas, leaving her flatmates some privacy.

"Christmas with family, Easter with who you want" actually rhymed in Italian, but Babs wasn't too happy with the saying anyway. She'd gone back only because her aging parents had begged her, but Samantha easily found her alone in the bedroom at her mother's.

"How's life treating you?" Samantha asked, glancing at the Kindle Keyboard that Babs put down when she appeared.

"I'm fine. I've translated some Silvery Earth stories and the Italian version is selling more than the English one. If only I had known..."

"You enjoy writing in English."

"Exactly. Besides, those male-male love stories cater to a very specific niche audience."

"Women who like imagining two men together." Samantha grinned.

"Well, I don't really write yaoi, and I sure hope some gay men are appreciating my efforts as well..."

"Except for the scarcity of happy endings in romance stories of any kind... which is totally my kind of story too, but romance readers will hate you."

"I overdosed on romance books in my teens and I am the most unromantic woman in the world. And since I can't second-guess the market, I just write what I want to read."

"And you're damn prolific, I saw that. Any other universe I could explore? I've talked with your Brenda de Zorig..."

"You did? Oh, well... would you like to meet some vampires? There's this series, Amaranthine..."

Samantha was intrigued enough to decide to have a look. She knew Babs wasn't a fan of vampire stories, so if she had found a series she liked – with the right amount of sex and gore – it must have some merit.

Thus Samantha dived into Amaranthine – which was set on Earth, but with vampires.

She easily found Katelina and Jorick in a house on the beach. Katelina was human, Jorick was her vampire lover. Other vampires surrounded them, but Samantha was particularly interested in a redhead with almond eyes and an angelic name – Verchiel – who seemed to be there only to drive Jorick and Katelina crazy.

"What are you doing here in this house in the middle of nowhere?" Samantha inquired.

"Preparing for a guild's war, what else?" Verchiel answered pleasantly. "I'm taking care of Kately while Jorick is busy trying to keep his fledgling out of trouble."

He winked at Katelina who glared at him, while Jorick growled, showing his fangs.

Samantha thought they made an interesting triangle.

"It's not a triangle!" Jorick snapped. "Leave us alone, unless you want us to feed on you."

"Do not threaten me," she replied. "I'm immortal and I don't need to drink blood. You can drink your fill out of me and die of indigestion – and still wouldn't make a dent in my lifeline."

Katelina stared at Samantha with wide eyes, clearly wondering where she came from.

"Most Earthlings call me a witch," she told the poor blonde who looked even more shocked. "I only possess some magic. And I'm probably older than Jorick, here, or even Malick... I don't have much sense of time..."

"So you could, like, go back to the night Jorick became a vampire?" Katelina asked with a trembling voice.

"I could, but I won't," Samantha answered with a shrug. "Your author would be mad at me for providing spoilers to her readers... Not that she can do anything to stop me, but I'm feeling generous. After all, it's Christmas in her world. So that's my Christmas gift – I won't go in the past to check how your boyfriend became what he is today. Or you might not meet him today, since I might snatch him there and then."

She grinned at the couple. Katelina looked both disappointed and angry, Jorick glared at her.

"You're even more irritating than Verchiel," he muttered, averting his eyes.

"What? What did I do this time?" Verchiel protested.

Samantha chuckled. "Don't worry, it's me. I win the contest of most irritating character! Have fun!"

And she went back home in a flash, feeling elated. She had felt the danger with all those vampires around her, and wondered how Katelina could take it, since she was a mere mortal. They weren't really a threat for Samantha, but Katelina...

Ah, well, maybe she could go looking for her own, private vampire... Exploring books first, and then who knew. Maybe she'd find that Desi vampire!

***

"Why would you want a pet vampire?" Sonia asked, nonplussed.

"Why not?" Samantha replied with a shrug.

Even Jessica didn't look convinced. She had given up her monstrous lover – a being somewhere between a yeti and a Sasquatch – but obviously didn't think a vampire would make a good companion.

They'd reached immortality so long ago, they didn't remember what it meant to grow up. Frozen at twenty-three, Sonia, Samantha and Jessica spent their time visiting other worlds, observing or playing tricks like faeries or young witches.

All three sat in Samantha's living room, very similar to Sonia's and Jessica's. Visiting each other after some adventure to relate it was customary. Sonia had gone exploring a futuristic universe with gorgeous telepaths. Jessica had been to a monster fest, and Samantha had just come back from her visits to her body-switch victims and a bunch of interesting vampires.

"I don't think they make for good lovers," Jessica said. "I hear they're impotent."

"Modern vampires, maybe. But folklore vampires were extremely interested in sex and ate anything they could get."

"Oh, so they don't just drink blood – which is disgusting, by the way?" Sonia asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Obviously not. And they don't sparkle. And they're not all heinous. And... well, I could probably point you to dozens of literary vampires, but since you're not interested, why bother?"

She glanced both at her twin and at her friend. Sonia snorted, Jessica sighed.

"There's no stopping you anyway," Jessica said.

"And let's not forget that my dear twin who sounds so disgusted by vampires eating habits was once in love with a werewolf," Samantha teased.

"Samy, you're impossible!" Sonia stormed out of the house, making her twin chuckle.

"You're mean." Jessica glared at her.

"Do I tell you anything about your choices? No. So why do you always comment on mine? I said I want a vampire pet, not a vampire lover."

"I don't think it's a good idea to bring a vampire on Silvery Earth, but then..." Jessica shrugged. "At least try to find a nice one."

"Lately I've been obsessed with the idea of finding a Desi vampire," Samantha confided.

"A what?"

"Desi. Indian from India. 'Indian' has so many meanings by now, I'd rather be more specific!"

"Well, say Indian from India! We've been to those Salgari book settings – and the Malaysian books that spawned a TV series."

"Mmm, yes, well, it's been some time since Kabir Bedi played Sandokan."

"He'll always be Sandokan to me!" Jessica sounded ecstatic, but Samantha rolled her eyes. She didn't share her friend's passion for bearded or hairy men.

"I like the characters, not the actors, though," Jessica continued. "I mean, if there's a movie or TV series, I'll probably see the characters looking like the actors playing them, but... Hey, remember that old TV series titled Maya but also known in Italy as The Long Journey of Terry, Raji and an Indian Elephant?"

"I so liked Raji!" Samantha sighed. "I really should go back to India!"

"That was 1960s India. Salgari's was 19th century India."

"So? There's something great in new millennium India – Bollywood movies. You should meet former Bollywood star Rohit to see what I mean."

Now Jessica looked interested. Samantha told her about Pat and Babs – and Babs's flatmates, Kyle and Rohit.

"Interesting!" Jessica admitted. "Maybe I should come with you!"

"If I find an entire coven of Desi vampires, I'll call you," Samantha promised with a wink.

***

Author's note

The Sire belong to the Star Minds universe, a science fantasy saga by Barbara G.Tarn.

_Body Switches_ by Barbara G.Tarn is available both a collection and as single novellas: _Johnny &Marian_, _Ciaran &Harith_, _Pat &Babs_.

 Brenda de Zorig interviews Samantha the witch.

Amaranthine is a series by Joleene Naylor.

 Brenda de Zorig interviews Malick and Katelina.

The new Silvery Earth is an adult unconventional fantasy world created by Barbara G.Tarn. The old Silvery Earth, where Samantha lives (when she's not wandering into other universes – books, movies, or alien planets), is whatever I came up with when I was about 10. With some later variations (such as Samantha)

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Barbara G. Tarn's writing. Such as...

Body Switches

by Barbara G. Tarn

There's a witch on the loose and she can turn our lives upside down. Samantha enjoys toying with us and she switches bodies at will. That's the challenge Johnny & Marian, Ciaran & Harith and Pat & Babs have to deal with. Three novellas with a common denominator: Samantha the witch! Enjoy this humorous tales of body switches.

*****

**Barbara G.Tarn** , a writer, sometimes artist, mostly a world-creator and story-teller. She's been building her world of Silvery Earth for a number of years - stories, comprise shorts, novels and graphic novels.

Her novella "The Hooded Man" has received an Honorable Mention at the Writers of the Future contest. Used to multiple projects (a graphic novel is always on the side of the prose), she writes, draws, ignores her day job and blogs _at_ : http://creativebarbwire.wordpress.com

Links:

Blog: creativebarbwire.wordpress.com

e-mail: creativebarbwire@gmail.com

Silvery Earth Chronology

Star Minds (science fantasy)

Unicorn Productions: <http://www.unicornproductionsbooks.com/>

#  Another Family

By Mark R. Hunter

Two cops peered through the windshield, trying to see past swirls of blowing snow as the squad car inched forward.

"They're out there." Trooper Chance Hamlin worked to keep the car's tires in two paths of more or less bare pavement on Highway 9. He depended on his partner to keep her head on a swivel, searching for their adversaries.

"Yeah." Detective Fran Vargas shivered, despite the car's heater. "Waiting. How many, I wonder? Waiting to damage property, hurt people..."

"We should be allowed to just shoot them from the car." He meant it, kind of, but mostly just wanted to draw Fran out of the funk she'd been in lately.

"Chance!"

"No, really. That would keep them off the highways, wouldn't it?"

"I don't think the public would react well at all." Fran smiled despite herself. "Slow down, we're getting close to the state park."

"I'm already doing forty." Thank goodness it was a Sunday, and drivers seemed to have listened to the dire warnings of the weather forecasters. He had the headlights on, but the twin beams just reflected back in the mid-afternoon snow squall they'd driven into. "I need to get the tree up tonight. Have you started decorating?"

"Oh, I don't decorate for Christmas." Fran looked away for a moment, then shook herself and turned back to her search.

"You don't? I thought you said your family was big into Christmas."

"Yeah, but they're down in Texas. Doesn't seem much point in stringing lights up in my little apartment."

He glanced over at her, noticing the melancholy expression. So, that was it. "Why didn't you tell me you get lonely during the holidays? I could fix you up with someone."

Fran rolled her eyes. "A date isn't the same as family, you big blond dummy. Besides, mostly I just get cold. Whoever thought living in this ice box would be a good thing?"

For a moment Chance said nothing, as he glanced toward passing trees for any sign of the bad guys. "After my father died, I hated the holidays."

"I'll bet your mom and sister dragged you out of that, didn't they?"

"Mostly my sister. Nothing gets Beth down for long." He smiled, thinking of homemade decorations, careful stringing of lights, picking out just the right tree... then his gaze went to Fran again. He'd known her for ten years, and even though she visited his family often, he'd never been inside her home.

Or maybe it wasn't a home.

Fran jerked to attention. "There's one!"

Chance slammed on the brakes, making the car fishtailed wildly. A figure standing in the road ahead turned toward them.

Chance held his breath until the tires grabbed pavement and his patrol car jerked to a stop, just a few feet from impact.

"It's like they want to get hit," Fran breathed.

Leaning forward, Chance studied the animal. It gazed back at him, unconcerned. "That's not a deer."

"What?" Now Fran looked more closely. "It is... isn't it? Bigger than any I've seen up here, but still..."

"No, it's... different. Look at those antlers, and that tuft of hair under its neck. I've never seen a deer like that." The answer came to him in a flash and he sat back, feeling gut-punched. "Fran, that's a caribou – a reindeer."

"Are you freaking kidding me?"

A blast of frigid air and snow met him as Chance opened his door. "It must have escaped from Black Pine Animal Park. Look, it's got a collar on it."

"You are _not_ going out there with that animal." Despite her words, Fran also stepped out. They stood by the car, engaging in a staring contest with the reindeer, until Fran shivered and pulled on her overcoat's hood. "Hello... boy."

The reindeer gave a little snorting noise.

"You established a rapport with the suspect." Trying not to smile, Chance gestured her forward. "Go make friends with it."

She turned toward him. He could just make out her incredulous expression inside the hood. "You go. I'll fill out the animal bite paperwork."

Chance glanced back to make sure no traffic was coming, then shuffled forward. It looked tame– this sure wasn't the normal range for reindeer – but scared animals could panic and hurt people. The wind buffeted him, but the animal stood solid as a statue. Maybe it was a statue? Weird prank.

The reindeer turned its head to watch him approach.

An animatronic statue?

"Hello, boy. Girl reindeer don't have antlers, do they? So you're a buck." He stopped within an arm's reach of the animal. "Can I call you Buck?"

The reindeer turned away, exposing a red leather collar that loosely circled its neck. Chance carefully reached out to pet the animal's flank, while reading the fancy scroll on the leather collar. Then he read it again. "Um... Fran? Come look at this."

"No. You relay."

"This collar says his name is Donner."

"You lie like a melted snowman." Fran stepped forward – slowly – and leaned in to read the collar. "Huh."

"We should search for a wrecked sleigh." He looked around. "We could be the cops who saved Christmas. I want Brad Pitt to play me."

"You do realize that anyone who has a pet reindeer is likely to choose just one of eight names. Nine, if you include Rudolph, but some are more unlikely than others." Despite herself, Fran stroked the animal's side. "People aren't likely to name their pet caribou Cupid or Blitzen."

Donner turned to look at her, and made a noise that sounded much like a chuckle.

"Well, there's a tag here, hanging from the collar. Let's see." He turned the tag toward them, and even in this dull light they could make out the words:

Merry Christmas!

If found, return to S. Claus, North Pole

Or sing a happy Christmas tune.

Wow. Chance took a step back, to look the animal up and down. "Well, there you have it. Too bad there's not a phone number attached."

"Do they even have service up there?" Fran shook her head. "What am I saying? We need to find this fella's owner before a car comes along. We're on a state highway."

But there was no sign of headlights, no approaching engine noise. Everything was muffled, except for the occasional wind gust quiet, as if they were inside a just-shaken snow globe. "We found the owner." Chance didn't really believe that, of course... but he liked the idea.

"So, what? We're supposed to sing a happy Christmas tune?"

"Yeah. No Grinch's, no grandmas getting run over – something upbeat."

She stared at him. "I've never even heard you sing."

He never did sing, except in the shower. "Well, let's see if we can lead poor Donner off the road, at least." He took hold of the collar and gentle pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled harder.

Donner huffed out a breath, but made no attempt to move.

"The kids will be very disappointed." Chance glanced at Fran, who looked perplexed.

"Let's call into dispatch and have them contact the animal park." Fran fumbled with her coat pocket, then sighed. "My phone's in an inside pocket."

"Well, don't expose your delicate self." He'd already gripped his cell phone, but now Chance glanced at Fran again. He cleared his throat.

" _Well, the weather outside is frightful, and your smile is so delightful_ –"

"That is not a Christmas song, Trooper Hamlin! That is a winter song, and winter stinks."

Donner nodded.

"I suppose you could do better?" He gave her a challenging stare. She seemed oddly unwilling to comment on the ridiculousness of singing Christmas Carols in the middle of a normally busy highway during a snowstorm.

"Um... _You'd better not shout, you'd better not cry, you'd better not pout, I'm telling you why_..."

Fran had a nice voice. Had he never heard her sing, in ten years? " _Santa Claus is coming to town_..." Man, his own voice was rusty.

Donner stamped a foot.

"He wants us to step up the tempo. Together, now:"

" _He's making a list, he's checking it twice; gonna find out who's naughty or nice. Santa Claus is coming to town."_

Today was the first time Chance remembered seeing Fran smile since before Thanksgiving, and she usually smiled often. It wasn't Christmas she didn't like – it was the way she'd been spending it. Just like that he knew what to do, especially when she looked at him with a big grin.

" _He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows when you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!"_

"This is so ridiculous!" Fran reached out to punch Chance on the arm. "Come on, a snow plow or some moron in an SUV will come along soon. Let's get Mr. Donner –" She turned back toward the reindeer and stopped short.

Donner was gone.

"I guess our singing scared him away," Fran murmured.

Together they walked forward. "He jumped into the trees along the park border," Chance guessed.

Together, they looked down. There were exactly four footprints, no more... none walking toward the pavement, none walking away.

The squall passed, leaving flakes of snow falling gently over a brightening landscape. Chance looked once more toward both sides of the road, then patted Fran on the shoulder. "Well... we've got decorations to put up."

"What, we're just gonna...?"

"Yep."

They settled into the car and he pulled forward, heading toward home. For a long moment they were silent, as Chance tried to figure the most diplomatic thing to say. "So, you come and spend Christmas with us." Okay, not diplomatic.

She looked at him. "I always come over for Christmas dinner."

"No, I mean the whole thing: the Christmas Eve service, then spend the night and unwrap presents in the morning, then dinner. You can stay in the spare bedroom. Also, I'd appreciate it if you could help put up the decorations, maybe help Beth wrap presents... after all, only one of your families is in Texas."

He was watching the road again, and didn't see her expression. But after a moment she straightened up, took a tissue from her pocket, and blew her nose. "So..." Fran cleared her throat. "What song shall we sing next? I'm thinking Rudolph."

"Singing in my squad car?"

"Sure, and you can turn on the blue and reds. Very festive."

"No one else must ever know." But Chance laughed.

"Deal."

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Mark R. Hunter's writing. Such as...

The Notorious Ian Grant

by Mark R. Hunter

When infamous party boy and b-list celebrity Ian Grant learns his sister is marrying a cop, he abandons Hollywood and drives to Indiana. His plan: to make up for all those times he embarrassed his family by taking charge of the wedding planning. So, Ian's never planned a wedding... how hard could it be?

The tornado ravaged town of Hurricane is like another world—a world he'd like to be part of, if only people would stop judging him by his previous antics. He might even have a chance at romance with his future brother-in-law's coworker, detective Fran Vargas. But for Fran everything's gone wrong since the moment Ian arrived, including their confrontation with a bullying politician, and an influx of nosy reporters and angry ex-girlfriends. Not to mention Ian's wedding planning keeps getting interrupted by someone trying to kill him.

No one ever said redemption is easy.

*****

**Mark R Hunter** has two published romantic comedy novels, _Storm Chaser_ and its sequel, _The Notorious Ian Grant;_ a short story collection, _Storm Chaser Shorts¸_ a young adult humor/adventure, _The No-Campfire Girls_ ; and a non-fiction book, _Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights: A Century Or So With The Albion Fire Department_. He also had a previous humor piece appear in an anthology, _My Funny Valentine._

He works as an emergency dispatcher and humor columnist as well as a volunteer firefighter, and lives in rural Indiana with his wife Emily, enormous dog Bae, and cowardly ball python, Lucius.

Links:

Website: www.markrhunter.com,

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter>

Twitter: <https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter>

#  The Leprechaun's Gift

By Terry Compton

Cheyenne Wilson stomped into the clearing in the woods. She flipped her long brown hair behind her shoulder. Her brown eyes weren't seeing anything but the path where she walked. She was angry and didn't want to talk to anyone or be close to any human. The tears were not there but they would come once she cooled off and thought about what had happened. This was her secret place where she could think, dream and just absorb the beauty. The clearing was in the middle of a section of Forest Service land. It was surrounded on three sides by houses with acreage and the river on the other. Usually no one came into this area and that was why it had become Cheyenne's secret place. The birds would flit through the trees and sing their songs. The flowers bloomed and made a colorful carpet to lie in. There were two trees that had blown down and they made a perfect seat complete with a back rest. The trees still standing made a canopy over the seat and she could sit there in the cool shade viewing the animals and insects in the small clearing. Even the sounds from vehicles on the roads around the area didn't reach here. This place was good for her soul. Today she flounced to the seat and plopped down. She didn't even notice how nice this late spring day was. She sat there for a few minutes until her anger began to cool and then the tears came.

She had just about sobbed her tears out when she heard a sound and whirled to see who was intruding in her secret place. The tree she was sitting on had broken off when it fell, as had the tree that made the back rest. When they broke off, they crossed on the ground. Another small sapling was jammed at the crossing and right at that juncture of the trees stood a little old man. The little man was only about eighteen inches high and had on strange old-fashioned green clothes. He had a small nose and his ears were pointy at the top. He was wearing a green top hat that had patches on it that touched the points of his ears and a green suit that looked thread-bare and patched. The old man looked like he had been having a hard time and hadn't been eating very well lately. Cheyenne could see the long stem of a pipe sticking out of a coat pocket.

"What are you doing here in my secret place? You need to leave, right now. This is my place!" Cheyenne snapped angrily. She didn't want anyone witnessing her tears; especially something that looked like this strange little man.

"Easy, lassie. I kin see that ye have had a bad day. Ye were very angry when ye stormed in here and the tears confirm that ye had somethin' terrible that happened," the Leprechaun said in his best Irish brogue.

"I don't want to talk about it. Could you just leave now?"

"Aye, I would but I have this wee problem."

"Well, I don't want to hear about anyone else's problems. Do you leave on your own or do I have to come over there and give you a boot to get started?"

"How can ye give me a boot when ye are wearin' sandals?"

"If I come over there, I'll show you how. Why are you talking so funny?"

"I be not talkin' funny. T'would be ye that seems to talk funny. I be using the good King's English. What language are ye speakin'?"

"I'm speaking American. That's where you are and you should try speaking it or go back where you came from."

"I'd love to but I cain't. I must stay here."

"Well, you can't stay here. This is my secret place. I just want to be left alone."

"Then ye didn't set this trap for me?"

"What trap?"

"The one that has ahold of me leg."

"I didn't set a trap for you. If I get you free, will you leave?"

"What will it cost me?"

"Not one thin dime. If you won't leave, maybe I should just leave and let you talk to that big coyote that's been hanging around."

"No, please. Could ye just help me get out of this trap? I could grant ye three wishes."

"Ha! This must be another practical joke that my so-called friends are trying to pull. Allisa, is that you? Show yourself. Mariah, is it you? How are you making this doll move and talk?"

"I'll have ye know that I'm no doll! I be a Leprechaun and proud of it!"

"Aren't Leprechauns supposed to be from Ireland? If you're a Leprechaun, what's your name?"

"I kin no tell ye that. A name gives you power."

"Oh poo! If you don't have a name, I'll just call you Pierre."

"Pierre! That be a French name. Can't ye think of a better one?"

"How about Sue?"

"No, I think I prefer Pierre. Now, lassie, could ye please release me from this trap. Me leg is starting to hurt."

"I'm sorry. I thought you were a doll hooked up to a radio or something. Let me see what I can do."

Cheyenne walked over to see that the tree had shifted and firmly held the Leprechaun's leg. She tried to move the sapling with no success. She had even less success trying to move the bigger logs. She studied the situation and thought about going to get her Dad to help but remembered that he wouldn't be home for at least another three hours. Besides, she didn't want anyone else to know that this was her secret place. She wanted to be an engineer so what would an engineer do? She spied a long branch laying back in the trees and went to get it. She used one of the tree trunks as leverage and put the branch under the sapling. She tested the branch to see if it was going to be strong enough to move the sapling without breaking. It felt solid so she started putting pressure on it. Pierre tugged and tugged but couldn't move his leg. Cheyenne put all of her weight against the branch and felt a little give. She pushed harder and Pierre suddenly pulled free. He took one step and fell flat on his face. His trapped leg wouldn't support him. Cheyenne dropped the branch and came over to inspect his leg. Pierre's pants only came to his knees and then he had very thin, thread-bare stockings below that. Cheyenne gently moved his leg and it didn't seem to be broken. Pierre winced as she checked it out. She gently removed his shoe. She thought the shoes looked funny with their pointed toes that curled upward. The soles had holes in them and a rip along one side. Pierre helped her get the stocking down and they could see a nasty bruise on his calf. Nothing appeared to be broken though, so Cheyenne helped him put his stocking and shoe back on.

"Where do you live? Maybe I could carry you there. I don't think you broke anything, it's just bruised and maybe sprained."

"I live yonder a ways but ye wouldn't be able to find it."

"What do I do with you then? I wasn't joking about the big coyote. My Dad has been trying to shoot it for the last two weeks. The neighbors have too because they've been losing chickens and eggs."

"If I just had me a little somethin' to eat and maybe a quaff of ale, I would be alright."

"I have no idea what a "quaff of ale" is but I guess I could take you back to the house for something to eat. You aren't dangerous, are you?"

"Lassie, ye prick me clear to the heart. Do I look dangerous?"

"No, but a skunk or porcupine don't look dangerous either but our dog might argue with that. She has had run-ins with both of them and can tell you that they both can be painful."

"Oh, it's getting worse. Now I'm compared to a porcupine and a skunk. I'm just glad that me kinfolk didn't hear that."

"I didn't compare you to a porcupine or skunk. I just said they don't look dangerous but they can have bad consequences. I'm still asking, are you dangerous?"

"No, lassie. I'm as harmless as that butterfly flitting from flower to flower."

"Alright, I'll take you to the house but you'd better not cause any trouble. I have enough of my own without you adding any."

Cheyenne reached down to pick Pierre up. She shifted him from arm to arm but couldn't find a comfortable way to carry him. When she had something that worked for her, it hurt Pierre's leg. Finally, she perched him on her shoulder. He grabbed a big lock of her hair and used it as a seat belt to hang on to. Pierre asked her to pick up his rucksack behind the log. Cheyenne grabbed it and saw that it contained a small fiddle and bow. She started off to her house with Pierre sitting on her shoulder. She hoped none of her friends saw her now. How would she explain a Leprechaun sitting on her shoulder?

Cheyenne slipped down the alley so no one would see her. She reached her house and opened the gate. Once she was in the yard she felt better. She went to the kitchen and sat the rucksack on a chair and Pierre down on the counter. She opened the fridge and asked him what he ate.

"Lassie, I can eat anythin' that doesn't bite me first. Give me two bites out of three and I could take that on, too."

"You are funny. I feel better talking to you. How about a ham sandwich and a glass of Kool-aid?"

"If ye don't have any ale, a dram of beer would work. Maybe a drop of whiskey?"

"I'm sorry but my Dad doesn't drink. It's Kool-aid, milk or water."

"Oh, such an uncivilized country. Water is for washin', so I guess I can try this Kool-aid."

Cheyenne got the sandwich stuff out of the fridge and started fixing his sandwich. Pierre directed her what to put on it and she kept getting in the fridge to add pickles, mustard and other things. When she finished, she had a sandwich layered so high that she didn't think she could get her mouth around it -- let alone someone as small as Pierre. She asked Pierre if he wanted it cut in two but he said he would take care of it just like it was. She set the sandwich down beside him on a paper towel. She got a glass and poured him some Kool-aid. Pierre took a sip and made a face. Kool-aid wasn't to his liking but he was going to have to drink it anyway. Cheyenne asked if he wanted some potato chips to go with the sandwich and Pierre said he'd never had any. Cheyenne went to the cabinet and got a bag down. She put some on the paper towel beside the sandwich. As soon as she had him fixed up, she got herself something to eat. She sat on a stool at the counter and ate her snack as she watched Pierre eat. She was thinking, " _Leprechauns are supposed to have a pot of gold but Pierre sure doesn't look like he has a pot of gold. His clothes are worn and tattered and his shoes are awful._ "

"Awww, lassie. That was delicious. Ye saved me life twice. Once from that coyote out in the woods and just now from starvation. If only ye had some spirits, ye would be the perfect lassie."

"How come you keep calling me a dog?"

"What do you mean a dog?"

"Lassie. That's a dog's name. I'm Cheyenne."

Pierre laughed heartily and said, "I nay be callin' ye a dog. Lassie is a young colleen that ne'er been wed. A fair maiden by any other name."

"Oh! I've never been called that. I've never even heard of it."

"Oh, just like I said -- such an uncivilized place. You don't even know the King's English."

"Well, I've seen language like yours in our old Bible. I think it was the King James version. I didn't understand it, either."

"Well, hand me rucksack here and I'll see if I can make a language that ye kin understand."

Cheyenne handed him the rucksack and he pulled the fiddle out. He did something to the bow and then checked the tuning on the fiddle. He put the fiddle under his chin and started playing a lively Irish jig. Cheyenne was soon tapping her toe and clapping her hands along with the time. Pierre finished the song and Cheyenne clapped for his performance. Pierre played several more tunes to Cheyenne's delight. The incident at school was forgotten. She glanced up at the time and stood up.

"I have to do some homework. What do I do with you?"

"Well, I could come along and play for ye as ye do this homework."

"No, I couldn't concentrate. I wanted to dance just now but I don't know how."

"Oh, lassie. If me legs worked right, I'd teach ye right now. Maybe in a day or two."

"That would be sweet. Right now, I have to get my homework done before Dad and my sisters get home."

"And where be the colleen of the house?"

"The what?"

"The woman of the house, your mother."

"She died in a car wreck about two years ago. There's just me, Dad and my two older sisters. You can watch TV if you like. I can carry you in there and let you have the remote. You can watch what you want."

She picked up Pierre and carried him to the living room. She picked up the remote and turned the TV on. She handed Pierre the remote before she went upstairs to her room to study.

Cheyenne was about half way through her homework when she heard a funny noise coming up the stairs. It reached the top of the stairs and then she heard a swish, swish thump. _Swish, swish thump_. It came down the hall toward her bedroom. She got up from her desk to go see what the noise was. There was Pierre coming down the hall using a stick from the fireplace as a cane. He was dragging his feet making the _swish, swish_ sound and the _thump_ was the stick hitting the floor.

"What in the world are you doing? I thought you were going to watch TV."

"What drivel ye have on that infernal machine. It's no wonder ye have so much trouble with the King's English. I couldn't stand any more. Besides, we need to talk about your reward for freein' me."

"I wasn't looking for any reward. Just a plain old thank you will be fine."

"That's not the way we wee people do it. Ye have a reward comin' and I have to give it to ye. Now which would you like, a pot of gold or three wishes?"

"I don't need either. I need to get my homework done. If you have a pot of gold, you need to use some of it to buy some new clothes. Yours are looking a little thread-bare."

"Oh, lassie. Ye have given me a verrry fine insult. Surely ye know that I can't spend me own gold on me-self. Ye don't want me gold nor me wishes? If me kinfolk heard that, I'd be the laughingstock of all the Leprechauns."

"I'm sorry, Pierre but I have to get this done. Dad said if I have my homework done, we might go fishing for awhile this evening. Besides, I don't really believe in those fairy tales about pots of gold."

"Oh, this is even worse. Me gold and wishes turned down for a fishin' trip. I'm ruined I tell ye, completely ruined. Lassie, how about that trouble ye had earlier? I could help with that."

"Oh, that. That was just the new girl getting my friends, Allisa and Mariah, to play that nasty joke on me. I should have beat her up but I want to go fishing and my Dad wouldn't take me if I got in trouble at school. The joke wouldn't have been so bad if Dale and Jeffery hadn't been standing there watching. I don't know how my friends could do something like that."

"I can take care of all of them."

"No, I'll take care of it tomorrow. My Mom always said to turn the other cheek and it would do more good, so I guess I've got to try that first."

"Ye miss yerr Mum, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. She was the best Mom a girl could ever have. I just wish that I had told her that more often."

"Well, just remember that I can take care of your problem for ye. I have to give ye a reward to protect me good name."

"Thanks, Pierre, but I'm good. Now, excuse me while I finish my homework."

Cheyenne went back to her homework and Pierre wandered around her room looking at her photos and memorabilia. He liked this young teenager and he started plotting a way to help her get revenge or his gift. He just wouldn't tell her. He wandered a little more and then he tossed his cane on the bed. He used the cover to pull himself up on the bed. He worked his way to the pillow and lay back on it. Soon he was sound asleep. Cheyenne finished her homework and quietly went back downstairs.

Her sisters came home and they all went to the kitchen to start supper. Her oldest sister was in college but was home for the summer. She had a job to help raise money for school next year. Her other sister was in high school and all kinds of after-school activities. They were both talking excitedly about their day and what had happened to them. Cheyenne kept quiet. She didn't want to explain about a Leprechaun nor the joke at school. They had supper ready when her Dad came home. Cheyenne excitedly told her Dad that she had all her homework done. They ate supper and made plans to run down to the lake to go fishing after supper. Her Dad loaded all the fishing gear in the boat while the girls did the dishes. They left some of the leftovers sitting on the counter because they were still warm. They would put them in the fridge after they'd cooled. Cheyenne's middle sister, Marilyn, put a piece of cake on a plate for her lunch tomorrow. Everyone hurried outside to go fishing.

Cheyenne forgot all about Pierre. They came home just before dark and while her Dad put the boat and fishing gear up, she went upstairs to her room. Her room was dark and empty. Had she been dreaming this afternoon? There was nothing in the room to indicate that anyone but her had been there. Suddenly she heard Marilyn yelling at her. She headed back downstairs.

"Cheyenne, why did you eat my cake? I was saving that for my lunch tomorrow."

"I didn't touch your cake. I went upstairs when we came in, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. If you didn't eat it, who did?"

Cheyenne looked and most of the leftovers were gone, too. She now knew that she hadn't been dreaming. She looked around the kitchen for Pierre's rucksack but it was gone. She wondered if she would ever see him again. He had been a funny old man but he could sure play the fiddle. Too bad he didn't really have a pot of gold. She could use some new clothes and a computer would be nice, too.

Bedtime came and Cheyenne got ready for bed. The next morning she got up and looked around for Pierre but saw no sign of him. She hurried to get ready for school and ran out to catch the bus. Her morning was going great until she spotted Anna, Allisa and Mariah. They were whispering together and when they saw her, they started to giggle. Cheyenne thought about going up to them and punching one or all of them. She held her temper and went to her locker to get her books for first period.

Anna went to her locker and opened the door. She was giggling about Cheyenne until her door opened. When the door swung open, the water came gushing out. It soaked her to the bone. She didn't have a dry stitch of clothes on. Her hair was dripping all over the floor and she stood with her legs apart. She held her arms away from her sides and water ran down them to her hands and then dripped to the floor. Quite a crowd gathered around and was laughing at the prank. Anna searched the locker to see how the water was put in there but couldn't find anything. Anna whirled to see if Cheyenne was looking at her and laughing but she was gone. She had already headed to class.

Allisa and Mariah watched in horror at the joke on Anna. They had to go to their lockers but they stood to one side and cautiously opened them. Nothing happened. Mariah stepped in front of her locker to reach in for her books. A flood of water came roaring out and covered her from head to toe. She spit and sputtered, doing a little dance to get out of the way. Allisa slammed her locker door shut and moved down the hall away from Mariah. She looked around to see if she could spot the one who was pulling the pranks. She didn't see anyone but everyone in the hall was laughing at the two wet girls. Jeffrey and Dale were there watching with all the bystanders. That made the humiliation even worse. She edged away from both of the wet girls. Mrs. Ellison came down the hall to see what the ruckus was about. She shooed the two wet girls to the locker room to dry off. Allisa headed to class without her books. As she walked by the fire hose hanging on the wall, the nozzle fell off and pointed right at her. The hose blasted and she was soaked, too. The blast from the hose knocked her off her feet and pushed her down the hall. The other students squealed and quickly moved away from her. When the water stopped, she shakily stood up and walked toward the gym. She was walking with her legs spread apart and her shoes made a funny squishy sound with every step. She could hear the snickers behind and to the side as she headed to the gym.

Cheyenne was sitting in her class waiting for the bell to ring when Mr. Healy the principal walked up to her desk.

"Cheyenne, I'd like to talk to you. Come on over in the corner here."

Cheyenne was startled but she followed Mr. Healy. When they were in the corner, he turned to her and asked, "There was a lot of water dumped out there in the hall. Do you know anything about it?"

"I don't know anything about water in the hall. I came in on the bus this morning, went to my locker to get my books and came straight to my classroom here. What happened?"

"The three girls that pulled that prank on you yesterday were soaked. Two of them opened their lockers and had water dumped on them. Allisa was walking by the fire hose when it went off, knocking her down and soaking her. It was a wonder it didn't trigger the fire alarm. You're sure you don't know anything about it?"

"Well, unless I'm a magician or cat burglar, I couldn't have had anything to do with it. I went fishing with my Dad last night until dark and then went to bed. I got up this morning and rode the bus to school. When would I have had time to do anything? Just ask the kids out in the hall. I know that Dale and Jeffrey saw me get my books and come here to the class room."

"I'm sorry I had to ask but the girls are saying that you must have been the one who did it. I will have to do something about the prank they pulled yesterday. They confessed to it."

"I wouldn't be too hard on them. I survived. But I didn't have anything to do with what happened today."

"OK, I believe you. Go back to your seat. There's the bell and its time for class to start."

Cheyenne sat down and the other students filed into the room. Several were giving her admiring glances and almost all of them had grins on their faces. She flushed at their looks and everyone believed she had something to do with the pranks. Several were dying to ask how she did it; especially the fire hose. The principal had the janitors look at the fire hose and then he called his friend the fire chief to come over to look at it. None of them could explain how a fire hose went off by itself.

Cheyenne didn't see the other girls until lunch time. She was sitting at a table with some of her other friends from church when they came in. Their parents had brought a change of clothes for them and as they came in, they gave Cheyenne a hard stare. They meant to threaten Cheyenne with the look but she ignored them and continued to talk with her other friends.

Anna was leading the other two girls to a table that was across the room from Cheyenne. She was fuming about getting all wet and humiliated in front of the whole school. Mariah was bringing up the rear of the group when suddenly she felt like someone had given her a hard shove. She stumbled over her own feet and dumped the tray of food down Allisa's back before she knocked her down and fell on top of her. As Allisa went down, she dumped her tray of food on Anna. She knocked her down and wound up on top of her. Anna had shoved the tray of food out in front of her to break her fall. When Allisa landed on her back, she shoved Anna's face into the food. When the girls sat up, Anna's face was covered in mashed potatoes and she had green beans stuck in her hair. She jumped up and screamed, "Cheyenne did that!"

Everyone looked from her to Cheyenne and then the lunchroom broke out into laughter. How could Cheyenne do something like this when she was clear across the room? Anna, Allisa and Mariah turned bright red and rushed from the lunchroom covered in their own food. Cheyenne felt terrible but she could see that no one would believe her.

Cheyenne felt like the rest of the day drug on forever. The girls who had been covered in their own food never came back to class. Cheyenne heard that their parents came to get them and just took them home. Mr. Healy had a long talk with the parents about the prank the girls had pulled. He firmly stated that Cheyenne had nothing to do with the troubles that the girls had had today. He had watched her at lunch and she was clear across the room. He thought that Mariah had just tripped and started a domino effect on the other two. He had no idea about the water because their lockers didn't show any evidence of water in them. He said the Fire Chief had inspected the fire hose and could find no evidence of tampering. There was just no explanation for how it turned on.

When the day finally ended, Cheyenne rode the bus home and took her things right into the house. She ran all the way to her secret place.

"Pierre, are you here? Show yourself. Pierre!"

She called and called for several minutes with no answer. She slowly walked back to the house. She wasn't sure what to think about the incidents today. She walked into the back door and there sat Pierre on the counter eating her snack.

"You dork! That's my snack. Now what will I eat?"

"I'm sure a pretty lassie such as yerself will find somethin' in the fridge. I'm still injured and can't get over there to get anythin'. Besides, I need me nourishment. I haven't had anythin' all day except that hamburger and piece of cake at school."

"Did you do all those nasty tricks to Anna, Alisa and Mariah? You know that everyone thinks I had something to do with them."

"Ah, darlin' lassie. Nobody will mess with ye now."

"Yeah and no one will have anything to do with me either. They'll be afraid that it will happen to them."

"The look on their faces when the water hit them was rather funny, don't you think?"

"I don't know. I didn't see any of it. I was already in class when the water thing hit and I had my back turned in the lunchroom."

"Ah, ye missed a grand sight. They acted like they couldn't believe that water could come out of those lockers. And then at lunch, there they lay in their own food. They did turn a nice red, too."

"Pierre, you can't be doing that any more. I'm getting the blame for everything that happens to those three. Thanks for your help so far but I need to take it from here. How come you aren't back in the woods? Won't your family miss you?"

"Nay, lassie. I have nary a family member here. Me leg still pains me so it would be a terrrrible struggle to walk that far. Besides, as crippled as I am, a coyote could catch me and ye wouldn't want that, would ye? Ye still haven't picked your reward yet."

"I told you, I don't want a reward. A thank you will do fine. Just stop pestering those girls. Now, I'm going to have to see if I can find something for a snack."

Cheyenne found something to eat and took it into the living room. She turned on the TV and flipped through channels as she ate. She settled for the cartoon channel and Pierre soon joined her to watch the TV. Cheyenne's cell phone chirped to let her know that she had a text message. She was just reaching for it when it chirped again. She picked it up and read the first message.

"Those stupid girls. Just wait until I get my hands on them tomorrow," she muttered crossly.

"What be the problem, dearie?"

"Those girls are sending texts, emails and posting on Facebook. They're telling lies and have made up a picture of me that they're posting. When I get my hands on them tomorrow, they'll be sorry."

"What is all this text and email that ye be talkin' about? Is it some kind of magic?"

"See this? This is text on the cell phone. Here is an email from one of my friends. I don't think it's magic, it's just technology."

"It seems to be magic to me if ye can send words through the air. May I see that machine?"

Pierre studied the cell phone for a few minutes and had Cheyenne show him how she sent the text and emails. He had her take him to the computer to see Facebook. Pierre studied the computer and the cell phone for several more minutes.

"I'm sure it's magic. I wonder...."

Marilyn and Janice, her oldest sister, came home right then. They called for Cheyenne to come help them as they got ready for supper. When Cheyenne walked into the kitchen, they asked how her day at school had gone. Cheyenne had to tell them about the three girls getting all wet and then falling down in the lunchroom. She told about them being covered in their own food and how embarrassed they had been. Her sisters laughed and said they got what they deserved.

Marilyn's phone chirped for a text. She read the text and said, "Cheyenne, this is terrible. Look what those three are doing. These pictures are terrible and this has to be a lie."

Cheyenne looked and was ready to go find the girls right then. Her sisters calmed her down and they finished getting supper ready. Cheyenne was muttering the entire time. Suddenly, Marilyn's phone chirped again. She read the text and started laughing. She had to show Janice and Cheyenne what was on the phone. Cheyenne ran into the living room to get her phone. Pierre was no where to be seen. Her phone was showing text after text. It rang as she walked back into the kitchen.

"Hello."

"Cheyenne, how did you do it? It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. At first those awful pictures of you were coming in texts, emails and on Facebook. Now everything they post comes out looking like this..."

"What are you talking about? I've been busy fixing supper with my sisters."

"Go look on Facebook."

Cheyenne ran into the computer and her sisters followed. When she pulled up her Facebook page, every post by Allisa showed a picture of her face on the body of a sheep. All of her posts read, "Baa Baa Baaaa. Baa Baaaa Baa." Mariah's posts were the same thing. Her face was on the body of a sheep as well. Cheyenne went to Allisa's home page and found Anna's picture. Her face was on the rear of a donkey. The donkey's tail was right where her nose was supposed to be. Cheyenne and her sisters laughed at the pictures.

"Erin, I don't have any idea how those pictures and words got on there. Are their emails and texts doing the same thing?"

"Yes. Anna's words are all donkey brays. One of the posts even had motion and she looked so funny swishing her nose. That's just too funny."

Cheyenne hung up and started to look at her other texts and emails. Cheyenne's and Marilyn's phones were going crazy now. All their friends were getting copies of the messages. Marilyn said that the three girls would have a terrible time at school tomorrow.

Cheyenne looked around the living room but didn't see Pierre so she ran upstairs to look for him. He was no where to be found and she knew that he had something to do with this. She went back downstairs to eat supper with her family. She wondered what was going to happen at school tomorrow.

Cheyenne got ready for bed and never did see Pierre again that night. She was going to scold him for being so mean but never had the chance. The next morning she was up bright and early. She looked everywhere she could think, trying to find him. At last, she had to get ready and go to school.

Cheyenne got to school and went to her locker. Everywhere she went, kids were buzzing and looking at her. Some of them who usually wouldn't even speak to her came over to say good morning or hello. Her friends from church were all excited about what had happened and were asking her all kinds of questions. Cheyenne could truthfully say that she had no idea how those pictures and words got there.

Cheyenne saw Anna heading for her locker. Anna stood to one side and opened the door. Some boy down the hall brayed like a donkey and she turned bright red. She didn't stand in front of the locker but reached inside for her books and grabbed them. She slammed the locker door and almost ran down the hall. Donkey brays followed her down the hall. Allisa and Mariah came in together. They approached their lockers very cautiously, also. They were working the combination on the lockers when the first baaa's started. They grabbed their books and ran down the hall. The baa's followed. Cheyenne felt bad for them but she couldn't stop the baa's.

Cheyenne and her friends went to class. Anna, Allisa and Mariah glared at her as she came in but soon hung their heads in embarrassment when the rest of the class came in and looked at them with big grins on their faces. The three girls were very quiet and kept to themselves the rest of the day. Cheyenne didn't make fun of them and wouldn't let her friends do it either. She just wanted this feud to end.

The rest of the week went by with no further attacks on Cheyenne. Over the weekend, she mentioned to Pierre that it sure would be nice if the feud was over. She enjoyed her time with him and loved to listen to him play the fiddle. He taught her a few dance steps to different Irish jigs. He was still gimpy on the bad leg so he didn't do much. Pierre told Cheyenne that a five-hundred year old leprechaun didn't heal as fast as the young ones did.

Monday at school, Cheyenne's day was going good until History class. Erin had told her that the three trouble makers still couldn't text or anything without the animal pictures and voices coming up. She said they could use land lines to talk but that was it. Mrs. Schwartz wasn't too boring and then the last half of class brought the terrible news. Mrs. Schwartz wanted teams of students to look up old unique cultural customs or traditions. She used the Hopi Indians as an example doing different dances to bring rain or help the crops to be good. Cheyenne was excited because she could ask Pierre about Irish customs or even what some of the dances were for. This assignment would be a breeze. Then the kiss of doom came out. Mrs. Schwartz drew names for the teams from a bucket she had already prepared. Cheyenne was picked as the team leader that would set times and places to meet to research the assignments. She almost died when she heard the first member of her team. It was Anna. The next name was Allisa and then came Mariah. Cheyenne was sure that life had crashed down right on top of her head. How could she be teamed up with those girls? Mrs. Schwartz said that each team member had to participate or the entire team got an F. The grade was a total team effort. If one got an A, all got an A or an F if they didn't complete the assignment. They had two weeks to finish the assignment.

Right after class, she tried to get switched to another team but Mrs. Schwartz was adamant about keeping the teams that she had drawn out of the bucket. Cheyenne tried to tell her about the feud but Mrs. Schwartz said to get over it. Cheyenne would have just skipped this assignment but Mrs. Schwartz had said in class that half their grade for the semester came from it. If she didn't do anything, she would flunk out of History. She had to get at least a B to fulfill her part of the bargain with her Dad. If she kept a B average in all her classes, she got to take riding lessons. Once she was through with the lessons and learned a little bit about how to care for a horse, they would see about getting her a horse. Cheyenne wanted those riding lessons and she wanted a horse. Those three weren't going to stop her.

Cheyenne went home after school and complained to Pierre, "This is the worst day in my whole fourteen years of life. I'm on a team with those three girls who've caused all the problems. They could wreck my chances of getting a horse."

Pierre asked what school work had to do with a horse and she had to explain the bargain she'd worked out with her Dad. She had to get at least a B in History to keep her part of the bargain.

"Well, I guess ye had better call those lassies. I don't see any way to get a B without them."

"But we're still feuding. How can I call them?"

"Ye walk into the livin' room, pick up the phone and dial the number. That's how."

"Oh, Pierre, I thought you were my friend. Isn't there something you could do?"

"I kin give ye stories about Ireland and her glorious traditions. Ye will hafta finish the research and do the report. Ye will also have to call the other lassies."

"Oh, I just can't."

"It's up to ye. I'll be here playin' a little tune."

He picked up his fiddle and started playing. He turned his back on her and Cheyenne stormed off to the living room. She did her other homework and then just stared at her History book. All she could see was a big F. She felt like crying.

Marilyn came home from school and Cheyenne told her what happened. Marilyn said she'd better get to calling if she wanted the horse. That wasn't what Cheyenne wanted to hear. Janice came home next and Cheyenne told her the sad story. Janice told her to call the other girls. If they wouldn't work with her, she could report that back to Mrs. Schwartz. If she didn't change teams after that, Dad would go to the principal. Still not what Cheyenne wanted to hear.

Cheyenne moped all through helping get supper ready and as they ate. As she got up to go to her room, her sisters told her to call the other girls. Cheyenne waited until she was behind her Dad's back and stuck her tongue out at them. She went to her room to pout and sat down by the window. She heard the neighbor's horse nickering and that made things worse. Finally, she couldn't stand it any longer. She went to the living room to make three calls.

She sat down on the sofa and picked up the phone book. She took out a notebook and looked up Mariah's phone number. Mariah used to be her friend so maybe she could start with her. She reached for the phone but couldn't pick it up. She decided to look for Allisa's number. She found it and wrote it down in the notebook. She didn't even know Anna's parent's name so she couldn't look up Anna's number. She dillied and dallied until it was too late to call. She went up to her room to go to bed. She didn't sleep very well that night.

The next morning, she was dragging as she went to school. She thought about trying to talk to the girls here at school but she didn't see them except in class where she couldn't talk. The day was terrible and then came that awful class. Mrs. Schwartz asked for preliminary reports on how the teams were doing. Most of the teams excitedly talked about what they were going to do. No one had picked anything from Ireland, which was good for Cheyenne, but Cheyenne's and one other team were the only ones who didn't have anything to report. Mrs. Schwartz reminded everyone that the clock was ticking and they didn't have much time.

Cheyenne caught up to Mariah after school. She asked, "Do you want to work on this assignment?"

"I have to. I have to get at least a B-. If I can keep my grades up, my parents said they will send me to that special soccer camp this summer. I can't get an F in History. I have to go to that camp."

"I need a B, too. We'll have to talk to Allisa and Anna. Mrs. Schwartz said everybody had to participate or everybody would get an F."

"We can talk more at lunch. I'll see you then. I'm sorry we pulled that joke on you."

"I'm sorry you got wet but I really had nothing to do with it. I'll see you at lunch."

Cheyenne's morning seemed to drag on forever. She wasn't looking forward to lunch because she was going to have to talk to Allisa and Anna. She would rather punch them and tell them what they were going to do but she knew she couldn't. At last, the lunch bell rang and she headed to the lunchroom with Erin and her other friends from church. She saw Anna, Allisa and Mariah come in and get their food. She wasn't very hungry, but she ate a little before she got up to go over to talk to them. As she moved toward them, a lot of eyes in the lunchroom followed her. The school was wondering what would happen next.

Cheyenne walked up and said, "Do you want to work on this project? Mariah and I need to get this done."

Allisa said, "I have to get a decent grade to go to the soccer camp this summer. My parents are adamant about that."

"What about you Anna?" Cheyenne asked.

She hesitated for a little bit and Cheyenne was afraid that she would say no but she finally said, "I have to get a really decent grade in History. My Dad said he would take me to Disney World if my grade point average is good. I'm struggling with math so I have to make up for it in history. I don't want to but I have no choice."

Cheyenne asked, "Do any of you have an idea in mind? Where can we meet to do this project?"

No one had an idea, so she told them she had a friend who had been telling her a little about Irish jigs. She said that might be a place to start. She would ask her friend more about the jigs and they all could do the research from there. Mariah said she would call her Mom to check but she was sure they could do the report at her house. They all said they would try to be there by 6:00.

That day in History, at least Cheyenne could say they had a meeting planned and an idea. Cheyenne texted her Dad and got permission to go to Mariah's to do the report. Cheyenne was excited that things were moving along and maybe the feud was behind her.

She rushed in the house to find Pierre. She heard the fiddle playing Irish music coming from her room. She ran up the stairs and burst into her room. Pierre stopped playing in mid-note.

"Aww, lassie. Ye about gave me a heart attack burstin' in like that. Ye should give a poor old Leprechaun some warnin'."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just so excited. I'm going over to Mariah's tonight and we're going to work on the History project. I need to know some more about Irish jigs. Could you help me, please?"

Pierre said he would be glad to help her. Cheyenne started asking questions and making notes. Pierre would tell her about the dances and then play a little of the song to give her an idea. After a bit, he started showing her dance steps. Cheyenne was soon following him and laughing.

"Lassie, there's just one problem. Ye don't have the right shoes for these dances. I'll have to get ye proper footwear to feel the dance."

"Why thank you but I'd need four pairs. The other three girls have to participate or we all get Fs. Can you play that song again so I can record it? Then I can play it for the girls tonight."

She got the recorder set up and Pierre played. Cheyenne checked it and she thought it sounded alright. She heard Marilyn come in, so she had to go downstairs to help get supper ready. She was in a much better mood at supper tonight. After supper, she got her things together to go over to Mariah's.

Allison was already there when Cheyenne got there. They had to wait another fifteen minutes before Anna showed up though. Cheyenne could see that she had been crying and she looked really upset but she wouldn't talk about it. Cheyenne tried to tell about the Irish jigs and some of the history but Anna didn't want to do anything Irish. She said they should do something Indian since that was the example that Mrs. Schwartz had given. Cheyenne and the other girls argued against it but Anna put down all their ideas. Cheyenne and Allison finally had enough and went home. As they were headed down the block, they heard a door slam and turned to look. Anna was rushing down Mariah's steps and turned in the opposite direction. She was stomping angrily away.

"What do you think that was all about?" Cheyenne asked.

"Boy, I don't know but she sure is mad and was in a snit all night."

"I think she had been crying when she came in. I feel sorry for her."

"After all she did to disrupt everything, you still feel sorry for her?"

"Yes, I think I'm going to try to catch her to find out what's wrong."

"Not me. I'll see you tomorrow."

Cheyenne turned around and half trotted to catch up to Anna. Pierre suddenly appeared on her shoulder and said, "Ye are a bonnie lassie. Only a true leader would sense that somethin' was wrong and make excuses for that person. Me hat's off to ye, ma'am."

Cheyenne blushed and said, "It's nothing. I need this grade and I'm not about to let one snotty girl keep me from it."

"Whatever ye say."

Anna turned the corner of the block and slowed down. She was hanging her head and Cheyenne could see that something was definitely wrong with her. Anna didn't even hear her coming up behind her. When Cheyenne spoke, she almost jumped out of her skin.

"What do you want? Are you going to try to shove some more of that Irish crap down my throat?"

Pierre grabbed Cheyenne's hair tighter and it hurt. She reached up and pulled her hair away from his hands. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she could see Pierre, but could Anna?

"I'm not shoving anything at you. If you don't want to do Irish, we'll find something different but, right now, I want to know what's wrong. You've been crying and you've been in a snit all night. Why?"

"I haven't been in a snit and besides, if I were, it would be none of your business."

"It is my business. I have to have a B in History and I'm not going to let you wreck it for me. Everyone participates or everyone gets an F."

"I don't care anymore. It doesn't matter."

"Then tell me about it."

"No..." She started to turn and walk away when Pierre did something and she had different shoes on her feet. They looked a little like the ones he wore but the toes didn't curl as much. Anna tried to move her feet and they wouldn't move.

"Set me down, dearie. I'll help change her mind."

"Pierre, she's got enough problems without you embarrassing her more."

"I will nay embarrass her. I'll just lighten her spirits."

He pulled his fiddle out of his rucksack and tuned it up. He started to play a little tune. Anna's feet started moving in time with the tune. Pierre kept the tune at a medium speed for awhile and then the tunes started getting livelier. Anna was dancing in a very rapid dance. Her feet were moving in intricate moves and Anna had to concentrate to keep from falling. In a few minutes, her face went from concentration to looking like she was enjoying the dance. She was sweating and Cheyenne could see that she was getting tired. She glared at Pierre who slowed the tune down to a waltz speed. Finally, he stopped and Anna stood there staring at him as she gasped for breath.

She pointed at him and said, "What is that? Where did he come from? How did I get these shoes on?"

"I call him Pierre because he won't give me his real name. He says it gives me power over him. Now, tell me what's troubling you before he does something crazy again."

"Is he the one who changed my facebook and other images to a donkey? Did he make all my posts sound like a donkey braying?"

Pierre gave a sheepish grin and shrugged. He said, "Ye were hurtin' me friend here. The lassie needed some help."

"Did you have something to do with the water and the wreck in the lunchroom?"

Cheyenne said, "He's guilty alright, even if he won't admit it. Now, come clean. I need that grade and we don't have much time."

"I'm sorry that I did all those mean things to you. I just found out tonight that Mom and Dad are getting a divorce. They want me to pick who I'll live with. Both of them have been telling me terrible things about each other. I don't even know if any of them are true or not."

"I'm sorry, Anna. That's tough. It might even be tougher than losing your Mom in a car wreck."

"Did that happen to you?"

"Yeah, two years ago." Cheyenne said, as tears came to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Cheyenne. I feel so badly for the way I behaved." Anna said as she started to tear up, too.

They both started crying and hugged each other. Pierre pulled a big hanky out of his pocket and wiped his eyes, too. When he blew his nose, it honked like a goose. It startled both girls and they stopped crying. Pierre blew his nose again and they started giggling. Pierre gave them an injured look and sat down to play his fiddle. Anna's shoes didn't dance this time. There was a rock wall along the sidewalk so the two girls sat down on it and talked for a long time. Finally, Cheyenne's phone rang and she answered. It was her Dad reminding her that she had school tomorrow. The two girls parted with a promise to get together at school. Anna thought the Irish jigs would be a good project now that she had danced one. Pierre had a big grin on his face at that.

The next morning, Cheyenne saw Allisa and Mariah before she saw Anna. The two girls wanted to know what Anna had told Cheyenne last night but Cheyenne told them they would have to ask Anna. When Anna did show up, the four of them were excitedly discussing their project. They decided to go to Mariah's house again that night to work on the dance. Cheyenne said she would bring a CD of music and they could use it to practice.

When she was alone, she whispered, "Pierre, are you there?"

Pierre appeared and said, "I'm right here. What would ye have? Do ye want one of me wishes now?"

"No, I just wanted to know if you are going to show yourself to the other two girls."

"I really hate to. What if they don't believe in Leprechauns or just want me gold?"

"OK. If I put in a blank CD, do you think you could play for us?"

"I kin do that. They'll never know that I'm around."

"Maybe you can do that in class, too, when we have to present our project."

"I'll do that, sweet lassie. Just for ye."

"Oh, Pierre. You're such a sweet Leprechaun."

"I know it, dearie but don't tell anyone else."

That night, the girls got together to work on their project. Anna and Cheyenne showed the dance steps to the other girls and soon they all four were stepping in unison. They didn't quite have the beat down but they were getting better with the practice. After the dance steps, Cheyenne divvied up the research assignments. Each girl excitedly looked at her part of the research. They were talking a mile a minute as they gave each other ideas of where to find items. They made plans to meet at Cheyenne's house on Saturday to practice the dance for a longer period of time.

While she was walking home, Cheyenne asked Pierre what he thought of their dances. Pierre replied, "I'd say that ye lassies need a little help. Keep practicing and I'll see if I kin have it ready for your presentation in class."

The girls came on Saturday with their research and they started putting the report together. Mariah could type the best so she volunteered to type it up. They spent most of the afternoon practicing the dance steps. Anna made the remark that she wished she could have the help she had the night that Cheyenne changed her mind. Cheyenne could only shrug.

The girls got together each night to practice and then the big day came. Cheyenne had butterflies in her stomach as she got ready for school. She met the other girls before class and they were the same way. Cheyenne opened her locker to get her report for History and there was a carefully wrapped package sitting there. She was surprised and looked around to see if anyone was watching her. No one was paying attention so she lifted the package out. She opened it and saw four pairs of shoes like Anna had worn that night. There was a pair in her favorite color that looked like they would fit. She bent down to try them on and they went on her feet so easily. She took them off and put them back in the package. She carried the package to class and sat down to anxiously await their turn to do their report. When it was time, she opened the package and took out her shoes. She handed the package to Anna. Her hand went immediately to the green pair of shoes. She handed the package to the other girls and they picked their shoes. They all quickly put them on and went to the front of the class. They gave their report and then Cheyenne turned on the CD player. Pierre started playing and they went into their dance routine. They did two quick dances and they had never danced better. The shoes helped them to keep time to the music and to make all the right steps. The four of them looked like someone was pulling a string to make all of them move at exactly the same time. When they were through, the class sat in stunned silence for a moment and then broke out into cheers and whistles. The Principal, Mr. Healy, stuck his head in to see what the noise was about. Mrs. Schwartz asked the girls to do another dance for him. Cheyenne glanced at Pierre and he nodded yes, so she went to the CD player. Pierre started a tune and the girls danced to the music. The students were clapping to keep time and even Mr. Healy and Mrs. Schwartz joined in, so the girls did one more dance. Everyone wanted more but they said they were pooped. Mr. Healy said the girls should give a demonstration to the entire school at the assembly next week. They would get extra credit for doing it. A lot of the students wanted to know more about the dances and how to learn them. Mrs. Schwartz suggested they start a club and the four girls could teach the dance steps. Pierre sat on a bookcase with a very big grin on his face.

When Cheyenne got home and only she and Pierre were around, she said, "Oh, thank you, Pierre. That was the most fun I've ever had."

"Thank ye, lassie. Now we'll have another generation of lads and lassies that believe in Leprechauns. We still need to talk about your reward..."

"Oh, Pierre. You have given me three beautiful things already. I have my friends back and a new best friend. I also have your friendship. That's worth a LOT more than three imaginary wishes or imaginary gold."

"Oh, lassie, ye do prick me to me heart. Not believing in Leprechaun's powers or gold. I'll be the laughing stock of the Leprechauns...."

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Terry's writing. Such as...

Wanted

by Terry Compton

Josh Gunn detests space pirates. When he and his android partner, Cherry Kang, tangle with a bad one, they crash their shot-up spaceship in unfamiliar territory. Struggling to survive, they find a crazy alien who talks to an invisible partner, giant energy eating snakes and a new enemy. This enemy threatens to destroy a planet along with millions of people. Now Josh and Cherry are hunting them.

*****

Terry Compton has raced stock cars, rode horses across the Scapegoat Wilderness, fished and hunted most of his adult life while trying to pay for these hobbies by working at several different jobs. He is an Air Force veteran and served in the Air National Guard for several years. Currently, he is the owner, chief welder and installer for an ornamental iron business. Terry has made several award winning metal creations and is now turning this creativity to writing.

Terry loves to read. Some of his favorite authors are Clive Cussler, Robert Ludlum, Tom Clancy, Andre Norton, Poul Anderson, Robert Heinlein, Louie L'Amour, Zane Grey and Anne McCaffery. Newly found 'indie' authors with e-books he enjoys are Lindsay Buroker, Joseph Lallo, M. R. Mathias, Brian Rathbone, L. J. Sellers, Dana Stabenow and Luke Sky Wachter to name just a few.

Terry currently lives in Montana with his wife and a dog who thinks she is a short furry people.

Links:

Website: www.terrysbooks.com

#  Becoming Harper

By Maegan Provan

San Diego, California

December, 1936

To say my life was perfect might have been overstating things a bit. I mean, my family had suffered just as badly as everyone else during the Depression. I had been stood up for Thanksgiving dinner by the man I had been seeing; I didn't have a lot of anything, but I was happy. I had been working towards going to college and my writing was really beginning to develop, I couldn't have been in a better place.

I sat in front of my vanity, gingerly taking the curlers out of my hair. I was supposed to spend the day doing Christmas shopping for my parents and my sister. In 1936, a penny went a bit further, but it was harder to come by. Fortunately, my father had been able to secure some work and I had saved my allowance to make sure that I gave the best presents I could afford. Made up, dressed up, and ready to go, I stepped out of the front door and headed towards the bus stop. I held my ratty old coat to me as a cold wind blew, trying to protect myself from getting chilled. The gray, cloudy sky churned and the energy in the air hinted at rain. Mothers with their infants and fathers heading out to look for work crowded around the bus stop and I prayed that I would be able to get a seat. As I stepped up on to the curb, a flash caught my eye.

A shiny black car pulled up next to the stop, its windows glinting in the hazy mid-December light. It was simply amazing. My parents had decided to hold off on getting a car since we lived so close to the bus stop. My father had called it a frivolous expense and nothing could beat the good old public transit system. The driver of the fancy car leaned across the seat and opened the door closest to me. It popped slightly and he motioned for me to pull it the rest of the way. While I was fascinated by the car, I was fairly certain that opening that door would bring nothing but trouble. I took a deep breath and grabbed the handle.

The driver flashed a bright smile at me. His dark brown hair was slicked back and his brown eyes sparkled with the promise of good humor. My heart skipped a beat and I tried to smile back at him without looking silly.

"You look like you could use a lift." He winked at me.

"Oh, thank you, but I am going to take the bus." I could feel goose pimples crawling up my arms. He was extremely good looking, but my father had always told me to not to go anywhere with strange men by myself. Of course, that was a good philosophy to have, regardless.

He smiled wider and reached out for my hand. His eyes peered into mine and I felt something in the back of my mind urging me to take his hand and go with him. Anxiety prickled up in my chest and I could feel my breath catching; I _had_ to get in the car with him. I slipped into the passenger side and shut the door. The heavy feeling slipped away and I leaned back in the plush seat and tried to ease my breathing. The man drove off from the stop sign and started to head towards town.

"What's your name, darling?" He didn't take his eyes off the road.

"Harper." My voice caught in my throat. I looked over at him, trying to make myself grasp that I actually got into the car with a complete stranger. A sense of calm washed over me and I relaxed a bit. "What about yours?"

"So what were you heading to town for?" He breezed over the question and turned his head and glanced at me for brief moment. "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"Oh, no, it's okay. I have to do my Christmas shopping for my family." The coin purse began to feel a bit heavy in my pocket. I looked down at my lap and after an awkward pause, I mumbled, "Thank you for the ride."

"You're welcome." The buildings rose high above the concrete as we crossed the threshold into the city limits. Shop after shop whizzed by, but he showed no signs of stopping.

"Any shop is fine," I said, slightly panicked that he hadn't thought to pull up in front of any of them.

"I have a friend that sells beautiful trinkets that I think you might like. His place isn't much further," he offered, smiling once more.

"I... I don't have a lot of money," I murmured. "I don't want to waste your time."

"Nonsense," he chuckled. "He has great prices and I'm sure that he can find you a few things that would be within your price range."

I nodded and leaned my head against the window. The feeling of impending doom was beginning to resurface. Here was this man that I didn't know, offering me a ride and randomly taking me to see his friend to help me with Christmas shopping? Something wasn't adding up, and I could feel that it wasn't going to end well for me. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to voice my concern. I sat still in the seat and continued to watch the buildings whirl by.

His driving took us into the industrial part of the city. Factories billowed smoke and men in coveralls walked up and down the sidewalks. He turned the car down a narrow side street and pulled up in front of a large tan brick building. There didn't appear to be any workers at this building, and all of the windows had newspapers covering them. It didn't look like there was a business running out of there at all.

"He is in the middle of moving a few things in," he reassured me, obviously sensing my hesitation. "Follow me."

I sat in the seat, my hands clasped tightly together. I didn't really want to go inside. This horrible feeling sat in the back of my mind, yelling at me to get out of the car and run, but I couldn't move. I watched him as he got out of the car and headed up to the building, his shoulders hunched forwards, trying to keep the cold wind off of his face. My hesitation started to turn into a desire to go in with him. I started to feel as though I was in more danger sitting alone in the car than I would be in if I went with him.

My eyes followed him as he opened a faded brown door and headed inside. I couldn't take the anxious feeling any more so I decided to follow him. I rushed up to the building and darted inside the door, jumping as it slammed shut behind me. The interior was empty and silent. A fine layer of dust caked the ground, and it appeared to have been undisturbed for quite some time. There was a metal ladder that came up from the middle of the floor that went up to a platform where the offices appeared to be and webbed off into long deserted catwalks. He climbed the ladder and headed towards the middle office, looking down at me as he reached the top. I felt a pull to him from my core and I rushed up the stairs to catch up with him. He turned away from me and headed into the middle door.

I cautiously walked up to it, my breath catching in my throat again. The intensity of my emotions was overwhelming and I just had to see what was behind the door. I pushed it open gently, hoping for the best. The windows continued the newspaper covered theme, and a large oak desk was pushed up against them. There was a neatly made cot against one of the far walls, its crisp white sheets and neatly folded corners belied that it was being slept in. Opposite the cot was a rod sticking out of the wall, holding several nice suits with a couple of pairs of expensive looking loafers tucked underneath them. The door slammed shut behind me and I jumped, spinning around to see him leaning against a metal file cabinet, his jacket thrown across the top of it and the first couple buttons of his shirt undone. My heart stopped in that moment. All of the bad feelings I had were completely justified and I was going to die in that factory.

"I wouldn't calling it dying, dear Harper." He smirked, undoing his tie as he walked towards me. "I need to build my army, and you are going to be a part of that."

I tried to back up, reaching for the handle as I went. "I'm not a fighter, I'm a girl. I-I don't think I would be good in anyone's war."

"That's where you're wrong," he said as he reached out towards my face. "I can see it in you. You have what it takes to bring the pieces together. I saw it radiating off of you at that stop sign. It's even brighter standing here now."

I flinched away from him and backed up to the door, feeling around for the handle. He was crazy, and I was trapped in an abandoned factory with him. I could have kicked myself for being so stupid, trying to remember the reason for getting in the car in the first place.

He closed the distance between us and ran his fingers along my jaw line, a lustful look in his eyes. He traced down my neck, bringing his hand around to grab a fistful of my hair. My eyes were wide in horror as he pulled my head to the side, bringing his mouth to my neck. I could feel his hot breath against my skin. Tears began to form in my eyes as I shook with fear. A sharp, burning pain began to rip through me as he bit into my neck. I tried to scream but I couldn't find my voice.

I could hear a sick slurping sound as he held me close to him. My knees grew weak and I was getting tired. I pushed as hard as I could against his broad chest, trying to get loose, but his body never budged. All at once, he pulled back from my neck; thick, red blood, my blood, coated the lower part of his face and dripped down his chin. He licked some of the blood from his lips before he brought his wrist up to his mouth and bit, tearing the flesh open. I tried to move away as he put the wound up to me. I shook my head, tears falling down my cheeks.

"Drink, Harper, and your whole life will change." He grinned evilly at me. "You will live."

After a moment of fighting against him, he took his free hand and wrapped it in my hair once more. I could feel my head being forced down to the wound. All at once, I felt a gnawing urge to drink from him, despite my better senses screaming at me to stop. My mouth closed around his wrist and I was greeted by a tangy, copper taste. It was almost like sucking on a penny, but the more I drank the richer and sweeter the taste became.

"That's enough, Harper," he said, calmly. I ignored his request, not wanting to give up that new flavor. He growled at me and ripped his wrist out of my mouth. "I said enough!"

An overwhelming ache started at the pit of my stomach and my throat began to burn. I fell backward onto the floor and my whole body began to shake and convulse. My hands balled up into fists, my toes curled, and every inch of my being was stabbed by a million knives in one fell swoop. I could hear a blood curdling scream. It took me a moment to realize that those horrible sounds were coming from me.

He stood over me, studying my face. His eyes glowed a bright yellow, his face a bit disfigured. My vision began to blur as the burn in my throat climbed into my brain. The world seemed to melt around him and distort into a hellish backdrop from his demonic features. He kneeled and brushed a few strands of hair from my face. His fingers traced my jaw line and down my chest. My skin prickled at his touch and the pain popped like bubbles in my brain.

"My dear, Harper," he sighed. "This is going to be a very painful change, but I am giving you a great gift. You will never age, you will never die. Beauty will never leave you. There is a very violent sleep awaiting you. When you wake up, you will have no memory of me, but know now that I am giving you the gift of immortality and strength beyond anything you could have ever imagined. You will always carry it with you."

He placed one hand over my heart, the other on my head, and whispered a long string of unintelligible words. I felt an electric jolt shutter through the burning, stabbing pain and everything went dark.

***

I woke up on a cot in a dark, dusty factory, confused about how I got there. Despite the windows being covered with paper, there was a faint purple glow in the room. I sat up a little too quickly and felt the head rush hit me. I hurt all over and I was thirsty. I mean _really_ thirsty. I grabbed my head and looked down at my lap. There I found the source of the glow. A runic design emitted the colored light from the left side of my chest, right above my heart. I jumped out of the cot, screaming and clawing at the mark.

The door to the room opened, and a brunette man stuck his head in. This alien mark illuminated his face enough to show a look of pure confusion. He stared at me for a moment, then it seemed like something clicked for him and he backed slowly out of the room.

"Babe," he hollered. "You need to come see this."

"What Jason?" A female voice responded. I could make out clanking metal. Climbing a metal ladder, perhaps? "It's another office in yet another abandoned building. I keep telling you that we aren't going to find food here."

"Just look." His head poked back in the door. A blond woman looked in around him. She scowled as she scanned over the room until she landed on me. Her eyes grew wide as her mouth dropped.

"Nope." She disappeared back through the door and I could hear metal clanking again. "We are not getting in the middle of this."

He smiled sheepishly at me, and bowed slightly before turning back towards his companion. "Lily, you said you were supposed to cross paths with one. Now you have your chance."

"Not like this, Jason. We don't even know what it wants. It could very easily rip our throats out and leave our ashes to be forgotten in this God forsaken place." The one called Lily spoke in a hushed voice. It was weird that I could still hear her. Maybe the building had good acoustics.

"If it was going to do that, it would have already." Jason responded in an equally quiet tone. "Come on, Lil. This is like a once in a lifetime experience."

"You seem to forget, I've already _had_ a few lifetimes." She huffed.

My heart pounded in my chest. What in the world was going on? The last thing I remembered was leaving to go to town to do a bit of shopping. My dress felt plastered to me, like I had been soaking wet, but I couldn't remember if I had been caught in the rain. My legs shook under me, and I leaned against the wall, trying to stay balanced. I bit back tears that were fighting their way to the surface. I wouldn't give into them. Too often had I allowed myself to cry when it was not fitting. I would not cry. I sniffed and tried my hardest to keep a level head, although I didn't think it was working.

There were footsteps again and the couple appeared in the doorway. I tried to find my breath, but I couldn't. A flash of a memory went through my head. I remembered feeling that I was going to die. I knew it. I must have been kidnapped and brought here. These two strangers were going to murder me and leave my body to rot in the abandoned building. I couldn't hold back the tears anymore, and I let them fall as I slid down to the ground. The purple glow got brighter, causing me to panic.

"Please," I begged. "Just let me go. I won't tell anyone that you were here or whatever you did to me. I just want to go home."

They exchanged a confused look and walked over to me. The female bent down and frowned at me. Her hair fell over shoulder as she kneeled down to me, the purple light turning it a bright magenta. She looked me up and down before reaching out to touch my neck. I flinched but her fingers found my skin and ran across it. Her brow furrowed as she turned my head to one side and traced along the nape of my neck.

"Well, you definitely are one of them, no doubt about it." She stood up, giving me some space. "But you are brand new. I don't understand why he would have just left you here."

"W-what are you talking about," I asked, fighting through the sobs. Fear settled into my stomach and I began to shake uncontrollably.

Lily and Jason exchanged a concerned look. She crossed her arms as he sat down beside me. The shivers didn't ease and I felt like I was going to be sick. Fear and thirst didn't mix well together. I wrapped my arms around myself as the two looked at each other as if trying to decide what to do.

"What's your name?" He turned his head to look at me.

"H-Harper," I stuttered out.

"Well, Harper, my name is Jason and that's Lily." He pointed to his blond companion. "We need to ask you a few questions; do you think you would be okay with that?"

Their concerned but quiet demeanor made me even more frightened and nervous than I ever thought possible. I braced myself, looked him right in the eye and nodded. What else was I going to do?

"Do you remember how you got here?" His eyes searched my face. I looked over his shoulder toward the bank of windows, trying to remember. After a failed attempt to recall, I shook my head.

"How about who brought you," Lily offered. Again, I shook my head. "No name, no details?"

"I don't know how I got here or who brought me. For all I know, you two could have drugged me." My voice broke, giving the final stamp on my fear. I began to cry again, accepting that there was nothing else to do. "I want to know what's going on and what has happened to me. Why are you asking me these questions? I haven't done anything wrong. I just want to go home."

Jason reached over and put his hand on my shoulder, sympathy written all over his face. I flinched again, not wanting the strange man to touch me. By that point, any strength I should have been able to muster had long gone. I was nothing more than a crying ball of mess stuck in a building with two eerily nice strangers and something glowing out of my chest.

"Harper," he began. "You can't go home. You... You can never go home."

"What? Why?" I struggled to get up. They couldn't keep me as a prisoner. I would scream and fight them if I had to. They both reached their arms out in a seeming attempt to keep me from falling. I waved my arms. "Just get away from me! You can't keep me here; I have every right to go anywhere I choose."

"You know, you're right. We can't hold you here." Lily stepped back. Her concerned look morphed into one of indifference. "Let me ask you just one more question. Are you thirsty? Are you _really_ thirsty?"

I looked at her for a moment, considering whether or not I should actually say 'yes' or not. I crossed my arms and frowned. "How did you know?"

The couple nodded to each other again and Jason tried once more to put his arm across my shoulders. I didn't try to fight him.

"There isn't an easy way to explain this, Harper, but we're going to do the best we can." He let my shoulders go and crossed the room to sit on the desk. His concerned look never wavered. "You have been changed. Your entire being has been rewritten. You are dead, Harper."

I busted out laughing. My nerves had reached their limit and I snapped. Dead? I was standing right in front of them. "You have to be joking."

They both stared at me. I waited for them to chuckle or give away the joke. It didn't happen. I looked back and forth between them, searching their faces for some sign of humor. When neither of them moved, I slowly sank back to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my chin on my arms.

"You're not joking," I sighed in defeat.

"No, we're not." Lily crouched down next to me, her arm on my back. "If you'll come with us, we can explain everything."

I nodded and allowed her to help me up. What more was I to say at this point? Perhaps I could just go along with them for a bit until they gave up the joke. Jason had gotten up and moved back toward the door. Once I was on my feet, Lily managed to find my coat and shoes, which had been neatly placed on an old metal filing cabinet. I slowly put them on and followed the strangers out of the office and down the large metal stairs into the large open floor of an abandoned warehouse. She kept her arm around my shoulders and took very slow, purposeful steps.

We emerged from the building onto the dark street. The area felt empty, almost like we were the last people on earth. With Jason in the lead, we made our way toward the shops that lined the retail area of town. The windows there were dark, too, but I could still feel people scurrying around behind the veil of shadows.

"I'm trying to think of where to begin," Lily sighed. After a brief pause, she seemed to have decided and nodded to herself. "I'll tell you about Jason and myself, first, to make it a bit easier. We are vampires. We sleep during the day and drink blood at night. I assume you've heard about vampires before?"

"You mean, like Dracula?" I had remembered checking out the novel from the library but not being too impressed. The idea of turning into bats or wolves, manipulating the mind of some poor unfortunate, and drinking blood all seemed a bit silly. "That's just a story."

"Well, yeah. Dracula _is_ a story, but vampires are not." She rolled her eyes. "Now, to make a long creation story short, the first vampire was made nearly a millennia ago when the first demons left our world. The first vampire, the First Born, turned a select group of people into beings just like him. These beings had the qualities of humans, you know, able to eat their food, stay out in daylight, that kind of stuff. They were able to blend in so they were charged with creating the bloodlines. He had called them 'Night Touched.'"

"I don't know what this means for me." I hated long drawn out explanations

"I'm getting there!" She snapped. "Anyway, the Night Touched also carried different marks. Each one had a mark in a different place that glowed all sorts of colors. It's believed that the Night Touched had died out centuries ago, along with the First Born. No vampire had seen or heard anything about them and they sort of faded into ghost stories. Until now, though, clearly."

I raised an eyebrow and stopped. "You think that I am one of those long lost 'touched' things? I'm twenty-three years old; I think I would've known if I'd been around for centuries."

It was Jason's turn to sigh. "No, Harper, what Lily is trying to say is the fact that you have a mark that glows and no memory of how you got it is proof that not only is the First Born still alive, but that the Night Touched weren't just a myth."

"But they're all dead," I repeated. That was a scary thought.

"As far as we know, yes." He nodded.

"So, not only am I never going to see my family again, but I've been turned into something that isn't supposed to exist anymore?" This was too much. There had to be a lie somewhere. "I don't know if I should really believe you. You're telling me this fantastic story and for all I know, you could be trying to kidnap me."

At that moment, a young woman emerged from one of the shops, her coat wrapped tightly around her and a hat in her hand. She looked around, as if expecting there to have been someone waiting for her. Her shoulders sagged as she headed off down the street. Her perfume wafted back towards us, greeting me with a faint hint of lavender.

"Then we'll show you." Lily rushed ahead of Jason and me, gaining on the woman.

In a flash, Lily had her against the wall, her head crooked to one side. We sprinted to catch up to them just as Lily sank her teeth into the woman's neck before she could even let out a cry for help. The smell of blood hit me like nothing I had ever felt and my stomach churned and groaned. Thirst overwhelmed me as a growl rose in my throat. What had happened to me? Before I could stop myself, I pulled Lily off of the young woman and lapped up the blood around the wound. It tasted tangy and sweet, and I had to have more. Instinct seemed to have kicked in; I forced my own teeth into the woman's neck and drank. Her soft cries didn't stop me, I was too far gone. When the body was dry, I let her drop to the ground and stepped back. The purple glow was back and brighter than before. I felt satisfied. I turned around to Lily and Jason, guilt washing over me.

"I killed her," I said. My knees didn't shake, nor were there tears. I just felt a twinge in the pit of my stomach.

"You fed," Jason put simply. "It's what we do, as we told you."

I turned back to the woman's crumbled body. "We can't leave her here like this."

"We can move her, if you like."

I nodded. It felt like a switch had turned inside me. I should have been upset for that woman, like I had been upset for myself only a few moments before. Her death had been so easy. Drinking the blood from her, feeling her energy flow into me. It had been so easy to take. I understood what they were talking about. I was changed.

***

The next night, after the lights were turned out and my family went to sleep, Lily and Jason helped me sneak into the room I shared with my sister to remove my things. I was surprised by how quietly we could move. As the last few items were passed out the window, I asked Lily and Jason for a final moment in the room that had once belonged to me. I had written a note to my family and placed it on the now empty dresser, and then walked over to where my sister slept.

Her chest rose and fell with each breath, and her long lashes fluttered on her cheeks as she dreamed. I reached out and smoothed down her wild chestnut hair. She groaned and her eyes fluttered open. I smiled at her and she gasped, registering who I was.

"You have to be quiet, Corrine," I murmured my finger to my lips.

"Harper!" She whispered and sat up, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Where have you been? We've been so worried. Are you coming home?"

I hugged her back and shook my head. "I can't come home, Cor. I came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? Where are you going?" I could see the panic in her eyes as she looked up at me. I frowned.

"Away, darling, but I will always be close to you, okay?" I hugged her tighter, careful not to hurt her. "I've left a note for Mother and Father on the dresser, be sure they get it, okay?"

"I don't want you to go, Harper. Whatever it is, it can wait. You can stay here with me." Tears ran down her cheeks.

"I can't, Cor, I have to go. I love you very much." I leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her grip around my waist was tight, but I pulled her arms free and smiled at her. Then I ducked out the window and never looked back.

***

Somewhere near the New York State Line

March, 2008

"Are we almost there yet?" I threw my head back against the leather seat.

"If you say that one more goddamn time, I will rip your head off, Harper." Lily pulled down the makeup mirror and looked back at me.

I stuck my tongue out at her and she rolled her eyes. We had been forced out of Fort Wayne, Indiana without so much as a warning. The Slayers had been encroaching on our territory and one of the other covens we hunted with had been captured and staked. They had found it as an excuse for illegal searches in known vampire areas of the city and we knew it was time to bail.

With little time to pack, we were forced out of our home and on the run. After a day hiding in an abandoned house, we crammed ourselves into Jason's car and took off toward the Empire State. Lily had always talked about moving there when our time in Fort Wayne was up. She liked the idea of the big city, living in penthouses and playing like millionaires. I had always talked about going home. My parents were long dead and Corrine was an eighty-four year old great grandmother with a great life. I doubted that she even remembered me. Of course, until she passed, I wasn't allowed to even bring it up. Too big of a risk, and all.

I stared out the window as we passed the "Welcome to New York" state sign. Only a few more hours until we hit the big city or at least I hoped. There had to be something for us in New York. A chance to be new people, a life, anything. I left out a forced yawn and laid across the seat.

"Can we at least stop for food soon?" I whined.

"Harper!" Lily shouted as I chuckled. Yeah, there had to be something good for us in the city that never slept. It seemed fitting.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Maegan's writing. Such as...

Celine (The Night Touched Chronicles Book 1 _)_

by Maegan Provan

The Night Touched haven't been around in centuries. Created by the original vampire, the "First Born," the Night Touched were made to create the bloodlines which all modern day vampires come from. Their unique powers and colorful marks set them apart from other vampires.

Harper Kemp had long believed that she was the last Night Touched in existence. With her friends, Lily Buchannan and Jason Howard, she has learned to accept it. Until one night when everything changed.

A plea from her dreams and a forbidden romance, Harper sets out on a path of discovery; not only is she not alone, she's about to face her worst nightmare- a devastatingly handsome slayer named Silas with a finger on her non existent pulse..

*****

**Maegan Provan is a New Adult/** Urban Fantasy writer working on her first series "The Night Touched Chronicles" and the mini series "Becoming Night Touched." She is currently based in Texas with her husband and her dog. When not writing, she spends a lot of time binge watching old television shows on Netflix, goofing off on Facebook, and playing PC games, like Guild Wars 2 and Minecraft. Maegan is a huge fan of Joss Whedon,Cassandra Clare, and Laurell K. Hamilton, drawing inspiration from their work **.**

Links:

Website: www.maeganprovan.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorMaeganProvan

Twitter: www.twitter.com/ProvanMaegan

#  Artwork

By Roger Lawrence

'For the love of God, pay attention. This is supposed to be a meeting. Mona, stop eyeing that man like a strumpet and attend me.' He was well aware that Mona was not her real name but addressing her as Madame Gherardini or any other of the numerous titles by which she was known would afford her a dignity she simply did not merit.

It had not been a propitious time for the quarterly meeting. What with the unannounced power cuts, and now the plumbing. Unreliable at the best of times, it was in total disarray. Four paintings had already been ruined beyond repair. If things went much further the entire museum might have to close. And they all knew what that meant.

'Come to order. It has been proposed that the new Degas works be allowed time to acclimatise before commencing their operational duties. Do I hear a second?' He could hear quite a lot of noise, but none of it signified assent, or even a hint that anyone was actually listening to him.

'I second the motion.' Finally, a hand waved timidly over the milling crowd.

'And you are?' He towered imposingly over the person, an admittedly nubile young lady with the most wonderful olive skin. Not that a stranger was so unusual these days. The museum was in such flux that he rarely saw anyone often enough to identify individuals.

'I am Maria, My Lord.' He relaxed somewhat, partially mollified at the usage of his formal title. 'I am from The Renaissance School.'

He winced delicately. So they were even letting Post modern influences in now, God rot them. They would be the ruin of everything he'd had set out to achieve.

'Oh, Very well. In place of any dissent I, Lord Roxbourgh, Principal Secretary, moot it so. Next.' They were becoming restless. Even the normally attentive Rubins' woman seemed to be preoccupied with a private conversation. Usually so obsessed about how she was perceived, she would sit, rock-like, basking in the concerted awe. It was time to bring it all to a halt. An outright rebellion was unthinkable. His credibility would never recover.

'Is there any further business? I warn you that there will be no toleration of time wasters. And that includes you Mona. I am still considering what, if any action to take against you for being discovered with that oaf in the haystack. What Constable would have said is beyond me.' The lady in question seemed not in the least worried. That smirk of hers had always irritated him. Still, what could you expect of foreigners? No discipline; that was the hallmark of all foreigners. However there appeared to be no further business. Or at least any they were prepared to discuss rationally.

'Then all that remains is to call this meeting to a halt and remind you all of the date for the next. Which is', he glanced at his notes, 'three months from this date. From that time on I will take no more dissension. We are all here to do a job and if it must be done then it will be done correctly.'

Diatribe over, Lord Roxbourgh surveyed the assemblage. Fifty different nationalities sweltered under one leaking roof. No wonder discipline was atrocious. It was a damned shame they had voted to abolish corporal punishment. There had been no outright insolence in his day. He turned, shuddering at the sight of that monstrosity with three eyes. How they had ever allowed that absurd Spanish painter's work in was a complete mystery and surely proof of their moral disintegration.

'So it falls upon me to announce the commencement of the festivities.' And thus bringing his gavel down three times in the prescribed manner, he ended the meeting and rose with disdain as the party began. He was going home.

Too much time for enjoyment. That was the root of the problem. No order; no idea of how they should behave before their betters. He stormed away, cuffing the page-boy dutifully bearing his wig and crop and trotting loyally at his side. It was then that the first incredibly disjointed note shook the rafters. Even the delicate strains of the lute had degenerated into that atonal filth that passed for music these days. He fled to his beloved books. A pastime clearly out of fashion in these times of carnal passions.

'Boring old fart.' The aforementioned nubilesque muttered, smiling coyly at a handsome knight with the biggest sword she had ever seen. Her companion, a fervent youth with an amusingly tight loincloth, pranced in attendance, eyes fixed lovingly upon her. Even in his adoration keenly aware of King Arthur's strenuous attempts to impress her; and her answering smile.

Things had been different once. Palm trees, long nights of love beneath beautiful ochre skies. Sadly those days were gone along with Friday, his companion of so many years. With resignation he changed direction and headed purposefully towards the drinks; it offered but brief solace though anything was better then the thought of his beloved and that metal man together. Oh for the sad but compelling call of a gull, the light whispering of the waterfall, the mating cries of the elegant storks towering majestically on their long pink stilts.

He was going to drink himself senseless.

Soon the party was in full swing. Perhaps a collective consciousness told them that this was not destined to last. That their peace, their isolation from humanity was drawing to a close. And perhaps that unspoken thought spurred them to even further excesses.

Soon, wild acts of abandon made a mockery of the austere surroundings. Couples made love with a heedless abandon, in complete disregard of their unfathomable social and ethnic gulfs - or even disparities of age. Anything, it seemed, was better then contemplating what was to come. Thus within minutes the floor was an undulating sea of bodies, some copulating wildly, uncaring of anyone they disturbed in the frantic desire for gratification. Others, most in fact, unconscious, the alcohol quickly imparting the release they sought.

Until, less than two hours later, all was silent save for the occasional snore or the nightmare-spawned cry.

'What now?'

Roxbourgh, roused from a pleasantly recurring dream of thrashing a pheasant beater for startling his hounds, was momentarily startled but breeding immediately reasserted itself. Climbing to his feet, he kicked his page with an oath and demanded mead. He peered out from his quarters dreading what he might see. The piercing shriek was everywhere, the calm somnolence of the scene now shattered by the unearthly sound. He had only experienced this particular noise but once before and that had been for a test. But that had been in daylight. There had never been a test in the middle of the night.

'Everyone, get up. Get up now. There is a fire!'

At first only one, then two heads groggily raised, eyes unfocused, bodies unwilling to respond as their alcohol induced stupors fell away. Then the dreaded word began to percolate through the twitching crowd. With a satisfying speed ten, twenty, then forty people scrambled to their feet, adding to the first wave of screams, which low at present, would quickly rise to a panic that Roxbourgh knew he could not allow.

And as if to matters worse, from the ceiling a solid fusillade of water began to pour, instantly soaking everyone and rousing anyone not unconscious.

'Quickly, Get back inside, now!' Roxbourgh cowered, breeding forgotten as all about him people slipped and fell in the wash of water cascading onto the floor. Screams, cries of alarm, shouts of pain and anguish turned the calmness of before into bedlam. 'Get back, now!'

He rushed forward, shoving the ungrateful Mona aside, elbowing the yokel with whom she had been lying. She fled, just in time as the deluge seemed to intensify. All around him, people dashed, slipped, fell, screamed. He shoved and shouted. Hitting out at bodies to make them move before the unthinkable happened.

But finally people had begun to make it home. Roxbourgh began to relax. They would all be wet but at least-. He stopped congratulating himself as something new began. At first he could not believe it. The night sky did not flash blue and white in short scintillating patterns. Then, he knew.

'Hurry!'

But it was too late. Other people, seeing the lurid pulsating light, changed direction, not caring whether they scurried, simply seeking safety wherever it lay.

And within a minute they had done just that. The floor was empty, any and all trace of the party gone in the torrents of water that still poured from the ceiling. Roxbourgh looked about in horror. It was too awful to contemplate. He closed his eyes, willing it not to be true. But it was. He turned for home, hearing the voices shouting from behind the locked outer doors. It was all over. Everything he had ever done ruined in one fell swoop. He lowered his head, climbing in. All over. All of it, finished.

***

'Well thank god it was only a fault in the system. Two more minutes and all the paintings would have been destroyed.' Andrew McNeil, the museum's curator rubbed his eyes wearily. Yet another near catastrophe. He didn't know if he would be able to stand much more. Thank God that fire engine just happened to be passing. 'If they hadn't given the all-clear and turned off the sprinklers, the whole place would have been ruined.'

'Aye, I s'pose.' Rafferty agreed sullenly. It was a first; the older man's animosity towards his younger boss had never been far from the surface. 'But it's still your fault. You should have got more money from the council.' McNeil held himself in check. One more "I told them you were too young and I should have been given..." and he might lash out.

'Well let's just get on with it, anyway.' McNeil sighed, surveying the last half inch of water slowly draining through the floorboards. Of all the things to happen right now, this was conceivably the worst. That malicious sod of an inspector was arriving in just a few hours. Though with luck they might have the place cleaned up without even alerting him. It was touch and go, but just possible.

He had worked hard to be given a whole museum of his own. However the near endless begging for more funds and often carrying out the work of staff, culled by his ever decreasing budget, had aged him prematurely. Now he looked almost fifty. He'd known of the problems associated with running a museum; even welcomed them. Unfortunately these myriad problems had kept him here for sometimes days on end. Admittedly this was less of a problem now that his wife had left him. But just for one night he'd taken the opportunity of visiting old friends. He briefly wondered if God hated him as well as his ex and the older man now smiling maliciously at him.

'You start with Renaissance and I'll get on to Cubism. We should be able to slop out within two hou-.'

'Not me. This is your problem.' Rafferty smiled at the curator's dismay. This is one you're going to fix on your own. I'm going, and before I do, I'm just going to make a little call.' He smirked. McNeil knew exactly to whom the call would be. It was the older man's first and probably best shot to get rid of him.

He waved the Irishman away, determined despite the man's threat. To hell with him. He might still be able to get it all mopped up. After all, none of the paintings seemed to have been damaged this time. Turning back he surveyed the museum again, groaning with relief before stopping, his eyes widening. He stopped mid step, mid groan. Something was wrong; terribly wrong. He blinked, praying that it was an illusion, even peering at the nearest painting to make sure. One of his favourites, actually. He had always loved that Constable of the wagon fording the river while laden with golden straw.

He didn't want to believe it, yet the evidence was there before him. There was a... His brain refused to complete the thought. He gulped and shook his head in a vain attempt to make it go away. There was a woman in the picture. There had never been a woman in it before. And certainly not a woman doing something disgusting with the farm worker who should have been driving the cart. He peered closer, aghast but strangely fascinated. The woman's face was familiar.

He jumped back. No, it couldn't be. The face of the woman, clearly exposed, mouth open wide with rapture was one he had seen many times since the famous French painting had been loaned to them. But it couldn't be true. Mona Lisa, in a constable painting!

He executed a quick tour of his charges, his mouth opening wider in dismay with each discovery. Within minutes he was finished. Tottering and nearly falling, he span then ran as quickly as he was able back to his office, the black horror following him like a pack of rabid dogs.

There was a very large and very full bottle of whisky in his desk. First he was going to drink a large portion of it then he was going to decide what to do. Because for sure, the sight of Mona Lisa apparently fornicating atop a huge pile of hay on a wagon forging a river in a Constable painting was enough to prove to him that he had gone totally mad.

He sat listlessly at his desk. A lifetime's discipline forbade him to loosen his tie. A working life spent within the confines of this orderly place had effectively closed his mind to the inconceivable. Order and structure; that was the very linchpin of a museum, and his life. Care for the exhibits; ensuring they were retained in the best possible condition. Even exchanging their position every couple of years to make the place appear fresh and vibrant was the closest thing to lateral thought that he had been called upon to make for the last five years.

In less than two hours the most uncouth, the most patronising, in fact the biggest philistine McNeil had ever had the misfortune to encounter would be arriving for his yearly inspection of the museum. That a total cretin who could barely string five words together without an expletive had ever been put in charge of a city's cultural background was an incalculable enigma. But he was no fool. Even he could glance through a museum catalogue and realised something had happened – something terrible beyond belief.

And what was more, he, the curator would probably be sacked and instantly arrested for theft of three hundred beautiful and in some cases, immeasurably valuable paintings. Oh, admittedly there were still three hundred painting in this wing. But these works were known to the public. Had been known for hundreds of years. Even a professional moron like Gerald Measly would ascertain that something was amiss when faced with a painting of Mona Lisa cavorting with a yokel in an English painting produced two hundred years later. And that was without other paintings he had spotted on his way out when his hesitant footsteps had turned into a full scale stampede.

Even a total illiterate like Measly would spot the flaw in a three eyed Dali female cavorting with a stick-like miner in a painting full of equally stick-like figures. Or the spitfire in full battle dress arcing across Renoir's field of poppies. Or Tretchikoff's Green Lady cavorting with Hals' Laughing Cavalier.

He was finished. There was nothing more to say. How someone, no surely an army of people had gained access, stolen all his paintings and had time to replace them all with those hellish designs from the lunatic musings of a hundred insane artists, was beyond him. No, he was finished.

***

An hour later the bottle was half empty, or half full. No, half empty. He was decidedly not in an optimistic mood. Less than an hour before the official moron began his tour, now an almost calm Mc Neil decided to take one last look at what had been his world for his entire adult life. He decided to try to remember the paintings as they had been and not the horrors they had now become.

The night had fled almost in glee at what was about to transpire. With trepidation, he unlocked the door and walked in to his favourite wing. The silence was absolute. In the rapidly diminishing darkness the paintings hung silently, majestically, the remaining gloom still sufficient to obscure their contained lunacy.

Luckily, the last of the water had drained away and now the only sound was the gentle swishing of the mop as he dried the floor, not really seeing the abortive things that passed for his paintings. Until, on the last wall, reserved for the largest canvasses, he stopped mid-step before the castle which should have been obscured by a laughing Lord-.

A noise from behind startled him. Now, the alcohol, usually a buffer between him and reality made it easy to turn, to face whatever horror lay there for him.

Before him was a man. A tall man, regal of bearing, regarding him with something akin to sorrow. The man's dress was unusual and even with the obtuse fashions he saw every day. He was out of place. The long frock coat, the powdered wig, the monocle, the cane, the nervous page boy cowering near his heel. Wasn't that...

'Mister McNeil. My name is Lord Roxbourgh. I think a few words between us would be most opportune at this moment.'

It was to no avail. Mc Neil had fainted.

***

'Boy. Pinch his cheek \- hard!' The page rushed to his duty, his grasp of the curator's cheek a witness to the fear of his master. McNeil grunted then convulsed as the agonising pain in his face roused him.

'That is enough, let him go.' Roxbourgh dismissed the boy with an imperious wave while a strange smile fluttered over his face. From utter ruin, to potential salvation. Some good just might come out of all this after all.

'Sir, now that you are awake, I feel the need to explain some facts of life. Then, I believe that we can come to an understanding of mutual benefit.' The curator shook his head groggily. This had to be a dream of course; or a hallucination.

'Now, perhaps we should go to the seat over there.' He pointed solicitously to the chaise lounge, situated beneath what should have been Romeo and Juliet professing undying love, but who were now shrieking silently at the blood smeared lance of a lunging Don Quixote. Whoever this man was he appeared to be a part of this whole nightmare.

'Perhaps my office would be more comfortable.'

For the first time Roxbourgh's smile wavered.

'I may not leave the confines of this wing.' Roxbourgh frowned in irritation. Damn. He had not wanted the man to learn of that. No matter. He gestured to the imitation chair which, as expected, was uncomfortable as well as an eyesore. 'Now, listen to me very carefully.'

***

'Ah Mister, er, McNeil.'

Measley knew his name perfectly well but as usual he was playing his part to perfection. First would come the pseudo politeness but today the enthused patronisation would be gone. There was no need. He would go straight for the jugular.

'Time's come for the annual inspection. 'ad a strange phone call a couple of hours back.' McNeil gritted his teeth but kept his face calm as the man sneered. Through the glass door he could see four acolytes, milling restlessly. 'Already bin for a quick reccie to see for myself. Oh, and I've got a film crew coming. I couldn't let this go, could I?' The curator cringed inwardly. The inspector hated him even more than Rafferty did. His loathing of all university graduates was something he had never bothered to conceal.

Seeing no apparent reaction, Measley opened his battered briefcase that the curator knew fully well held nothing more than the fool's sandwiches. 'Your mate was raving about paintings being all fu...messed up.' He smiled in that peculiar way which always reminded Mc Neil of an alligator with wind.

The smile took on a more predatory air. 'So let me tell you that if this museum isn't in the spickest of spans,' he grinned innocently as if this were a quip he had unconsciously made even though he'd said the same thing for the past three visits, 'then I'll have the greatest pleasure in advising the board to shut it down and give you your marching orders. 'Cos' to tell you the truth, I'm fed up with you.' His eyes were black pin-pricks of raw malice.

'I'll tell you another thing as well. I'm sick of your attitude. Always looking down at me like I was a bleeding piece of crap. So this time I'm going to get you. We'll just wait for the film crew.'

And as if on cue, four men dragging a variety of equipment stumbled noisily through the front door.

'Want every painting shown. Every one.' Measley harped unnecessarily. 'Goin' out live so I want the whole country to see what this bloke's done to my museum.'

'Live?' Mc Neil felt his bowels quiver as Measley smirked unmercifully. 'Yer. Got a live gig. Didn't tell you about it last week cos' I wanted everyone to see how a superior little git like you has wrecked this place.' The inspector's men quailed visibly. Mostly drawn from the arty intelligentsia, they were all obviously appalled at the man's behaviour, but also mindful of the influence he wielded at the town hall.

'Get filmin'.'

'This is Martin Martindale, live at the Imperial Art Museum, with a special broadcast. This undercover reporter was granted special privileges since my,' the balding outside broadcast anchor-man permitted himself his small but famously self deprecatory shrug, 'er, small reputation for investigative journalism, has proved the downfall of not a few, shall we say, shady operators.'

Measley seemed to be aping the newsman's movements as if practising for the role. He turned briefly, smirking maliciously at the curator.

'It has been brought to our attention that a crime of heinous proportions has been visited on the denizens of this illustrious city...' he continued in this vein for a time, allowing the populace their customary respite to make a cup of tea before he finally got down to the nitty gritty.

'Nay, an atrocity from which all true art loving mortals will totter in sheer revulsion.' Even Measley seemed to be getting bored, tapping his foot impatiently to the reporter's obvious annoyance.

'Here is the evidence. Three hundred beautiful, nay, sacred works or art, stolen and replaced with these...' he flung an arm wide with a theatrically flourish which, fortunately was of camera range, but almost broke the nose of the sound man, 'abortions!...Behold!'

Warming to his theme now, he brandished a nicotine stained digit at the first offending ex-work of art. 'Mona Lisa forni.' He halted mid-vociferation. 'Er, I mean this,' courage returned with a rush, 'A Gainsbourgh thoroughbred with a Spanish Conquistador...' His resolve began to crumble. 'No, this,' one final steely glint remained, 'a world renowned depiction of the virgin Mary sitting on a Harley....'

Time had passed quickly. It barely seemed twenty minutes since Martindale had been dragged screaming incomprehensibly into the ambulance waiting solicitously for the police car to convey the convulsing Measley to wherever it was the criminally insane were incarcerated. His embarrassed cohorts, the film crew and the last of the trauma team had dissipated quickly. The curator allowed himself a small congratulatory smile.

'Mister McNeil.'

He gulped then choked convulsively on a mouthful of whisky for long moments before he was able to look up, to see, Lord Roxbourgh.

'Quite a satisfying outcome, don't you think?' Mc Neil could only nod, his throat burning, his eyes streaming furiously. 'So for now I shall bid you goodnight.' He barely had the energy to wave a limp hand. 'And I shall see you when the hounds arrive.'

McNeil shot up, smashing his head into the nearest painting to the low cry of indignation from its inhabitant. 'The hounds?' Roxbourgh nodded complacently.

'Well of course. My fee for the safe restoration of the museum, and the permanent tenure of your employment. Yes, I see a good future here. The bray of the horn, the howl of the dogs, the cry of the fox beaten to earth.'

'But...but,' McNeil paled, 'we gave them time to get back so the world wouldn't know that you were alive and the museum would be alright.' He was babbling and knew it.

'Yes, but that was merely the first part.' Roxbourgh smiled blithely. 'That was your fee. Mine is to be a weekly hunt through the museum. The natural science area will make for grand hunting grounds.' McNeil felt an even colder sensation in the pit of his stomach that even Measley had been able to produce.

'But you can't leave here for the dogs; and we haven't got any.'

'That is correct. However, the museum in Luton has. Moreover, I believe this establishment owns a large cargo vehicle. Need I go on?'

Roxbourgh strode out, already picturing the scene once McNeil had delivered the invitations to his relatives in New York, Rome, Berlin and...

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Roger's writing. Such as...

A Little Twist

by Roger Lawrence

A selection of short stories with a twist in the tail

*****

**Bio: I've yet to decide which is my favourite genre,** so I've written in quite a few. From three comedy SF novels of three teenage heroes saving the galaxy from murdering mutants, to an occasionally humorous series about three cantankerous old gits who do the opposite, albeit accidentally. My second horror novel in a series of three has just hit the shelves and my first suspense mystery with a little horror thrown in will be ready soon. I also have a collection of short stories with a strange twist at the end.

The second Old Geezers installment is under furious editing and I've just begun the third monster installment. I wish there were twenty five hours in the day so I could do more.

#  In the Beginning

By Bonnie Mutchler

He lay on the battlefield, surrounded by the shattered bodies of friend and foe. It was dark and cold, but he had ceased to feel anything hours ago, except for the waning of his life. That he was dying, he knew full well, yet there still remained a glimmer of hope in his heart. He couldn't give up, slide into the oblivion with no protest, no fight. The crows had gathered over the field as soon as the last curse had echoed and the last drop of blood fed the field. There would be a good harvest there next spring.

Surrey had turned tail and run after the destruction of most of his troops and had destroyed Stirling Bridge in his retreat. Wallace and Moray had also moved on and those of his comrades who could still walk had gone with them. Those who were dying, like him, were left behind to feed the carrion. His sword lay by his hand covered in blood. His useless hand, for when the axe cut through his shoulder it had severed bone and muscle. Then the blunt part of the axe had hit him hard on the side of his head and he had fallen into blackness, only to wake in the dark.

The groans and screams of the wounded drove into his consciousness. I t was maddening, because he too wanted to scream out, but had forbidden himself to. Suddenly over the noise he heard the squeak of wheels. He tried to turn his head, but nothing responded. The noise stopped next to him and a face loomed above him. His eyes were misty making the face just a smear.

"Ah here's a pretty boy, your grace." The voice sounded harsh and grating, yet whining.

Another face stared down at him. "Yes, he's quite beautiful." A hand gripped his chin and turned his head. "He seems nearly gone, though. If we take him we must leave at once, Thomb."

"Yes, master. Indeed." Rough hands gripped him by his shoulders and drug him over the soft ground, tossing him, as if he was a toy doll, on a pile of other bodies in a cart. He could smell death in that cart and he was helpless to do anything about it.

The cart bumped over the field, neither pausing nor avoiding the bodies, it simply crushed them further into the mud. It seemed hours, but eventually they came to a thick forest. The trees laced their branches so that the sky was blocked out. No star shone. He could hear scattered leaves crunching under the wheels, though early September, most remained on the trees, turning beautiful colors he would never see again. Whatever these men were up to, he was certain it would be nothing good.

A stone tower rose in a narrow clearing. Huge grey stones with only slits here and there in the upper stories for defense. There were no windows that he could see. The cart paused, then bumped up onto stone. They passed through a massive door and he heard it slam behind him and the bars were set into place.

He sighed and knew no more.

Pain. Screaming pain. It tore through him and his body shuddered. The wave slowly receded. He opened his eyes slowly. He could see through the darkness, now only dim. He lay naked on a cot in a small stone room, no bigger than 1 and a half meters by 2 and a half and no other furniture save a chair, which sat beside the bed. The narrow door opened and a stout man entered. His eyes were lost in his round cheeks and his dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. He was far from attractive with a bulbous nose, but still there was something about him, something otherworldly, that drew his eye and captured it.

"Ah, you are awake. " The chair creaked as Thomb lowered his bulk on it. "Has your hunger grown yet? Well, it will. Give it another hour or so. What is your name, pretty boy? Though if it's not comely, his grace will change it."

"Who are you? Where am I? What are you doing to me?" He demanded.

"Ud, ud. You have not answered my question, boy. Your questions will all be answered in time. I will do you the courtesy of introducing myself, but then I expect obedience from you. His grace will not tolerate rebellious behaviors. My name is Thomb, now give me your name boy!" Thomb's frown had become deeper and his voice had risen as he spoke. At the end he was nearly shouting.

He scowled, "My name is Alysandir Mac.."

"Never mind your surname." Thomb cut in, waving his hand. "It matters nothing here. You are Alysandir and nothing more. Now tell me of your background. Where are you from and how were you trained."

Another pain shot through him as he gasped, biting down on his teeth. As it subsided, he tried to rise. If he could just get hold of that fat devil he would wring it out of him what was going on. His body shook so that he fell back onto the cot.

In an instant Thomb was next to him, his hand clawing into Alysandir's throat. "Do not defy me, boy, or you will find yourself a starving, shriveled piece of flesh, locked forever in this cell." Thomb let go and returned to his seat with lightening speed. "Now, we will be pleasant and you will answer what questions I put to you. What is your background?"

Now that the maniac had mentioned it, he was starving. The hunger gnawed at his insides and the craving was nearly unbearable once he acknowledged it. Alysandir glared at Thomb, but at the same time he became aware of the pulsing of the man's heart, the movement of the blood as it raced through Thomb's veins.

"The hunger has begun." Thomb's gloating smile made him even uglier. "Your background, boy, and then you shall feed, I promise."

"I was sent to Kilwinning Abbey when I was 7 to learn letters and how to fight. When I reached the age of choosing, I wished to join the Knight Templers to fight in the next great Crusade, but Edward came first, the bastard." A shiver racked his body and the clawing in his gut became his new torture.

A satisfied sigh escaped from Thomb as he raked his piggy eyes over Alysandir's naked body. "Yes, the muscles are well developed."

Thomb's comments and gaze made Alysandir uncomfortable and when Thomb reached out and stroked his arm, he jerked away, his nose wrinkling.

The large man laughed heartily, "You will learn, my boy. Yes, you will learn."

Thomb rose from his chair and left through the wooden door. Alysandir could hear the key in the deep click of the lock. He rolled over on his back and wiped his brow with a trembling hand. He felt weak, but the mobility was coming back and he thought perhaps the pain was over. His mind began to formulate an escape plan, but there was too little information. He had no idea what lay behind the door and really he couldn't seem to concentrate from the overwhelming need that was raging through him.

Alysandir had managed to sit up when the door opened again and a hand shoved a young, cringing maid inside. She was dirty, her clothes tattered and wounds and scrapes on her skin. She pressed herself against the door, crying out in fright. His heart felt pity for just a moment and then he saw the pulse in her throat and smelled the blood. He was like a mad animal, actually snarling, as he flung himself on her. For the first time he noticed his fangs as they tore into her. A scream died on her lips as he sucked and licked the blood from her breast, emptying her.

He lay again on his cot, the girl's body still lying on the floor where he left it. Damn it, what had they done to him? And as for that who were they? After feasting, he had felt the strength that coursed through him. His tongue still played around the razor sharp fangs. There had been stories of creatures who haunted the night drinking blood. Mostly they were told to frighten children.

The door crashed open and a hulking man stood next to the opening, a leather leash in his hands and behind him were two warriors, each carrying a pike with a sword hanging at their side.

"Come, you are to be cleaned." The big man grunted.

"And if I refuse?" Alysandir snapped.

The man shrugged, "You will feed the starving in the dungeons. It matters not to me."

Alysandir pulled himself up and put his feet on the rough stone floor. The man slid the leash around his neck, bringing a long strap down and wrapping it around his hands in back, though he tried to move away from him. When it was fastened, he found himself pulled into a standing position. The man led the way from the room, with the two warriors bringing up the rear. They walked through a narrow hall with heavy oak doors interspersed. He could smell the other humans behind them. They came to a stairway that curved downwards and followed it to a lower story and into a huge room with an enormous fireplace. In the middle of the floor was a barrel like tub filled with water in which servants were busily placing hot rocks. Alysandir was led to the tub. Inside floated herbs and flower petals and beside it was a pile of sponges. The big man unfastened his bindings and gestured for him to enter the tub.

As he sat, he could feel the heat from the water and he wondered, for he knew it should burn him, but it didn't. He lifted his fingers letting the water run through them. A young, muscular man in his early twenties stopped beside the tub. His long golden hair was braided and knotted in a bun in the back. Bright blue eyes lingered over him as a smile played on his full cherry colored lips.

"My name is Ihon." The man purred, lifting a small basin of water and pouring it gently over Alysandir's scarlet hair. He was surprised to see the filth that ran down his chest. When had his last bath been? Ihon rubbed perfumed soap through his hair and rinsed it again. Then he picked up the sponge and rubbed it slowly over Alysandir's neck and chest, pushing him forward to get to his back. Alysandir closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the water and the sponge. The hot water trickled over his skin creating goose bumps. Ihon slid a large sponge behind his back and pushed him into a somewhat reclining position. He had almost fallen asleep as the sponge slid across his genitals down in the water. He started to sit up, to protest, but a firm, strong hand pushed him back again.

"It's fine." A voice whispered. The sponge wadded around his scrotum, lifting first one side and then the other and sliding teasingly over the head of his penis. He felt the heat start to rise in his body. Ihon had dropped the sponge and was now rubbing the ever hardening shaft vigorously. Alysandir groaned, spreading his legs further apart. Ihon stopped, standing up and Alysandir opened his eyes, looking around. All the other servants had gone and they were alone. Ihon had untied the belt around his waist and was pulling his tunic off. Alysandir watched him through narrowed eyes as he untied the string of his braies and let them drop to the floor. Ihon slid into the water on top of Alysandir, his hand once more wrapping around his cock, still hard.

"I do not service men." The redhead murmured.

"Then it is lucky I do. And someday you will, too, if you live, whether or not you have a taste for it." Ihon ran a long, thin finger down Alysandir's cheek , and ending beneath his chin. He lifted the smooth face up and pressed his lips warmly against Alysandir's. He felt his rod begin to pulsate and desire rose in him. He closed his eyes again and thought of buxom maidens from the village near the abbey. He had once come across half a dozen bathing in a river and had never forgotten the sight. He felt Ihon rubbing his hard on with his own penis, their testicles bouncing off each others. One part of him was surprised how very erotic it felt. Ihon pressed his body tightly against Alysandir's their members trapped between and began to thrust up and down. The friction created nearly drove him mad as his orgasm built and exploded. Ihon followed him a moment later. The blonde laughed as he lifted himself up, getting to his feet and shaking off the water, like a lazy dog. "Come, His Grace will wish to speak to you soon and the tub is needed for another."

Alysandir dried himself on the rough cloth he was handed. Ihon gestured to a peg on the wall where a long white tunic and a pair of braies hung.

"Those are yours." Ihon directed as he pulled his clothing back on and went to the door to shout at the servants to come and heat the stones again and drain the dirty water. "We will return to your cell and I will comb your hair out for you."

"I can comb my own hair out." Alysandir tied the strings to the braies and wiggled into the long tunic.

Ihon tipped his head, "You should enjoy the special attention you receive now. It does not last nearly long enough. Soon you will be just another on one heap or another."

Alysandir tried to press him about what he meant but then the huge man and the two warriors returned. He was harnessed up and they all marched to the stairs and up into the hall. Part way down it a door opened and a dark haired man, similarly leashed was standing in the door behind Thomb, who gave him a derisive grin. Alysandir stopped, his eyes narrowing. He thought what pleasure it would give him to tear the man, limb from limb with his bare hands.

"Hold on to that fire, my pretty boy." Thomb snickered. He felt the point of the pike in his back as Ihon took his arm, encouraging him to move. The fat man in front of him pulled heavily on the leash. He pulled back, causing the man to stumble. Immediately both pikes cut into him. Ihon shook his head and after a breathless moment they moved on. Once back in his cell, he was released and all but Ihon left.

"Sit in the chair, I will comb your hair. His Grace does not like long hair but he allows it as long as it is put up out of the way." He drew a comb from the bag on his belt.

"Just who the hell is this Grace?" Alysandir demanded. "I am tired of this mystery. Are we in a religious house?"

Ihon raised an eyebrow as he pushed Alysandir into the chair and began to untangle the mess of scarlet hair. "And is sex between men permitted in your holy houses?"

"I have seen it in the thirteen years I have inhabited one." The red head replied, "Now who is this Grace everyone speaks of and hints about? Tell me."

Ihon shot a glance toward the door, then leaned close to his ear hissing. "It is forbidden to say anything about him ever. There are many here you cannot trust. Best to keep your own counsel." He finished combing the flaming locks and then twisted them into a tight bun at the back, and pushed long pins in to hold it. Without another word, he tapped on the door and when it opened, he passed through and Alysandir heard the heavy key twist in the lock.

He stared at the wall, his face marred by the heavy frown. It had all seemed somehow surreal. Perhaps he had died and this was purgatory or worse yet, perhaps hell. Perhaps His Grace was just another name for Satan. If so it hadn't proven to be that bad. At least not yet.

It was a matter of hours before a guard came to open the door and he was lead out into the hall again only this time they went to the end of the hall and up a set of stairs. At the top was a circular room with colorful tapestries hanging from the wall. In the center of the room was a massive canopied bed, also circular and covered in furs. In the midst of them sat a pale, muscular man with silvery hair. His skin was smooth as satin and pale as alabaster. He leaned back on a pile of pillows, his hands lying white on the uppermost fur glittered with jeweled rings.

The bed was surrounded by six men, all young and beautiful, with well defined bodies. All were dressed in the long white tunics. Behind them stood a row of warriors with pikes. Thomb sat on a chair against the wall.

"Ah, my lovelies. I welcome you. I am sure you have questions but I ask you listen to me first. To begin with, each of you were pulled from a battlefield where you had been left to die. In fact you would most certainly be dead by now had I not saved you. You wonder at your cravings for blood and the fangs that will help you get that blood. Easily answered. You have joined the ranks of the revenants, the so-called living dead, though as you can see for yourself, you are not dead. You are very much alive and stronger than you've ever been. No disease can destroy your beautiful bodies, no weapon mar your exquisite faces, for a day of rest and blood will restore you as you were. Only the rending of your heart or fire may destroy you. And what are you to do? Easy. You will be cared for here and all that is required from you is that you fight each other nightly, at first among each other and as you grow stronger, with more experienced and older warriors. We shall see who passes on to that level. You may rest today in a shared barracks. Tonight you will battle in the arena." He waved his hand dismissively at all except a very young boy with black hair that curled around an angelic face. Soft brown eyes looked innocent of the world. Alysandir doubted he had even reached the age of choosing, seventeen for males.

They shuffled back to the stairs, this time to again be led to the lower level where the tub had been. Alysandir purposely ignored the world 'revenant', though it kept eating at the edges of his thoughts. He remembered meeting up with a warrior from across the water, a country somewhere near the Turks, who claimed he had battled a creature called vampyr that was much as the Scottish revenant. Maybe they were everywhere. And what did he mean fight each other? It made no sense. He felt a sudden wave of peace slide over him, very unlike himself. Weariness weighed him down until his legs could hardly move. They crossed the large room to the only other door. There were two heavy bars, long thick boards that fitted into iron holders sunk deep into the stone walls on either side. These fastened the door closed. They stopped while two of the armed soldiers removed them, then they continued on through the door and down a hallway that ended at a thick wall with branches going off on each side. They turned left and ahead was an opened door. Ihon stood beside it, a smile playing around his lips.

They were herded into the room which was long and narrow. It was lit by oil lamps which flickered casting odd, almost fluid shadows. A row of some ten beds lined the walls, each with a small table and a chair. On the tables was soap and a comb and other personal needs. There was a small narrow door at the opposite end Ihon explained was the 'garderobe' or toilet, a small closet like room with a stone ledge on one side. On it was a large earthenware jug with water in it for washing up with, and a large flat bowl for putting the water in. With that, the soldiers departed. Ihon bade them choose a bed and Alysandir walked to the nearest one, flinging himself on the hard mattress.

Ihon leaned against the stones, his arms crossed, watching the men settle in. His face was a mask and his eyes had a faraway look. Alysandir wondered what he was thinking. A voice broke through the jumbled buzzing that had been playing around the edges of his mind. "Would you really like to know?"

Startled, Alysandir's eyes grew wide. Ihon continued, "You must be careful here. Many others can read your mind easily, too, not least of all, His Grace. I further warn you, it is best not to become close to anyone here, including me. You might have to kill your opponent some night and it's better if he isn't also your friend."

"Kill?" The word echoed in his head. "Why?"

"For the pleasure of His Grace." The words were hard and bitter, though in an instant his tone lightened and he smiled again. Out loud he spoke to all the men. "Get some sleep. When the sun sets you will be taken to the arena and paired off to fight."

A tall dark haired man sat on the edge of the bed next to him. He looked every bit like an English lord with his bobbed hair and generally haughty air. Alysandir felt his lip curl. The man's eyes, so dark they were nearly black, narrowed. "I keep hearing this word, fight, but fight for what? I am indeed damned if I can figure out what any of you are talking about. Frankly, I have no wish to stay here and would prefer some real clothes and guidance to the outer door."

Ihon snickered as a smile twisted across his lips. "Well, it appears the aristocracy is not as intelligent as portrayed. You can never leave here, except feet first. Now sleep."

The blonde rapped on the door and after a delay the door opened. As he stepped through another warning floated through Alysandir's mind. "Be wary." The door slammed shut and he heard the key grating in the lock.

So they were imprisoned again. No way out? He refused to accept that. He rolled over and pulled the rough woolen blanket around him, though strangely he hadn't really been bothered by temperatures. There was cold, there was hot, but neither seemed to really register. He could see through the darkest blackness like it was only twilight and now he could read minds. He decided to try it on the Englishman.

He concentrated his mind on the raven haired man. There were tangled thoughts, like words in a jar that was being shaken. It took him some few moments to pick out the voice he wanted to hear, but once he had, the others seemed to subside into just background noise. He saw a fair haired girl by a lake gathering flowers. She was laughing and the name Godeleva floated upon the air. Behind that was a rage at the situation and determination to find his freedom once more. It was just a matter of time...

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" The voice roared, startling him. A look of guilt passed over Alysandir's face, but he lifted a brow as though he didn't know what the Englishman was talking about. "Stay out of my head or I'll start rummaging in yours. We'll see how you like it."

Alysandir snuggled deeper in the blanket, drawing it up to his eyes. He could hear the low hum of the men as they spoke quietly now and then, but mostly they just eyed each other suspiciously. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night......day....whatever.

Alysandir woke with a gasp. He realized he hadn't been breathing and felt unnerved. Then he realized the others weren't breathing either. This was alive?

The Englishman stirred in the next bed and also woke with a gasp and shudder. He sat up and looked around. "I had hoped this was all a nightmare. They've apparently been in while we were sleeping."Alysandir looked at him questioningly. He gestured to the lamps. "The oil is nearly full again."

The dark haired man frowned at him, "I suppose you were also picked up at Stirling Bridge?"

Alysandir shrugged, "I imagine we all were." The others around them had started stirring.

"You look an awfully lot like the one who unhorsed and nearly killed me." The Englishman's eyes had narrowed.

"Good." The Scot replied.

At that moment the door burst open. There were warriors with pikes followed by Thomb. "It is time to take your measure, my lovelies. May none of you disappoint. Remove your clothing and come along with you now."

"Remove our clothing?" One of the men asked, frowning. He was short and well muscled with a shock of corn colored hair.

"Yes, lovelies. Clothing gets in the way and besides your bodies are so beautiful who wouldn't desire to see them, eh, Edric?"

"You know, we're really strong now. Why don't we just overcome the pikes men and kill that rat bastard. I've had my fill of him." The voice whispered in Alysandir's head. They were all removing their tunics and braies.

"No." He thought back. "I think they are like us too."

"A wise answer, my beauty." Thomb's voice boomed in the silence. "It is natural when first faced with a situation you do not understand to desire violence and escape. Trying to escape is futile. The violence you should save for the arena. His Grace enjoys a lot of blood. I warn you now, you have one trespass and after that punishment is swift and harsh. You, Landin, have used up your free offence. I warn you all, even your thoughts are monitored, so become content with your new lives."

Thomb led the way out to the hallway leading to the big room. There he indicated they should sit. The warriors stood behind them. A door to the side opened and servants came out with tall goblets filled with crimson. Alysandir could smell the blood, the moment they stepped in the hall and he could almost feel his stomach growl. He grasped the heavy cup and drank greedily, while the servant waited beside him.

They had finished feeding and the servants had departed when Alysandir realized the young boy was with them. Something about him looked different. There was a look of horror in his eyes, an almost sickened shudder in his body. Alysandir wondered if the boy had ever really fought, or was he one of the multitude used as fodder on one side or the other.

"You are first up, my pretty boy." Thomb indicated Alysandir. "And you also, my naughty rebel. Perhaps you will feel less so when you return."

The door opened and the two young warriors walked out into the room. It was bare. Alysandir turned all around looking at the walls.

"Are they mad, or what?" Landin muttered.

A bored voice seemed to come out of the very stones. "Come. Begin. Do something other than stare."

"There are slits in the wall. He watches from behind them." Alysandir said quietly.

Landin scowled, "The coward. If he wants a fight, why doesn't he come down here?"

"Kill him, Alysandir!" The voice came again.

"What?" The Scot stood horrified. A minute passed.

"Very well, perhaps you need stimuli." A moment later the other door opened and two men, naked as they were, entered the room. Without waiting a moment they launched themselves at Landin and Alysandir. The redhead felt the skin rip on his shoulder and felt the blood running down his chest. He pounded his fists into the man's head until he released him and stepped back. The man's face was covered in blood, his own blood running off the man's chin.

Rage surged in him. He rushed at the man, grasping him by the shoulders. His fingers dug into his skin and blood formed around them, trickling over the pale flesh. The man growled, trying to tear loose, but when he couldn't he instead wrapped his arms around Alysandir and began to squeeze. His fangs flashed for a moment and then sank into the red head's neck. White hot pain shot through him. With a howl Alysandir tore into the man's shoulder, blood spurting, at the same time he struggled to kick the man's legs out from under him.

"Enough." His Grace snapped. "Irdir and Christofarus. You may go." The two men endeavored to extract themselves but neither Alysandir nor Landin was ready to let it go yet. They continued to claw and snap until the pike men entered and pushed their blades into their backs.

"Now you understand what is expected of you. Do not feel badly that you could not beat your opponents. They are much older than you and much stronger. You did well against them. So well, I am inclined to forgive your sin this one time, Landin. THIS time. Now go." The door opened and they returned to the hall, bloody and wounded. The next two were sent out as servants came with goblets for them.

Alysandir leaned back on his cot. The wounds had stopped bleeding immediately as was promised after the goblet of blood. Blood. He was sick of it. Sick of the burning need to drink it, sick of bathing in it night after night. His, theirs, it didn't matter. His Grace sat behind his wall and gloried in the mess of it all. Edric had died in the arena. Considered too weak, he had been ordered killed. Arnuf had been sent to starve in prison for trying to escape, or maybe he was dead, too. And the boy. There was madness in his eyes now and he varied between bizarre fits of shrieking or curled in a fetal position in the corner of the room sobbing. That didn't stop His Grace from demanding the boy come to him often. What happened there was a matter of conjecture. The boy never spoke, not one word, ever. No one even knew his name.

The six months had crawled by. He had made a mark on the wall in his blood for each day. As he counted them for the millionth time, he knew he couldn't endure this much longer. He didn't want to. It was one thing to be trained as a warrior fighting for a cause and another to do it for the sport of someone else. Though perhaps that's all war was, a sport for the nobility, to raise and lower kings.

Thomb came for the boy again. He was huddled in the corner, whimpering and for the first time put up a limp struggle. Alysandir considered helping him for a moment, but then the boy got up and went. He pulled the blanket around him and settled into the hard mattress when slamming doors, shouts and screams echoed down the hall. The three men sat up just as their door crashed open.

Ihon stuck his head in the door. "If you want to live you'd better come now."

The three leaped from their beds. Alysandir pulled on his tunic and braies and was reaching for his belt when Ihon returned. "There's no time for that. Leave it."

"What's happened?" Symon asked, his voice rising with fear.

"The boy! The boy has gone mad. He tore the throat out of His Grace and set fire to Thomb. Now he is running through the tower with oil lamps and candles setting fire to everything that will burn. We must get out now." Ihon waved them towards the door and then exited himself.

The hallway was chaos. There were at least two dozen men in tunics of various colors and a handful of soldiers still in their chainmail shirts, their pikes forgotten. The servants had already fled out the main door. No one knew where to go or what to do. They could stay here and burn or go into the sunlight and suffer the same fate. Finally the fat man came huffing into the hall. Silence immediately reigned and eyes filled with hatred stared coldly at him. There was no doubt he was about to die.

"Wait, wait." He held up his hands, "I can help you. Promise you won't hurt me and I'll tell you where we can be safe until nightfall. Then we all go our own way."

There was muttering and then several nodded their heads. "There's a tunnel that leads to the outside. An emergency exit so to speak. I'll show you." He led them to a hidden door and opened it. The tunnel was long and might well accommodate them all until morning. They had started filing in when a tall pale Norseman picked up a pike from the floor and ran it through the fat man's throat pinning him to the wall. Then he tore into the man's chest, pulling out the heart and crushing it in his hand, letting the gore drip between his fingers before he flung it to the ground.

"I didn't agree." Was all he said with a heavy accent.

They huddled in the dankness, smoke filling the space around them. Luckily they didn't have to breathe Alysandir thought. He huddled against the wall and after a time, fell asleep.

The redhead woke with his usual deep breath, but this time it was filled with stale acrid smoke. It burned his throat and lungs. Shaking his head he stumbled towards the end of the tunnel stepping on others still sprawling haphazardly around the tunnel. By the time he got to the opening nearly everyone was awake and making their way towards him. Outside the stars were shining, glittering like fairy drops across velvet. He breathed deeply the air of freedom. It was sweet indeed. He intended to put all of this behind him, nothing to remind him it ever happened.

"You weren't planning to leave without me?" Landin grinned and fell in step with him.

"Actually I was, yes." Alysandir replied.

"Nonsense. You won't get anywhere out here without me. I own land and houses. I have gold and you don't even have shoes." Landin smiled wickedly. "And England is lovely in the spring."

"And why would a God-fearing Scotsman like me want to go to a hell-hole like England?" Alysandir growled.

"I didn't know you were God-fearing." The blonde snickered. "You certainly weren't in that tub."

"How do you know anything about that?" His eyes narrowed to slits.

Landin threw back his head and laughed, "We read minds, fool. Shall we see how things are in London?"

Alysandir sighed, throwing out his arms. "Why not."

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Bonnie's writing. Such as...

Inside the Worm

by Bonnie Mutchler

A book of love, death, violence, sacrifice and all the other tales of life written in verse.

*****

**Bonnie Mutchler has returned** to her childhood state of Iowa where she lives in a Victorian house with her family, 5 cats, 2 dogs and 5 turtles. She has written poetry since she was a child. She is also trying to start a book cover business.

Links:

Website: http://bonniemutchlercovers.wordpress.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/bonnie.mutchler

#  Werewolf

By Roxanna Mathews

I knew that smoking would be the death of him, but I always thought it would take longer than three minutes.

We had moved to Portland from the Big Apple because the air was clean, the stress was less, and I had gotten a job designing clothes for PuddleJumpers Boutique. Tony could get modeling jobs if we had moved to Outer ToadStrangle, Montana. He was always jetting off to Milan or Tokyo or Paris for another shoot. And he was always coming back to me.

We moved into a condo in the Pearl District. The building was so squeaky clean and green that we had to agree to bio-safe cleaning products and we had to sign a non-smoking contract. But out of courtesy to guests, and out of mercy to the addicts, there was a tiny pavilion on the roof next to the heat-exchangers and solar panels where smoking was grudgingly allowed.

We came home from a movie that night, wittily acerbic about the good intentions of young directors, and the special effects necessary to get old actors through the action roles. Tony headed to the roof for his nightly smoke, while I curled up on the sofa with a sketch pad to pin down a few inspirations.

And then his phone rang. "Portia, it's I.M. I _need_ Tonycakes to do a show on Rodeo Drive next Friday and could he possibly, _possibly_ squeeze it into his schedule because he is just _perfect_ for the look that I just realized I need."

"Hey, Issak, he's up on the roof with his coffin nails. Talk to me and I'll carry the phone up."

"Portia, you are a _darling!_ Isn't that man just the _blondest_ airhead? What model goes around without a phone? How _do_ you put up with him?"

"There are compensations, Issak. After all, I would never have met you if it weren't for Tony."

"Oh you _flatterer!_ Spare my blushes. You know what an evil bastard I am."

I laughed. Issak was brilliant, and a beast to his enemies. Luckily, I could count myself among his friends.

"Right, " I agreed. "That's why I knit the teddybear slippers for you. You goof."

"Are you breathing hard, darling? Am I _that_ attractive to you?"

"I'm climbing stairs," I explained. "It's only two flights from our place to the roof, and I can use the exercise."

"Be _zaftig_ , dear girl. You're too old to be bone thin. A little flesh fills out the wrinkles."

"You _are_ an evil bastard," I laughed.

I opened the door. I froze. I tried to understand what I saw. Tony, all muscular six foot four of him, was pinned limply against the wall of the pavilion by someone with his face against Tony's neck. My lover rolled his head in my direction, saw me, mouthed, "Run," convulsed, and died.

As he collapsed, I started screaming. I could hear Issak on the phone hollering, "What? What? Portia, what is it?" but I couldn't form a coherent thought to save my soul.

The murderer turned and looked at me, with eyes as flat and cold as a shark's. The monkey in my brainstem saved my life. I slammed the door in the vampire's face and barreled down the stairs, leaping, three, four at a time and bouncing off walls on the corners. And screaming. Still clutching the phone to my head and screaming.

I hit the door to the lobby, skidded across the polished bamboo floor, and grabbed the security guard on duty. He was already on his feet with hand reaching for his gun by the time I got to him.

"Vampire. Roof. Tony. Oh God, Tony. Deaddeaddeaddead. Help meee!" The switchboard was lighting up like Las Vegas. Michael and Patrick, a couple of retired cops who lived on the second floor followed me through the stairwell door with guns drawn. Evidently I had alerted the entire building.

Police came, and the ambulance. I was interrogated briefly, then Michael and Patrick took me into safe-keeping in their apartment and plied me with chamomile tea and oatmeal cookies. "Cookies?" I asked in dismay. "I just saw -- I saw --" Hysteria rose in my throat, and I ruthlessly shoved it down.

Patrick coaxed me, "It's me sainted mother's recipe, Darling. Baked them myself this morning. You've had a shock. You need the sugar. Just nibble on one to please me. You'll feel better."

He and Michael fussed over me like two hens with one chick.

Finally, there was a knock on the door. Patrick checked the peep-hole, then unlocked the deadbolt, and opened the door, crying, "Roddy!" and spreading his arms in welcome.

A big beefy guy stepped in and they shook hands, slapping one another on the back. Michael jumped up and joined the happy reunion.

"Paddy, Mike, you old dogs! How's it going?" the new guy pretended to try to punch them. They laughed and scuffled a moment, then Michael turned to me, smiling hugely.

"Portia, this is Roddy Callahan, the best damn detective on the force. You tell him everything. He'll take care of it."

_My Tony has just been horribly killed, and for these guys, it's all old home week._ I thought resentfully. _They probably see this stuff all the time, but it's my life in pieces, here._

Scowling, I struggled to rise from the comfy embrace of the overstuffed armchair, juggling tissue box, cup, and saucer. The newcomer hurried over, saying, "Please don't get up. I see Mike and Paddy are taking good care of you. I'm Detective Roderick Callahan." He moved the plate of cookies and settled down on the hassock in front of me.

"Tony --" I said.

"I'm sorry," the detective said, with what sounded like sincerity in his voice. "He's on his way to the medical examiner. Will you tell me what happened?"

"I think I must be nuts. I thought I saw a vampire. How _did_ Tony die?"

Detective Callahan glanced up at Michael and Patrick, then nodded and looked me in the eye.

"He appears to have died from blood loss, though there is no blood at the crime scene and no obvious major wounds. Please, just tell me what you saw."

"But -- a vampire?" I squeaked.

Patrick, patting my shoulder and gently taking the tea cup from my shaking hand, told me. "Just tell him what you saw, Portia. Let Roddy figure it out,"

I did my best, trying to report the details accurately. How the little guy had Tony held up so his feet didn't touch the floor. How that killer's eyes were so flat and empty. How he scared me so bad that my grandkids would have nightmares. What was he wearing? Maybe a black hoodie? Or trench coat? A black cape?

The detective left after midnight. Patrick and Michael loaned me a pair of pajamas and made me spend the remainder of the night in their guest room, with a shot of Irish whiskey in my tea for a nightcap.

Life went on, as it does even though your world is shattered **.** I still had to go to work, do laundry, deal with people. Patrick and Michael saw to it that I ate. A lot of people came to Tony's memorial service and said wonderful things. Issak flew into town and took me out for dinner afterward.

"How are you holding up, darling?" he asked, taking both my hands in his as we sat, waiting for our gluten-free organic vegetable soup. "I can see that the outer shell is as polished as ever, but how are _you_ doing in there?"

"Thank God for waterproof makeup." I said. "I weep at the drop of a hat." I freed a hand and pulled a tissue out of my bag to dab at my overflowing eyes.

"Thought your nose looked a bit rosy. _Please_ don't blow at the table, dear. You _know_ it appalls me. And you know, you just literally scared me _silly_. Listening to your terror and not being able to _do_ anything was the worst thing I've ever been through in my _life_. So now Issak's here. What can I do to help?"

I snuffled mightily and gave him a watery smile. "Just be there, dear. I know how busy you are. Ask your people to let me know when you'll be in the area so I can drop by for a hug. I've been a grownup for a few years now. I know how to cope. There's nothing anyone can do to make it easier."

"Are you all right living alone?"

"Tony was always away on a shoot or a show somewhere. I'm quite used to being alone."

Our soup arrived. It was hot and delicious and rich with interesting vegetables and spices. The warmth in my belly was a comfort. The rosemary, grits, and graham bread served with it was filling and satisfying. Issak was caring and kind. He gossiped cattily about our mutual acquaintances until I had to laugh, and I realized that I could still feel simple pleasure in spite of the gaping wound in my life. That made me cry again, of course.

We parted at the restaurant door, he to jet off to Paris, I to walk back to the condo, crying quietly in the rain.

There were always panhandlers on the corner. Since I gave them only coupons for a meal at the local burger joint, the junkies and winos have learned to leave me alone. But a new guy made eye contact. The suffering in his look was fresh, raw and bewildered.

_He's hurting as much as I am,_ I thought. _But at least I'm full of good food and headed for a safe, dry bed._

We just stared one another for a minute. He dropped his gaze first, mumbling, "Sorry."

"Can I buy you dinner?" I heard myself asking. "There's a diner just around the corner."

His eyes met mine again. Gratitude, shame, anger flashed before he lowered them. "Just . . . just spare change if you have it," he muttered.

"I don't carry cash, and I can hear your stomach grumble from here," I replied. "Come on."

Head down, reluctantly, he came.

Mary's Diner served plain food and lots of it. It was warm and dry and bright inside. We scored a booth and sat down. "I think this man needs a big plate of Mary's pot roast," I told the waitress. "Put it on my tab. And I'd like some black tea with honey, please."

"You don't eat enough to keep a bird alive, Portia," the waitress told me. "I'm bringing you got some hot blackberry cobbler and you will clean the bowl." She hurried off before I could say a word.

My guest made an effort. "Thank you," he said, again looking straight into my eyes. "I've had a some misfortunes lately. I just need to gather my feet under me."

"Good. Glad to help. I've had a rough time myself. We just do the best we can, don't we? I'm Portia."

"LeRoy," he said, reaching a hand to shake, then jerking it back as he realized how filthy it was.

"The restroom's over there," I gestured. "if you want to wash up before dinner."

His eyes – brown, with a gold ring around the pupil – lighted with his smile. He rose and strode off, moving with a rangy grace.

_LeRoy_ I thought. _Who are you? At least he's not on drugs –yet. Maybe he's a vet? PTSD probably. Tall, dark. If he wasn't so hungry, dirty, and beat down, he might even be good looking. What brought a strong man to this sad place?_

When he returned to the table, he had scrubbed his hands and nails, washed his face and combed his hair with his fingers. He took my hand and said, "Thank you," very formally before sitting down.

"Pass it on when you can," I said. "I think I hear an accent. Where are you from?"

"British Columbia, outside of Prince George. My parents were Quebecoise and we spoke mostly French at home."

"So were you off the grid?" I asked. We talked about his wild and isolated home until the food arrived. He looked at his platter of pot roast, swimming in gravy and wreathed with carrots and potatoes, as if he had died and gone to heaven. Bowing his head, he crossed himself and clasped his hands in prayer for an instant.

_French Catholic,_ I surmised, _nice, old-fashioned manners._

My cobbler was delicious, and for a while there was only the sounds of knife and fork and contented sighs.

The waitress brought him another basket of rolls. "It's a pleasure to see someone who likes to eat," she smiled at him, then scowled at me since I hadn't yet cleaned my bowl.

When she left, I pushed the other half of my dessert over to him. "Finish this for me?" I asked. "She'll scold me if the bowl's not empty when I leave."

Grinning, he wolfed it down, then went back to mopping up the last bits of gravy with the hot rolls. Finally he sat back with a sigh.

"You are an angel of mercy, and I am in your debt," he said.

I waved at the waitress as we rose to leave. She tapped her order pad and nodded. Once a month, I would stop by and write out a check for what I had eaten, adding a friendly tip. Less cash for the junkies to try to steal that way. A lot of the locals had similar arrangements. The diner never had more than a hundred dollars in the till after dark.

LeRoy stood straighter and moved with more energy as we left.

I asked, "Do you have a place to stay?" "There's a cheap hotel nearby, and if you're willing to scrub floors and wash sheets, you could probably get a room --"

"You've done too much," he protested.

"What, give you a meal and show you a bed? You and your folks surely did as much for chance-met travelers. Call it hospitality. Welcome to my city."

The hotel was on the way to my condo. I had a word with Frank, the manager, promising to be responsible for any charges that didn't get handled. When I left, LeRoy had a full belly and a safe, warm place to sleep, with a bathroom down the hall. When I got home, I realized that I no longer felt bereft. I couldn't share my story with Tony, but maybe Patrick and Michael would enjoy my revelation that helping someone else can make you feel less sorry for yourself.

A few days later, as I was headed to the diner for breakfast, I passed the hotel. Frank, the manager, spotted me and hurried outside to say, "Hey, that new guy, LeRoy? Thanks for sending him my way. He's a hell of a worker. Never saw anyone scrub the lobby floor on his knees before. You could eat off it when he's done."

"So he's earning his keep?" I asked.

"Hell, yes. He even runs errands for me. I was gonna send him across the street to the burger joint to bring me some dinner, and he said I could get a better meal at Mary's for the same price. He ran over there and brought back a menu, and hell, I've been feeding both of us from there for what it usta cost me to eat crap."

"And so Mary has another convert," I said, smiling. "I'm headed there right now. Can I bring you anything?"

"Looks like my breakfast is coming right now."

I turned to see LeRoy striding toward us with a picnic basket slung over his arm and a delighted grin on his face.

"My friend Portia," he exclaimed. "What a pleasure to see you again."

"LeRoy, you're looking good." He was, too. The despair had ebbed from his face, and he had color in his cheeks. His eyes, those penetrating, eloquent eyes, showed hope and determination.

"And I am _doing_ good as well. Will you share our breakfast?" He lifted the lid of the basket and the mouthwatering aroma of sausages wafted temptingly out to me.

"No thanks," I told him regretfully. "Oatmeal for me. I don't work hard enough to burn off those meaty calories."

Frank began to imitate a Jewish mother. "You should eat! You're so thin -- your clothes will fall off you. How will you find a husband, you're so thin?"

"You keep that up," I warned him, "I'll get you a black cardigan sweater with pockets."

Leroy looked puzzled at our laughter, then regretful as I waved and walked away.

Months passed. Work picked up for me and I threw myself into it. In order to get the fall line into the stores by August, we had to have the whole line developed and ready for production in time for the fashion shows in May, which meant I had to have my designs ready by February, which also meant that I was practically living at the office by mid-December.

By then, I had pretty much convinced myself that Tony had been killed by some guy high on ecstasy, and I had just mis-interpreted what I had seen. Because there's no such thing as vampires. Everyone knows that.

So it was way too late on a Friday night when I wrapped my head and neck in a big wool scarf and headed out into the wind and rain for the walk back to the condo. I felt a bit uneasy in the dark, but I told myself, _It's only a mile for heaven's sake. I may as well be walking, as standing around, getting soaked, waiting for a bus._

I got the feeling you get when someone is watching you. _Am I being followed? No, of course not. Quit being such a scaredy cat. All the winos, weirdos, hookers and pushers, punks, drunks and junkies will be huddled in nice dry doorways by now._ I hitched my bag more securely up on my shoulder and walked a little faster.

The city had turned out half the street lights to save money, and it was raining fit to drown frogs. I sensed movement in the shadows behind me.

Maybe it's Blanket Joanie turning a trick in the alley. Maybe it's nothing and I'm just freaking myself out. Maybe I should try a little jogging. After all, a moving target is harder to hit.

I was across the street from the cheap hotel when someone grabbed me from behind by the shoulders and threw me up against the building.

"NO!" I bellowed, striking for the attacker's throat. My fist was knocked aside, Then the guy's hand was on my chest, pinning me to the wall with my feet dangling. Just like Tony when I had last seen him alive.

I shrieked with the air left in my lungs, and struck out with hands and feet, aiming for groin, belly, eyes, any soft spot. It looked like the same guy that had killed Tony. Same black hoodie. Same flat dead eyes. He shoved his face against my throat. His hair was greasy against my chin and smelled like mildew.

_There's no such thing as vampires,_ I told myself. _This is some drugged up nutcase. Fight back._

He twisted his head away and I heard my scarf tearing, then I felt his cold sharp teeth against my skin. Suddenly, his head was jerked back and he let go of me. I collapsed onto the sidewalk.

I couldn't really see what was happening. A big guy had materialized between me and my assailant. They were both growling. Frank, the hotel manager across the street, stepped through the door and began blowing one of those canned-air horns that are impossible to ignore. In front of me, the little guy in the black hoodie turned and sort of vanished. Panting, the big guy, took a step after him.

I grabbed hold of his leg and hung on for all I was worth. "No," I begged. "Let him go. Please." I was not about to let my rescuer get himself killed. Furthermore, I was not about to be left alone on the street with that -- horror, that – whatever \--running loose.

The big guy bent over, grabbed my hands to pull himself free, then froze, and spoke to me. "Madamoiselle Portia?"

"Leroy?" I let go, and he turned. "Please, let's get inside," I begged.

Just like Rhett Butler with Scarlett O'Hara, he swept me up in his arms and carried me back to the hotel. Frank was holding the door for us and we barreled into the light and warmth of the hotel lobby.

"The police are coming," Frank said, pushing my chin up to look at my throat. "Did he bite you?"

My scarf was wrapped twice around my neck and tied in back. I unwound it. It had some kind of stinky slime on it, and a couple holes torn in it, but there were no holes in me. Frank threw it on the floor like it was poisonous. And still, Leroy held me cradled in his arms. His eyes were golden, with a brown ring around the pupil.

Sirens and lights, and the police arrived. Detective Callahan was called. By the time he arrived, LeRoy had put me down in the one plastic chair in the lobby, and gone to get me a glass of water. When he returned, Detective Callahan was leaning over me with one hand on the back of the chair, looking at the bruises on my throat and saying, "What can you tell me about this, Portia?"

LeRoy dropped the plastic cup of water and snarled again, like he had when he knocked the – the bad guy away from me. Detective Callahan spun around and – snarled back. They both seemed to swell up around the neck and shoulders like dogs bristling before a fight. Frank turned and ran into his office.

"Hey!" I shouted, and they both looked at me. Then I spoke politely and calmly, as if nothing were wrong, "LeRoy, this is Detective Callahan. Detective Callahan, LeRoy rescued me from the guy who tried to bite my neck. LeRoy lives right here, and he's my friend."

They eyed one another with considerable hostility and darn if they weren't each lifting the upper lip a bit.

"Loupgarou," Callahan muttered.

"Lapdog," LeRoy replied.

"What?" I demanded. "Guys, we're on the same side here. There's something awful out there, and it's probably gnawing some other poor soul's neck right now. What are we going to do about it?"

This got their attention. You could almost see the wheels grinding as they shifted gears. Then Callahan slowly, deliberately turned back to me. "So, Portia, what can you tell me?"

LeRoy slunk up to my other side and dropped down on one knee, with his hand protectively, (comfortingly? possessively?) on my back.

The patrol police had other crises to respond to. Frank was holed up in his office. We were left alone in the little lobby. I did my best to tell Callahan what had happened. Without using the word "vampire." Because anyone who actually believes in vampires is not a reliable witness, and I desperately wanted to be believed.

Then he asked, "And you, Mr. . . . ?"

"Trudeau," LeRoy replied, reaching into a back pocket and pulling out a Canadian passport. "Here is my identification."

"Surprised you have papers." Detective Callahan mumbled, taking the passport and jotting in his notebook.

"I have a pedigree," LeRoy said, "Have you?"

Callahan snorted. "Irish purebred."

"What _is_ it with you guys?" I asked.

They eyed each other questioningly. Then LeRoy said, "You were attacked by a vampire. You know this?"

"I don't know what else it could have been but if I admit it, I'm going to sound soft in the head," I said, slowly. "So vampires really are real and not just some Halloween scary tale?"

LeRoy nodded. Callahan nodded.

"And this is a secret?" I asked.

"Who would believe us?" Callahan asked. "If I start talking about vampires as a real thing, I'll be lucky to get stuck on desk duty. We don't talk about it because we have to live in the world."

I closed my eyes, took a slow, deep breath, blew it out, and opened my eyes again. The world still looked the same. And I had, in fact, been attacked by a vampire.

I had learned that if you want to survive in the fashion industry, you have to develop a flexible mind. I flexed. "Ok," I said, "I'll accept that. So why are you two guys being such jerks?"

"He's a werewolf," Callahan said, thrusting the passport back.

"Puppy," LeRoy threw the insult at Callahan as he shoved the papers into his pocket. "He's a domestic pet."

"Irish Wolfhound," Callahan snapped. "My family has been in law enforcement for centuries."

They were both snarling again, and again their necks and shoulders seemed to be swelling.

"Hey!" I shouted. Again, they backed down.

"Look," I said to Callahan, as calmly and patiently as I could manage, "LeRoy just saved my life. I want you to be nice to him."

Then I turned to LeRoy, "Detective Callahan is trying to catch the vampire that killed my boyfriend. I want you to be nice to _him._ I don't expect you to shake hands and become each other's wingman, but for God's sake, could you at least not rip out each other's throats in front of me?"

Callahan said, "What're you doing in Portland, wolf?"

"My sister – she was living here when the vampire found her. I am seeking revenge."

I sighed, "Then we all have a common enemy. Let's work together till we nail the bastard to the wall, ok?"

"Actually, we ought to cut off his head and drive a stake through his heart," Callahan said, "but I'll take any help I can get."

LeRoy drawled, "I can work with the lapdog till the job is done. And then, I'll be off home and out of his joo-ris-dic-tion."

I sighed. "Ok, so we're all pals for the moment. Can I go home now?"

"I'll take you," they said simultaneously.

I rolled my eyes and stood up. "Let's go."

As we walked, they projected so much aggression that I swear even the cockroaches fled from us. And in that neighborhood, the cockroaches carry switchblades.

Callahan called Michael and Patrick, and they met us in the lobby, in bathrobes and slippers, with a comforting shot of whiskey. As soon as they saw LeRoy, _they_ began to snarl and bristle.

"Wolf," Patrick growled.

"Fetchers of birds," LeRoy snarled back at them.

I blinked. Michael and Patrick were in on this werewolf thing?

Callahan said, with alpha male authority, "Mr. Trudeau will be helping us kill the vampire."

"And then I will return to my home in Canada. I do not invade your territory. I am not hunting your people." LeRoy was stiff with tension. He didn't relax when Michael pulled me into a hug and gave me the whiskey. I knocked it back, welcoming the ball of fire that moved down to my belly. Then I held out my hand to LeRoy.

"You saved my life. I owe you."

Glancing defiantly at the other men, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it, saying, "There is no debt, Mademoiselle. You have done as much for me." Then he spun and strode into the night.

"Get some sleep," Callahan said to me. "You look like hell." And he, too, left us.

Michael and Patrick herded me into the elevator and checked my place for intruders before they left.

My subconscious is much smarter than my conscious mind. I resolved to go to sleep and let the subconscious sort things out. Callahan was right, I did look like hell. I took a hot shower, crawled into bed, and let the whiskey pull its fuzzy blanket over my head.

Wish I could say my subconscious produced some brilliant insight. All I had when I woke up was questions. But I also had a good idea where I could get some answers. I dragged on some clothes and went to pound on Michael and Patrick's door.

They were up and dressed, and their place was full of the heavenly aroma of bacon and hot biscuits. "Come in Portia dear," Patrick said, "We're just getting breakfast on the table."

Manners warred with hunger in my head. Then Michael called from the kitchen, "There's more than enough, darling girl. We planned to invite you to join us. Pour yourself a mug of tea and sit down. We need to talk."

There were piles of scrambled eggs and thick, crispy strips of bacon. There were hot golden brown biscuits ready to slather with soft butter. There was home-made strawberry jam. There were grilled tomatoes and beans. And the tea was, "strong enough for a mouse to trot across," as Michael told me. I took it with milk and sugar. To hell with the diet. I needed to keep my strength up.

Patrick and Michael said grace. We dove in. "So," I said, "Callahan is a wolfhound, LeRoy is a wolf, and you guys are . . .?"

"Irish Setters," Patrick said. "Retreivers make great beat cops."

"Oh – kaay," I said, trying to see evidence of dogginess in them. "Do you – change shape at the full moon or . . ."

"It's not like that," Michael said, laying another pile of bacon on my plate. "You had a shock. You need to eat."

"You guys realize this breakfast is heart-attack on a plate, don't you?" I replied, but I ate another slice.

"So you want to give up bacon and live another thirty years – _without bacon_?" Patrick asked. "What sort of life is that?

He continued, "As for the animal nature thing, we don't change shape at all, but we are, inside, both human _and_ Irish setter. We're faster than other humans, we hear better, can scent better, and our instincts are much sharper." They both waggled their ears at me. "There aren't many of us purebreds around, but certain professions suit certain types, so Michael and I met when we were assigned to patrol together."

They smiled at one another, and you could almost hear angels sing.

"Purebred?" I asked "So, you're born like this? You didn't get bitten one dark and stormy night?"

Michael laughed. "Those stories are all made up. No, It's genetic. Didn't you ever hear, 'blood will tell,' from the grannies when you were growing up? A certain family has bad blood. Someone else comes from good stock. You watch the families and you can see what they mean. It's not just the way the kids are trained. It's in their basic instincts."

"But, Irish Setters," I asked. "How do you know. . .?

"Look at us," Patrick said. "We're long-boned, red-haired Irishmen, just like everyone else in our families."

Michael stroked his bald pate and shrugged. Patrick continued, "Well, he _was_ a redhead. And I've gone gray, but never mind. I had a lovely head of red waves in my youth. We have an acute sense of smell – that's how we recognized the wolf. In a sprint we can outrun just about anyone we've ever met."

"Except that Cheetah that was dealing drugs," Michael noted.

Patrick agreed. "He _was_ fast. And _mean_ \--I'm glad neither of us had to go up against him alone."

"You and me both, boyo," Michael exclaimed. "But when you're a purebred, Portia, you know who you are. Half-breeds and crossbreeds maybe don't know, but purebreds know who they are."

"Halfbreeds?" I asked. "Crossbreeds?"

"My sister was runt of the litter," Patrick said. "She ran off and married a cocker spaniel. Their kids are beautiful, but if brains were dynamite, the whole family together couldn't blow their noses."

"Brian's a fine lad," Michael said.

"He's a faithful husband and a kind father but he couldn't pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel and you know that's the truth," Patrick sighed. "Life's hard, but it's harder when you're stupid."

"Do their kids know what they are?" I asked.

"Well, yes and no," Patrick told me. "They've been told and they don't dis-believe but it's not as if it matters to them. The blood's diluted. And if a purebred has children with a normal human, the blood's thinned even worse. Like your friend, Issak, that we met at Tony's service. He's at least half cat but he doesn't know it."

I thought about Issak. Yep, I could easily see he was part cat – a big Russian Blue maybe.

I had to ask. "Am I . . ."

"Completely one hundred percent purebred human," Michael said, smiling. "It's kind of rare. Over the centuries, a trace of animal has gotten into most family lines."

"First time I smelled you," Patrick said, "The dog in me wanted to roll onto my back and get my belly scratched. You smell so... " He turned to Michael, turning his palms up, asking for the word.

"I feel the same way," Michael said. "So does Callahan, and it pisses him off. Dogs and humans have this bond, and you are completely human. The dog in me is so happy to be with you."

I shook my head, and said, "I don't know if this is metaphysical or metaphorical or what, but I'll take your word for it. Some people are also animals. And LeRoy is a wolf and Detective Callahan is a wolfhound, so that makes them natural enemies. Do you think they can work together?"

"They're also human," Michael pointed out, "with a common enemy and a common goal. They'll manage for as long as they have to."

"And the – vampire?" I asked. "Is he . . ."

"Near as anyone can figure," Patrick said, refilling my tea mug, "It's a recessive gene in normal humans. It's not that they have to drink blood to survive, but they're born with the appetite."

"Bet they're bottle babies from the start," I suggested. "Let me help with the dishes." I rose and started stacking plates while I asked, "Do we really need to cut off his head and drive a stake through his heart?"

"Better safe than sorry," Michael said, running a sink full of biodegradable low-phosphate bubbles. "I'll wash, you can dry, Paddy will put things away."

Patrick handed me a linen towel on which were printed the words, "I'm Blarney Castle. You can kiss my stones." I snorted. He winked and grinned.

I shook my head and snapped the towel at him. "I've been alive in the world for a few years now. How come this is the first I've heard of all this?"

"Portia, dear, if you had never had any experience with that vampire, and we had mentioned to you one day that we were Irish Setters, what would you think?"

"I'd think it was some New Age woowoo spirit animal thing and be amazed that you guys had fallen for that malarkey."

"The only reason that malarkey sells is because it has a grain of truth in it," Michael said, handing me a plate.

I dried and passed it to Patrick who continued, "We're taught by our families not to tell _anyone._ You know how some families are close and happy but have their secrets? Well, sometimes the secret is that they are more than they appear."

Michael handed me another plate. "If you start insisting that you're an Irish Setter, Human Services will put you in a place with bars on the window and give you drugs till you feel better. So we keep our mouths closed. But things happen and stories get started. You don't hear about were-setters because we're cautious and friendly, and we want to live in the world. But wolves--well, they don't really give a rip."

"And vampires?" I asked, handing over the dainty Belleek plate.

Michael stacked it carefully in the cupboard. The silence grew.

"Guys?" I prompted.

At last Patrick admitted, "You have more experience with vampires than we do."

Michael agreed. "Up until Tony – I always thought vampires were – imaginary."

I looked from face to face. They were dead serious. I drew in a deep breath and assembled my brains.

"Ohhh-kayyy. So we're dealing with a guy who may or may not be able to fly, transform himself into a mist or a bat -- "

"Or a swarm of bats," Patrick added.

"Or a swarm of bats," I amended. "Who might be susceptible to silver, holy water, and sunshine, or not."

"Inhuman strength and speed," Patrick added. "Let's not forget that."

Michael contributed, "He might not be able to enter a dwelling without an invitation."

"Or that might be a clever literary device to advance the plot." Patrick suggested. "We probably shouldn't count on it."

"He might be able to regenerate from crippling wounds, gunshots to the head, and other injuries. Or not," I said. "Does that about cover it?"

"We're screwed," Michael proclaimed.

"Ok," I said crisply. "Let's list what we know for sure. I slammed the door in his face and he didn't tear it down and snatch me off the stairs. And when he attacked me on the street, LeRoy was able to pull him off. Then when Frank started blowing that klaxon, the vampire disappeared."

"Did he transform into a mist or a bat?" Micheal asked.

"He was wearing dark clothes. It was pitch black and raining like mad, and I had just had the sense scared out of me." I told them. "He was there, and then he wasn't."

Patrick mused, "He hasn't attacked anyone in daylight."

"That we know of," Michael added.

"In the words of victims everywhere," I asked, "why me?"

Patrick replied "As God said to Jonah, 'Why not?'"

"Guys," I said, "I think my weird-shit capacity has maxed out. I'm going back to the office and choose buttons for next fall's coats. Thanks so much for breakfast and for – everything. I'll probably have a million questions later when it all sinks in. This is all . . ." I trailed off.

Michael said, "We understand, darling girl. Just don't go walking around in the dark anymore."

Then Patrick pulled a necklace out of his pocket. "And I'm wondering if you would wear this rosary. The cross is silver, and you never know – it might help."

I kissed his cheek and pulled the beads over my head. "Thank you. Thank you both so much for -- well -- I know you didn't have to trust me, and explain things to me, and – everything. You are such good, good friends."

"You have to be a friend to have a friend, dear. You've always been the best of friends to us." Michael gave me a hug, then turned me around and opened the door. "Now be off with you to work, and be sure you come home in the daylight."

I meant to be home by sunset, but the sun sets about 4:30 in December. I got involved and lost track of the clock. The next time I looked out a window, it was a dark and stormy night again.

"Well, crap!" I exclaimed. "Now what do I do? Spend the night here? Call for a police escort? Wish I had Patrick and Mike's phone numbers." Finally I decided to just call a cab then wait in our brightly lighted entry.

But a rainy Saturday night is not a good time to get a cab. I was told, "It'll be at least an hour, but maybe someone can pick you up on the way to another call if you wait outside the building."

When I stepped out the front door, a shadow detached itself from a darkened alley. I tried to jump back inside but the door had closed and locked behind me. I couldn't find my stinking key ring! "Oh shitohshitoshit," I wailed, pawing frantically through my bag.

"Mademoiselle Portia? I am here to escort you home," LeRoy said.

He was bundled up in a Navy peacoat, with a watch cap pulled down over his thick, glossy brown hair. He was big and solid and I was so very glad to see him that I nearly started to cry.

"How did you know I needed you?" I asked, as we began our walk. "And how did you know where I was?"

"I saw you walking this way in the morning, and I followed you. And when the sun began to go down, and you still had not returned, I came and waited for you. You should not be out after dark."

"What do _you_ know about vampires?" I asked.

They are born with appetites and urges, as are we all," he said, "But they make no effort to control themselves. They revel in wanton destruction. This one chasing you -- he saw my sister, and knew her for the young wolf that she was. He pursued her. I was coming here to bring her home but he caught her before I arrived. Now I pursue him."

"And you'll kill him?" I asked.

"I will try. Vampires heal quickly, but I am a strong man and can do much damage."

A car pulled up to the curb beside us, and Detective Callahan rolled the window down growling at me, "Portia, Pat and Mike told you to be in by dark. They're worried sick. Get in the car and I'll take you home."

"I am taking her home," LeRoy said, shifting so he stood between me and the detective.

Callahan opened the door, jumped out, grabbed me by the arm and snarled, "I'll take her home."

LeRoy grabbed my other arm, jerking me his way and growling, "She is with me."

"Stop!" I yelled. "Let go of me, you idiots." I broke free from their grips and rubbed my arms. "You've given me bruises. Would you just knock it off?"

Callahan shoved LeRoy. "Keep your hands off her, wolf."

"Fireside pet! Where were _you_ when she needed help?" LeRoy replied, shoving back.

I backed away from them, not wanting to get hit with a stray punch. They were set on having a fight. Then someone slapped a hand over my mouth and started to drag me away. I bit, struggled, fought back. It was like biting old leather, slamming my elbow into an overstuffed chair, kicking at a table leg. I dug under my collar, pulled the silver crucifix free, and slapped it against my captor's hand.

There was a whiff of grilled meat. Screaming, he snatched his hand away. _Silver crucifix on the rosary works,_ I thought with satisfaction.

Like magic, LeRoy and Callahan were there, punching to much better effect than I had managed, wrenching the vampire's hands away from me.

The little vermin fought back though. He caught Callahan in the face with an elbow, kicked at LeRoy's knee. Callahan grabbed the guy's collarbone with one massive hand, sank his fingers in, and twisted. I heard a snap. But LeRoy crashed an elbow into the base of the guy's skull at the same time, so maybe that's what I heard. They were making sounds like a couple of dogs with a badger. I stood for a minute in shock and awe, then ran, jumped into Callahan's car, and locked the doors behind me. The fight was going on in the shadows and I couldn't see what was happening all that well, but it was fast and furious. Growls, howls, screams, thuds, crashes and that porcelain crack of breaking bone battered the air.

Then suddenly, it was over. Callahan had his hands around the vampire's neck. LeRoy roared, pulled, wrenched loose its head, and fled, limping, into the night with it. Callahan swung the body overhead and hurled it down onto the pavement, then began to kick and stomp it, howling all the while. Suddenly he stopped and spun around, looking toward the car.

Hesitantly, I waved through the window.

He shook himself all over, reached a hand up to touch his upper lip, looked at the blood on his fingers, then pulled a radio out of his jacket and flipped it on, calling in backup.

Again, Patrick and Michael took me in and fed me tea and whiskey. The next day I went to the hotel, but Frank told me "LeRoy moved out sometime last night. He left a note, for you."

Mademoiselle Portia, My task is done and I must return to my home and my people. I will never forget your kindness. Le Roi

We never saw or heard from him again. But in the meantime, Patrick and Michael have virtually adopted me. They are the best friends a girl could have, and we spend most of our free time together. Callahan got some kind of award or promotion or something. Evidently he's not the only big dog on the police force, and there's a lot more going on than they tell us normal folks. Frank is still managing the hotel. Turns out, he's half daschund.

Issak wants me to come back to New York and work for him, but he really _is_ a catty bitch to work for. And I've been offered a partnership at Puddlejumpers because of my, "superb design flexibility." So I'm going to stay here in Portland.

As I walk around my neighborhood, I look at people and ask myself _Is there a dog or a cat inside that one? Do you suppose that guy is part garter snake? That woman has to be a hawk. Look how she moves._ Portland is weird, but I have a flexible mind. I fit right in

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Roxanna's writing. Such as...

Sanna Meets Dauntless Swiftsure

by Roxanna Mathews

Natural poetry at its finest.

Capturing the life and imagination of the author in vivid detail, these poems touch on joy and loss, life's everyday hassles, and the many faces of Mother Nature.

*****

**I was born in Bend,Oregon** at a very early age. I happened to be with my mother and twin brother at the time. We were raised by wolves in central Oregon. It colors my writing. I am currently blissfully happy with a magnificent husband and two cats, a small income from Social security, and freedom to let my imagination run rampant. My novel, "Sanna Meets Dauntless Swiftsure" from Inkwater Press in Portland, Ore is available in both print and electronic versions at Amazon and all the other usual outlets. Ask Powell's or Barnes and Noble to order it.

#  The Hole

By AK Stein

(as told by Brian Brooks)

(A fictional character, of course, but very fun to write)

If anyone was to tell me this story, I certainly would not believe them, but since it happened to me, I have to believe it. Unless, as most people have told me, I was dreaming but I don't think so. I'll tell you the story and you see what you think.

When I was a young man, thirteen years old, my Grandpa Brooks had a cattle farm outside of Canton, Ohio, with large fields, lots of trees and hills all around. He was my dad's dad and we used to go and visit him and Grandma every so often and he would take me around the farm with him. But I loved to go off and wander around by myself sometimes because it was so nice and quiet. No city noise. Anyway, while I was out wandering that one day, I found a hole in the ground. It wasn't a real big hole, not a small one either, but just enough to fit a body into. It was well hidden by brush and grass else I would have found it earlier because I had come to know that particular field very well. It was one hill that had so many trees and came down into a valley. I had run down that hill into that valley many times, but it wasn't until that day that I found the hole. As I said, it was pretty well hidden by the vegetation or I would have found it earlier.

Well, I looked at the hole, curious as to what could have made it and how deep it was and all those things boys manage to wonder about, and seeing it was big enough to slip myself into, I decided to try. But first I pitched a few rocks into it to see if I could hear them hit bottom. I wasn't going in if it was too deep. Well, I pitched a couple in and started counting by the thousands and when I reached two thousand I heard them hit so I judged it to be shallow enough for me. I made sure I had my matches with me, which I most always had as I was always the one who got the job of burning trash. My younger brother Nick was too young to be trusted with it and, since he and I were the only kids in the family, I was the only other choice. But I made sure I had them with me, even though it was about two in the afternoon and the sun was shining its brightest, and I decided to try and see where that hole led to. So I lowered myself in.

Now you might say that wasn't the smartest thing for me to do, as there was no telling what could be in that hole, still at home so to speak, but I wasn't country enough yet to think about that sort of thing. This was only my forth or fifth time at the farm. We used to live in California until I was ten but now we live in Indiana, which is a lot closer.

But anyway, I lowered myself into that hole and when my feet touched the bottom of it, I squatted down on my heels and tried to look around. The sunshine lit up some of the interior and showed that it was larger over to my left. But it was dark over there and I couldn't see all the way in it, so I lit up a match.

Now instead of seeing a wall way over there, like I thought, I saw a tunnel leading downwards. I tried to see down it and saw it wasn't steep but just kind of gradual. But pretty soon my match got to feeling warm on my fingers so I gave it a shake and it went out. Well, I could see I was going to have to make different lighting arrangements if I was going exploring, so I thought a minute and came up with the idea of pulling up some of those weeds that were growing just outside and bunching them up and setting fire to them, like the torches I had seen on some of the scary shows on TV.

It seemed like a good idea so I did it. Of course I had a time getting those weeds to stay lit, they being so fresh and all, but I finally did it and I had a pretty good torch and I could see real good down that tunnel. I put my matches back in my pocket and got my courage up and started crawling into the tunnel.

It was big enough that I didn't have to duck my head or anything as I crawled and I could hold the torch well up in front of me and I no more got in the tunnel when I saw I was going to come out of it into a big room. I say room because it was about as big as my bedroom at home. But the ceiling of it wasn't as high, only six or seven feet, I judged. The floor was level to the tunnel so I crawled out into the middle of it and stood up.

This room was all there was to the hole, except along the walls near the floor were little bitty holes every so often. They were tiny, like one inch tunnels leading away from the room. Anyway, I didn't care about them, they were too small to worry about. What I was concerned with, though, was the fact that I had found something that probably nobody else knew about.

I felt all the feelings that go along with that and sat in the middle of the room and imagined myself a hero and this was my hideout. I sat there for quite a while, daydreaming, and pretty soon I started to get sleepy. I could see the sun shining through the hole when I looked back through the tunnel so I put out my torch and crawled through the tunnel to the entrance. I sat down when I got there and looked up through it and the sky looked so pretty up there, so blue and all, and I felt myself getting sleepier, so I decided to lie down right where I was and have a nap. It was kind of fun to do that, knowing I was well hidden, yet could get out by just standing up. So I lay down.

Just as I was going to sleep, though, I noticed a kind of sweet smell. It seemed to come out of the ground so I figured that was just the way the inside of the ground smelled like, but I hadn't noticed it before. Anyway, I went to sleep thinking that the inside of the ground had a real pleasant, sweet smell to it.

When I woke up, I saw it was still daylight, so I stretched myself to get the kinks out before I got up and, man, was I stiff. I was as stiff and sore as if I had slept a hundred years. I couldn't remember ever being that sore before. I hurt so bad I couldn't keep from crying out whenever I moved and my head hurt like somebody was pounding it and searing my eyes out at the same time. It seemed the more I woke up the more I hurt. But after a while my muscles got better and my head did, too, and I was able to get up, although I was dizzy when I finally did.

I stood up and looked around, or tried to, but the sun was so bright I couldn't keep my eyes open and the tears came, they hurt so bad. But I managed to look around and I started to notice something peculiar. I couldn't figure out what it was at first, my mind being so boggy, but finally I saw the sky was overcast in spite of the sun shining so bright and it had a funny gray color to it. I looked around for the sun, but the strange thing was I couldn't find it. It had to have been shining because it was so bright out but the light seemed to be coming from everywhere.

Well I didn't want to look at the sky anymore because my eyes wouldn't let me, so I started looking around closer to the ground, then, and danged if the trees didn't look right somehow. I frowned at them for a while and couldn't figure out just what it was when finally I remembered a clump over in one direction, toward the north, that wasn't there anymore. I remembered it because it was where my favorite climbing tree was, having low, thick branches and all. But now that clump of trees was gone and I couldn't figure out where it went.

I looked around some more and danged if I didn't see that the whole lot of trees had been rearranged. Every last one of them had been dug up and planted again in straight rows.

Now this was getting too much for me and my head was just spinning and hurting, but I leaned against the side of the hole for support and looked around some more. I noticed a funny smell in the air, too. I had been noticing it all along but it wasn't until now that it registered with me. It was a mixture of smells, all bad, like exhaust and soot and sulphur, but the main smell I noticed was like burning plastic. I wrinkled up my nose and gagged because by that time I had had enough but there wasn't any relief from it. The breeze seemed to be made of it.

Well about then I started to get hungry. Now how I could with those smells in the air is more than I can tell, but it seemed the longer I stood up the longer my body used my energy to do so and the more my stomach complained. It felt as empty as a keg of beer after the Fourth of July and pretty soon it felt like it was going to take on my whole body, so I began to think of getting on back home. Also, I had some questions to ask my grandpa about those trees. But first I had to rest a while so I sat down on the edge of the hole.

Well the first thing I noticed after I did that was the weeds I had just put my hands on were plastic. I was never so surprised in my life. I was really befuddled then and I started to pull up some of them but I couldn't. The stems of these things were just like the ones you can buy in the store, as hard as all get out, and I couldn't break off any of them and I was too weak to try anymore, anyway.

I saw some plain grass growing within easy reach so I pulled on some of that and danged if it wasn't plastic, too. And it stretched right up in my hand before it finally broke off. Where it stretched the green color faded and I ended up holding a handful of plastic strips that were clear on one end and dark green on the other. What was left in the ground where I pulled it was the same.

Well I couldn't figure out what was going on and my head hurt and I was dizzy and my body ached all over and my stomach was getting entirely too intimate with my backbone, but all I could do for a while was sit there because my legs still didn't feel up to it yet.

Presently, I heard voices. They were coming from over the small rise to my right and I turned to look and waited for them to come up over the top. I thought at first it was my family coming to look for me, but I soon realized I didn't recognize the voices. I waited for a while but they didn't come, but I could still hear them laughing and carrying on so I decided to go and see them. So I got up, all trembly, but I made it out of the hole and wobbled to my feet and managed to climb to the top of the rise. It felt like I was climbing a mountain, even though it was only a gradual assent, but I made it and I looked down the other side. I saw three people, all dressed in white, skipping along, hand in hand, and looking like they were playing some kind of game. They would run and then hop and then one of them would trip and fall and then they would all laugh and holler. Well I didn't recognize any of them, which wasn't anything to wonder about since I couldn't claim to know very many people around the community, anyway, but I noticed that these kids, I had judged them to be about my age, had the most peculiar white skin. Now that was something to wonder at for kids who liked to be outdoors as these obviously did, because for no longer than I had been out in the sun, my skin was quite tanned. But these kids' skin was white, almost like a fish belly white, and I thought of what my health teacher, Mrs. Boscome, told us about people who were albinos. These kids fit that description, with their pale blonde hair and all. One of them had short hair so I judged him to be a boy, and the other two as girls because their hair came nearly to their waists.

Pretty soon they worked their way toward me and the boy saw me. He jerked up straight and yanked the girls to a halt and they all three stood there and stared at me and didn't make a sound. I stared back at them but my legs were feeling like they wanted to sit down again. But presently, the group came up to me and stopped in front of me and the boy spoke. He asked me who I was and where I was from and I noticed they didn't have the red eyes that Mrs. Boscome said albinos had, but their eyes were a real pale blue. They were pretty eyes, though, even the boy's, who I found I had been right in judging him to be a boy. The other two I was right on, too. They were real pretty, these kids, and their skin didn't look as bad up close as I thought, even though it was so white. You couldn't see every vein as Mrs. Boscome said.

Well I answered the boy. I told him I was Brian Brooks and I was staying at my grandpa's but I was from over by Indianapolis, but none of that seemed to register with him. He didn't know my grandpa and he didn't know of any farm being around here and when I told him he was standing on it he kind of looked at me. Then he said, "I beg your pardon, but this land belongs to the government. It's a park and belongs to everybody. There aren't any farms around here."

Well I told him he was wrong and he told me that maybe I had wandered away too far and wasn't on my grandpa's land anymore. But I knew better so we argued. Then the girls hollered at us and told us we were acting like children, which made us stop, and by that time I was feeling faint. They noticed my condition and immediately they were supporting me, the boy on one side and one of the girls on the other. They said they would take me home with them until I felt better and then they would help me find my grandpa's farm. So they did, with the other girl leading the way.

They took me to their home, which wasn't very far, just over another hill, and when I saw the house my jaw just dropped to the ground. It was one of those space age deals I had seen in a magazine once. It was perfectly round, the entire house, and kind of squat and it looked like a giant, two story loaf of bread with windows in it, sitting on the ground. It was all white, even the roof, which didn't look like a roof as it was all one piece with the sides, and the closer we got the more I saw it was made of metal like aluminum siding, only different somehow.

They took me in through a door that slid open sideways as we approached and I stared at it as we went by and saw it had gone right into the wall. They took me over to a couch that was the most luxurious one I had ever seen, being all plushy and a soft green, and they sat me on it. I was never so glad to sit on something so soft because those kids had to drag me the last few yards, my legs had given completely out. I leaned back and it was no time when I was asleep, or fainted, I can't remember which.

When I woke up, I was in a room I didn't recognize at all. But the bed I was in, I judged it to be a bed, was the most comfortable I had ever been in. It was built right out from the wall and was as wide as my twin bed at home, but it was thin and flat. It didn't seem like it had a frame, but of course it had to. It seemed like it was just a mattress coming out of the wall, which I found out when I leaned over to look under it and saw it didn't have any legs to it. It just came out of the wall about as high up as any normal bed would be.

Well the leaning over the bed didn't do my head any good so I lay back on the pillow again and looked around the room. It had been painted a weird shade of bluish gray. But it was a nice color. I had just never seen that color before. The carpet was the same color. All of the furniture was a wood color and was built right out of the wall, as the bed was, and they seemed to be made of the same metal.

When I made that realization, I realized the walls did actually look like they were made of metal. Well that was a novelty to me and I stared at them but about that time a woman came into the room carrying a tray. Right behind her came one of the girls who had helped me get there and she was smiling at me and looking even prettier. She came up to my bed and said 'hi' and 'how was I today' and the woman told her to help me sit up so she could put the tray across my lap.

"Liza," she said. "Turn the head of the bed up so he can sit up and eat."

Then she smiled at me and introduced herself as Mrs. Graymer, the kids' mother. She was as beautiful woman as I had ever seen, like the models you find in fashion magazines, and her coloring was just like the kids', all pale blonde and white skin. Her eyes were the same color, too.

After Liza turned up the head of the bed, which she did by pushing a button just underneath the middle part of the bed, Mrs. Graymer sat the tray across my lap and, boy, did it smell good. It smelled like chicken soup and roast beef and corn and broccoli and biscuits and I don't know when I enjoyed a meal more. That was the best tasting food I ever ate and I can generally leave broccoli alone.

Well I ate it and Mrs. Graymer sat on the edge of the bed until I did, and Liza sat on the floor, cross-legged, and they both talked to me. Liza's mom told me the kids told her how they found me and brought me home and what all I had told them about myself. While they were talking, the other two kids came in and saw I was awake and eating and they said how glad they were I finally was and it all kind of turned into a party.

Now I heard of families looking alike but I don't believe I've ever seen anything like this family. Why, the kids looked like they were identical triplets, but the closer I looked at them the more they looked to be different ages. And each one of them were the spittin' image of their mother. I never saw the like and beautiful? Even the boy, which surprised me because I don't usually notice boys, being a boy myself. I wondered what the father looked like.

Well we talked and had a good time and I ate, and when I was through, Mrs. Graymer took the tray and set it aside and presently I heard her address the other two kids as Glen and Maureen, so I found out what their names were, and I waited for the father to come in. Well after a while I decided he wasn't going to show himself and then found out, through our conversation, that he was away on business. Liza, the youngest, I judged her to be, brought that up by saying she missed her daddy and wanted to know how soon he was coming back.

Mrs. Graymer smiled at her and said, "In a couple of days, dear." Then she said, "Have you finished your science project yet? You know your father particularly wanted you to have it finished when he returns so he can go on with his experiments."

I kind of looked up at that and asked if he was a scientist.

"No, not particularly a scientist," she said. "He does testing for the oil company on Earth Base One."

When she said that I frowned. "Earth Base One? Where is Earth Base One? I never heard of it."

They all looked at me like they couldn't believe it and Mrs. Graymer said, "Everybody knows where Earth Base One is. Every child studies about it in school. Don't you go to school?"

I said I did but I still never heard of it and then she said, "Now how could you not hear of it? It's the only base left on Earth."

I must have showed my ignorance because she leaned over and put her hand on my arm and asked, "Darling, where are you from? I know what you told the kids, but we thought your story was due to being outside too long. The state you were in was just like the doctors have told us if we stayed outside too long. You should know you can't do that. It's not healthy. You would have died if the kids hadn't had to go out to check the South Forty where that child ran through the fence in his air tub. Now tell me where your parents are so we can contact them and send you home."

Well I was pretty well confused over most of her conversation, but I told her we were staying at my grandpa's house in Canton, Ohio, and I told her the phone number and his name, which was Abraham Brooks, and she looked at me with a kind of worried frown on her face. She drew back and sat back on the bed again and watched me. Then presently she smiled at me and said, "Well I can see you're not yourself yet. You must have been outside much longer than we thought. After you rest and can be yourself again, you can tell me where on Mars you live so we can send you home, okay?"

She looked pleased with her decision but the look I had on my face caused her to frown again. I kind of sat up and said, "Mars!" Then I started to laugh. "I don't live on Mars. Nobody lives on Mars. How can they? Whatever made you say that?"

Well nobody was laughing with me so I stopped and stared back at them.

Then Mrs. Graymer stood up and said she had better get a doctor, so she grabbed up the tray and left the room. I watched her leave and then I looked at the three kids and they looked at me and then Glen came over and sat down on the bed where his mother had sat. He looked at me and the girls looked at me and I looked at them and finally Glen asked, "Aren't you from Mars?"

"No, I'm not," I answered. "Why do you think I am?"

"Because everybody there has skin and hair and eyes your color," he said. "Nobody on Earth does because of the pollution. The outer atmosphere won't allow the sunlight to come in as it should." Then he leaned forward and had a smirk on his face as he said, "Now tell me what game you are playing. Are you hiding from the law? Is that why you won't tell us who you are?"

Well I was about fed up with their shenanigans by then and I wasn't amused at them like they apparently were with me, so I said, "Now listen. I am not from Mars and I am not running from the law. I am who I said I am and I can prove it if only you would call my grandpa."

Well I saw they weren't about to believe me so I started to get mad, then, and a little scared, because I couldn't tell whether they were serious or not. They didn't look like they were playing any games, but the things they said to me were the wildest stuff I ever heard. I began to feel like I was in one of those science fiction movies I saw every now and then on TV. I looked at Glen and asked, "Say, who are you anyway? Grandpa never said anything about a house like this being around. Because if there were, it would be famous. I never saw one like it except in a science magazine once. And if anybody were to build one around here, all the people would be talking about it."

Glen looked at me and kind of laughed. "You talk like you're living in the past. Everybody lives in houses like ours, have done so for centuries. Boy! You have been outside too long."

My ears perked up. "For centuries! What are you talking about?"

He looked at me like I was weird. "Just what I said. Ever since the year two thousand seventy we built these kind of houses and now everyone lives in them."

Well my eyes really bugged out then. "The year two thousand seventy! You're outta your mind. This is nineteen seventy nine. We haven't got to the year two thousand seventy yet."

Well after they got over staring at me, a little pandemonium kind of went around, but then their mother came back into the room. The kids all turned on her and told her what I said and she kind of looked at me but told them not to worry as she had called Dr. Dorn and he was going to come over. She ushered the kids out of the room and told me to get some rest and then she left. I lay there on the bed when they were gone and thought.

Now I can't ever remember considering myself a coward, but I don't need to tell you I was a little more than upset. I knew what I was talking about, but these people were making me wonder if I hadn't stumbled into a nut house. That was the only explanation I could come up with and I thought along those lines and what I had probably better do about it when, finally, after an hour, Mrs. Graymer came back, followed by an elderly gentleman.

She smiled at me like she did before and introduced him as Dr. Dorn. He had the same white skin but his hair was white, also, which made him look white all over with his white clothes and all. As a matter of fact, the only color he had was his eyes, which were a pale gold, like a faded brown, and it was a good thing, too, because they were the only things that saved him from looking completely like a ghost.

He greeted me with a smile and put down his bag, which wasn't like I was used to seeing doctors carry, but like a silver metal one that looked more like a small suitcase than a regular doctor's bag. He put it on a chair that Mrs. Graymer had brought over to the bed and then he sat down on the side of the bed. Mrs. Graymer left the room, saying she had things she needed to get done, but would be available to talk to the doctor when he was through.

Dr. Dorn sat there for a while and didn't say anything. He just looked at me and I looked at him and saw he was looking me over. He stared into my eyes and then he looked at my hair and then all over my face. Then he picked up my hands and turned them over and examined both sides of them. Then he looked up at me kind of steady and said, "They tell me you have been saying a few things that sound like you're suffering from being outside too long. How long were you outside? Do you know?"

I shook my head, then said, "Dr. Dorn, I want my parents called. It's been a while since I left the house and they're probably getting worried."

He looked at me and kind of smiled and said, "If you will tell us how to do that we will."

I felt like crying. "But I did tell you. I told them who my grandpa is and what his phone number is. Why won't you call him?"

I was really scared then and the man saw I was because he patted my arm and said, "Settle down. We will get this straightened out." He looked at me a while and then he reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of matches. He looked at them for a second and then up at me and said, "Mrs. Graymer found these in your pants pocket when she laundered your clothes this morning. We know these are matches, but the only ones that are left are in the museums. Where did you get these? They show no signs of age."

I told him. I said, "My mom buys them at the store. I use them to burn trash with."

He stared at me a while and then started asking me questions about what I was doing outside and why and I told him. I told him that, when I visited my grandpa's farm, I liked to roam around because it is so nice and peaceful, and while I was doing that yesterday, I found a big hole in the ground in one of the pastures.

Well I went on to tell him the story and he watched me the whole time like he was trying to see through me. But he didn't say a word until I was done. Then he asked me where the hole was and I told him and then he stared at me some more. Well while I was telling my story, I remembered the plastic grass and how the trees were all lined up, so when he didn't say anything more to me, I asked him about it.

He looked at me like he didn't know what to think, which made me think I had dreamt all that up maybe, but then he said, "All the vegetation died out centuries ago from the pollution. The plastic vegetation is there for scenery sake, the grass and trees alike. The reason the trees are in straight rows is because we don't have the time to make them look natural as we are leaving the planet anyway."

I kind of looked at him. "Leaving the planet! Why? Where are you going?"

He answered me, still watching me closely. "We have to leave our planet because it is dead now. The pollution we did to it back in the twentieth and twenty first centuries has caused the soil to die. We can't grow anything here anymore. So we are going to Mars, now that the cities have been completed." He looked at me kind of steady, then he got up and picked up his bag and said, "I am going to leave now. But I will be back again tomorrow. I want you to sleep and be all rested up by then, okay?"

He smiled at me real kindly as I looked at him and some of my fear left, but I still couldn't feel completely comfortable. But I nodded and then he left and presently Mrs. Graymer came in carrying a glass of something in her hand. She smiled at me and told me Dr. Dorn wanted me to drink this glass of medicine and get some rest. So I did and I was asleep before I knew it.

When I woke again it must have been the next day and well into it by the way the sun was shining in through the window. I looked out the window and, as I did, I began to feel like there was something peculiar about it. The scenery was just like what I would see outside my own window at my grandpa's, with the sun shining and the sky so blue and the clumps of trees. Then it hit me. The trees weren't all in a row. Well that scared me then because Dr. Dorn and I had just talked about them and I also distinctly remembered wondering about them when Glen and Maureen helped me to their home. I had kept looking at them and wondering why anyone would want to go to all the trouble of rearranging all those trees.

Well it was a good thing Mrs. Graymer and Glen came into my room then because I was working myself up to a good scare. I turned on them the minute they got into the room and demanded to know what was going on. I didn't make myself clear because Mrs. Graymer said they were going to let me get up was what was going on and I was so glad to hear that I forgot about the window.

I sat up and she handed me my clothes, which she had put away in a drawer. When I was dressed she took the pajamas I had been wearing and put them in the closet and we all left and Glen led the way to the kitchen. Of course the only way I knew it was the kitchen was because Mrs. Graymer told me it was when I asked where we were. But it certainly didn't look like one. It didn't have a stove or sink or anything I recognized as belonging to a kitchen except a table and chairs, which Glen led us over to.

They told me to sit down, so I did and kind of looked around the place. There wasn't much to it, just some counters along one wall and a whole bunch of buttons on a panel, which was on the wall off to one side. I judged it to be a medium sized room, like my mom's, but it was all white with one window in the middle of the wall above the counter. I didn't smell any food cooking and I wondered where we were going to get it but I didn't say anything.

Anyway Liza, she and Maureen were already there, was complaining that she was starved and, to tell you the truth, so was I. Mrs. Graymer gave Maureen the honor of ordering up the meal, which she did by pushing a few buttons that were in the center of the table by a large square design.

Now this table was built on a pedestal, which I had noticed when I walked into the room, and I had thought the pedestal was kind of large for the table. It looked kind of bottom heavy, but pretty soon, after Maureen pushed the buttons, there came a kind of humming sound out of the pedestal and I looked under the table to see what was happening.

Well everybody watched me do that, but pretty soon the square design on the table opened up and the food came out of it on a tray. If my eyes didn't bug out then I don't know as they ever did and I exclaimed at the marvel. Everybody looked at me like they didn't know quite what to make of me so I felt kind of sheepish. Mrs. Graymer looked thoughtful and Maureen dished out the plates of food, which was a chicken dinner with all the fixings, and nobody else paid any more attention to me so I dug in. And it did taste good.

About midway through the meal I got to thinking again about that window in my room, so I asked about it. I said, "I don't know why you people talk about pollution and the vegetation dying when you can look outside and see how nice it is." I had figured then that the trees were in a straight line only in that one section of land. I looked out the kitchen window then and said, "Just look out the window. It's beautiful out."

Well Glen choked on his bite of chicken and the girls gaped at me and their mother looked at me kind of thoughtful again. Then she smiled at me and said, in that sweet way of hers, "Honey, don't you know the scenery you are looking at is only artificial?"

Well I stared at her and then out the window again and just then a bird flew across it so I said, "Now how can that be? I just saw a bird flying."

Glen burst out laughing then and his mother frowned at him and I turned on him and demanded to know what was so funny. He couldn't talk for a minute and the girls started giggling, but finally he said, "That was the most corny thing I ever heard. Of course you saw a bird flying. It wouldn't be lifelike if you didn't see some movement."

I couldn't understand what he meant and told him that, so he said, "The scenery outside the windows is artificial."

Well I couldn't see any reason why anybody would want to put artificial scenery outside the windows when all they needed to do was look outside at the real thing, and when I told them that, they all started laughing again and Glen said, "We can't have the real thing." I asked him why and he said, "Because we are underground."

Well I stared at him and then I said, "Didn't I see this house above ground when you were bringing me here?"

He nodded at that and said, "Yes. But that is the upper part of the house. We live mostly underground but we have our living room above ground to receive visitors."

They all stared at me kind of shocked then and Glen said, "How come you don't know that? Everybody lives this way."

I didn't know what to think when he said that. Here I'd been telling them all along who I was and where I was from and they still refused to believe me. I told them what I was thinking and they stared at me and I could see they were getting kind of uneasy, but then I heard a doorbell ring somewhere in the house. Mrs. Graymer spoke into an intercom system and found out the person at the door was Dr. Dorn, so she pressed a button and asked him to come in. He did and he came down to the kitchen and everybody greeted him.

Then he came over and sat down at the table and looked at me. He asked how I was and I told him I was fine. But he continued to look at me, which made me kind of nervous and I dropped my fork in my plate. It made a good sized rattle and knocked some of the corn off my plate and caused a little confusion for a while. But I got everything straightened up and we finished the meal without any more mishaps, which I was glad of because I had embarrassed myself with that one.

When we were through, all the dishes and remains of the meal went back on that big square and Mrs. Graymer pushed another button and the whole lot went back down into the pedestal and the lid shut over it. I got to thinking how nice it would be if my mom could have one of these tables, but I didn't say anything because I figured it would only cause trouble again. It seemed like I couldn't talk about anything without them giving me the weird looks.

Mrs. Graymer asked Dr. Dorn if he was going to examine me anymore and he said no, so she invited him to come into another room to sit down and talk. So we all went into the other room, which was done in browns and golds and which I was told by Glen was a family room. Dr. Dorn and Mrs. Graymer sat down on a large sofa and talked together. The girls went over to a table that was over to one side of the room, there was another over on the other side, and started work on what looked like a puzzle. It looked like plastic paisley pieces that lit up. The pieces were all different colors.

I didn't pay any more attention to them because Glen had gone over to one of the walls and pressed a button and part of the wall slid open. There were shelves in the wall and they held all kinds of contraptions on them. He turned to me and asked, "Do you want to play some games? I've got quite a few here and you can have your choice."

I went over to see what he had. He was indicating all the things on the shelves, but as far as I could tell none of them looked like any games I had ever seen. I told him that and he kind of looked at me and then reached up to one of the shelves and brought down one of the contraptions. "Here is Scrabble," he said. "Don't you play Scrabble? I thought everybody did." He was holding a ball made out of little squares with letters and numbers on them. They were wooden and looked like they were all glued together to make the ball.

I looked at it and said, "I play Scrabble, but I never saw the game look like that. How do you play with that?"

He shook his head and told me to follow him. He took me over to the table, the one the girls were not at, and we sat down and he showed me how to play his kind of Scrabble. I never did get the hang of it so I won't go into detail about it, but he kind of worked those letters and numbers around until he had words out of them. But when I tried it, I couldn't get it to go anywhere. He showed me again how to handle it but it didn't do any good so we quit.

He looked at me, kind of exasperated with me, and then he reached in a drawer of the table and brought out another weird contraption. He told me it was a model of a cosmic ray compressor he was working on and I could help him if I wanted to. I said I would like to if I could so he told me what he wanted me to do. He handed me what looked like a screwdriver without the driving end on it but just the handle and the shank with a hole in the end of it. I asked what it was and he shook his head again at me but told me it was a laser driver and I would need it to do my part on the model.

I asked him to show me how it worked and he did by pushing a button on the end of it. A light came out of the shank end but it didn't go anywhere. It just came out about two inches and then stopped. I marveled at it but Glen said it was just a laser beam that was used quite commonly in tools nowadays.

Well I had never seen anything like it and he saw I was wanting to try it out so he gave me a cube of steel from out of the drawer and told me to have at it. I did and had the best time tearing into it, too. When I was done, the piece of steel looked like it had been through a thresher.

Glen told me I could keep the piece of steel if I wanted to, since I ruined it for anything he wanted it for, and then he started work on his model.

I thanked him for the steel and put it in my pocket and then I started watching him for a while. Just then I heard my name mentioned between Dr. Dorn and Mrs. Graymer so I started listening to them. They didn't say too much after that because Dr. Dorn told Mrs. Graymer that he would go now and make the necessary arrangements.

Well I didn't know exactly what he was talking about, but since I heard them talking about me not two seconds before that, I had the weird feeling they were planning something about me, which I found I wasn't too happy about.

I watched them leave and felt like I wanted to follow them, to see if I could hear some more, so I turned back to Glen and said I wanted to go to the kitchen for a minute and I would be right back. He nodded his head but didn't pay any more attention to me, being so wrapped up in his model, so I got up and left the room.

I stopped when I got to the door before I went into the hallway and listened to see if I could hear Mrs. Graymer and Dr. Dorn talking. I heard them down the hall so I tip-toed toward their voices, and when I got close enough, I heard Dr. Dorn say, "Don't worry, Lisa. We'll take care of the boy. I'll have Dan come and take him off your hands and he'll watch over him. We don't know who or what he is but we know he isn't from anywhere in our system. The things he says and doesn't know about prove that. But we'll find out."

Well when I heard that I didn't know what to think. It didn't sound too good for me but Dr. Dorn didn't sound threatening, either. I heard Mrs. Graymer say something to him but I didn't catch it. Anyhow, I figured I'd better get back to Glen so I tip-toed back to the family room.

I went over to my seat again and watched Glen and presently Mrs. Graymer came back into the room. I looked over at her, I couldn't help it, but she smiled at me real sweet and then she asked if anyone wanted to go with her to the nature room. They all said they would like to go so she looked at me and said she would like for me to come, too. I didn't know what they were talking about but I liked anything dealing with nature so I was kind of looking forward to seeing this place. So I didn't object to their plans.

Mrs. Graymer led us all out of the room and down the hall, where I heard her and Dr. Dorn talking earlier, and led us onto an elevator. I was excited about them having an elevator in their home and told them so and Glen shook his head like he was pretty well disgusted with me by then. Mrs. Graymer was thoughtful as she looked at me again but didn't say anything. I noticed their attitudes toward me were getting kind of touchy so I decided to keep my mouth shut from then on.

Since Glen had already told me we were underground, I was expecting to go upwards, above ground, and jump in the car and go someplace, but instead we went farther down into the ground. Of course it was still the house, as I could see, since the elevator wasn't all the way enclosed, but I couldn't figure out where we were going. I didn't say anything, though, because I had a feeling they would only be upset with me and I would be finding out anyway. So I kept my mouth shut and decided to wait and see.

My wait wasn't too long, however, and presently the elevator stopped and we got off. I looked around as we were going down a hallway and I got to feeling like I was in a corridor on a spaceship. All I could see of the place was corridor, done all in gray.

Finally, Mrs. Graymer stopped in front of a door and opened it. We all went in and the only thing that was in the room was a table with six chairs around it. But this room looked the closest to what I was used to since I'd been in their home. It wasn't a big room, but it had good old regular paneling on the walls and smelled like it was just put up new. I sniffed the air and it did smell good and cheered me up and I waited to see what we were going to do next.

Well what that family did do next puzzled me. They went up to the walls and started sniffing the paneling and feeling it and presently Liza asked, "Mother, is this oak I'm at or is this pine? I can't remember."

Mrs. Graymer looked to where she was and said, "That's oak, dear. The pine is over two sections down."

Well I stared at them and then, when Mrs. Graymer told Liza that, I looked to where she was pointing and the place did look different than the place where Liza was standing. I got to looking around and saw the paneling was different all around the room. I turned back to the rest of the group and saw Glen was running his hand along the walls across all the sections of paneling. He would stop and sniff at it every so often, then go on.

Well I figured they all had some purpose to this so I waited for them, but pretty soon I got impatient so I asked them, "When are we going to the nature room?"

They all turned around and stared at me and then Mrs. Graymer said, "We are in the nature room."

I kind of looked around real puzzled and said, "We're in it! What do you mean? I mean, where are the birds and plants and things?" All the other 'nature' rooms I had been in were a lot more populated than this one and far more interestingly arranged.

Well they looked at me and Glen came over and stood in front of me with his hands on his hips and said, "This is the nature room. You are in it and I think it's time you quit playing this game. You know very good and well where you are and what's going on because everybody has a nature room in their house. That's so we don't forget what it used to smell like outside before the pollution. Now stop this game or I'll stop it for you."

Mrs. Graymer called out sharply to him and came over to us. It was a good thing she did, too, because I was ready to take up Glen's offer and cream his pretty face for him. But Mrs. Graymer came between us and told Glen to leave me alone, as she was going to handle this.

She turned to me then kind of serious and said, "Honey, won't you tell us where you are from? We won't hurt you, I promise. But if you don't tell us, we won't have any choice but to take you to the government building for proper examination."

Well when she said that my heart kind of jumped in my throat. I figured then that was what Dr. Dorn was talking about to her earlier and I tried to think what I'd better do about it. I looked at her and saw she was concerned for me, but I couldn't think of a thing to say. From the things they'd already said to me, I figured I could probably make up any story but I didn't. I figured, too, that it would be my luck my story would be the wrong one. So I didn't say anything but stood there and looked at her.

She saw I wasn't going to say anything and she looked kind of sad. She turned to the kids and said we were going back up. We left and when we got back to the family room, she left us kids and went off somewhere else. I didn't know where and I wasn't comfortable about it, either. I figured she was probably calling someone right now to come and get me. The thought scared me and the more I thought about it the more I got scared.

I looked around at the kids but none of them were interested in me anymore. The girls were at their puzzle again and Glen had gone back to his model. I saw they were all engrossed in their projects so I decided to see if I could sneak out of the room.

I got up and walked to the doorway and glanced back to see if anyone saw me. But they weren't paying any attention to me so I went out into the hallway. I didn't know which way to go except the direction of the elevator so I went that way. I got to the elevator and got on board and tried to think what I should do.

I looked at the controls and remembered how Mrs. Graymer worked them so I studied them to see if I could figure out how to do it. She had pulled the lever down to go down so I figured if I pushed it up I would go up so I did. I thought that if I could get above ground I might be able to get out of the house and head back to my grandpa's farm. Though by then I wondered if I would even find my grandpa's farm.

Well I saw I had figured the controls correctly and the elevator took me upwards and when it stopped I saw I had reached the room I was brought into when the kids brought me there. I got off the elevator and went over to the door to see if I could get it opened. I didn't see anything at first when I looked around it. But after a while, I saw a small button off to the side on the wall. It was hidden by a picture, being so close to it, but I found it and decided to take a chance and see what would happen if I pressed it. I did and to my relief the door opened.

But then an alarm sounded somewhere in the house and I heard the elevator start to go down. Then I heard yelling and I figured they had discovered I was missing from the family room. My heart jumped clear to my throat again because I knew I had to get out of there if I was going to even be able to get back home. So I ran out the door.

The smell nearly knocked me off my feet, being all that burnt plastic again. But I ran outside anyway and the door shut behind me. I started off down the walk but took a moment to look around, to get my bearings, and off to the left I saw the hill the kids had dragged me over so I headed off in that direction, figuring it was as good a beginning as any for my search.

It must have been pretty far along into the afternoon because it was getting dusky out but I could still see pretty well so I started running. Remembering what they said about being outside too long and the fact that they had discovered me gone was what got my feet to churning right proper because I didn't want them to find me. And I didn't want to get that headache again.

It was no time at all when I topped the hill so I ran down the other side. I ran up over the other hill I recognized but pretty soon my head started to hurt. It felt like I was going for another dilly of a headache but I didn't stop running. I wanted to get as much distance between them and me as I could so I ran over the top of that other hill and down the other side.

I looked around, still plugging along in spite of my headache, and tried to figure out which direction I had better go. I was so caught up with that and my headache that I wasn't paying attention to where my feet were going and all of a sudden my foot didn't hit solid ground. It hit nothing but air and I kept going down.

I hit the ground, finally, but I knocked my head on something, I didn't know what, but it didn't feel like a rock and before I knew it I was out cold.

Well when I woke up I saw it was well into the night. I stared up at the sky and saw it was a clear night and I could see all the stars. I sat up and it was then I saw I was in a hole in the ground. I got to looking around it then and saw it was the same one I was in when the whole thing started, so I figured I had found it by accident when I was running.

Well I tried to get up, to climb out, and discovered I was as sore as the last time I tried that and I couldn't get my limbs out straight without crying out. My head hurt, too, but not as much as before, but my eyes didn't hurt.

I finally managed to get up and lean against the entrance of the hole, then decided to sit down and rest my legs. Well the first thing I noticed was the weeds were real. I had put my hand down on them to brace myself and they were real.

Well that about blew my mind and I looked around and saw the trees looked like they were in clumps again, but I couldn't tell, it being dark and all. I noticed it smelled good outside, too, and my head started to clear up and feel good. I looked up at the sky again and noticed then that it was clear and not all cloudy like before.

I couldn't figure out what was going on, but presently I heard someone calling my name. I got scared, thinking it was the Graymers, but pretty soon I recognized it to be my grandpa. I was never so glad in my life and I hollered out and he came over the hill from the direction of the house to where I was. I climbed out of the hole and wobbled over to him, because I couldn't run, and he put his arms around me. I wanted to cry I was so glad to see him. He asked me where I had been and what I had been doing and I told him while we went back to the house.

Well right away I saw I was going to have trouble. He said he and Dad had been out looking for me all night and were worried to death and Mom was beside herself and here I was telling a whopper like that.

Well I haven't yet been able to get anyone to believe that story. But I have proof it did happen in the fact that I have that piece of steel Glen gave me. I had it tested and the authorities are not able to explain it. Oh they know it had been cut by a laser beam, but what they can't explain is what the cube is made of. It's steel all right but the ingredients in the steel are not all of what steel is made of today. There are a few ingredients in the cube that just are not found here on Earth.

The hole, you say? Well I never did find that hole again. My grandpa and I went out looking for it in that very valley but we couldn't find it. Grandpa was worried about it because he didn't want his cows falling in it, but I needed it to help prove my story. But we never did find it and we combed that place thoroughly.

Oh well. There's my story. And you may say I was dreaming, and I probably was, but there's that cube of steel that nobody can explain. What do you say to that, huh?

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of AK Stein's writing. Such as...

Full Moon

by AK Stein

Spooky. That little bitty woods had never seemed scary before. But now her little quirk, her tiny presensing ability was making it. . .ominous. All because livestock was being killed on the full moons. And eaten. By something big. Huge. No wolf was ever that big. No ordinary wolf, that is.

And then Christa meets him. The most beautiful man she has ever seen. Unnaturally beautiful. She thought it was pure luck for her that he was. Until she saw his friend, who was just as beautiful. What is going on here?

In her quest to find answers, Christa gets caught up in a war between two different kinds of werewolves. And it's then she learns werewolves are real. And she finds herself falling in love with this beautiful man who is trying to protect her from all this. But he is also trying to prevent her from falling in love with him. It's too dangerous for her. She is only human. She isn't strong enough to handle the deadly dangers he has to face. But she wants him. On a level she never knew existed. How will she ever survive if she can't have him?

*****

**Ms. Peck (aka AK Stein)** began life as an infant. Infant what has not yet been determined. Reason being, her interests have always been in the realm of the weird. According to her family, that is.

With her head always in the clouds, the possibility has been touched upon that she might not be of this world. The Roswell, NM, spaceship incident, occurring around the allotted number of months prior to her birth, has added fuel to this hypothesis. Especially according to her siblings. It seemed the only way they could explain her. And much to her disconcert, her siblings gleefully give everyone, strangers included, this explanation. Regardless, Ms. Peck has disregarded all social conventions and is still residing in Indiana. Alone. Unmarried. Without children. Pondering. Seeking. .Perhaps her siblings had better watch out.

#  Honor Killing

By J K Roseline

Arun was waiting on the first floor for Sheetal to join him by the sea facing the hotel room. He was working on his laptop to catch up with work. It was only at Sheetal's insistence he had come. This was the hotel where they were married last year. After Anchal disappeared from his life, he had decided to remain single. But that was not to be.

His first love Anchal was a victim of honour killing. She had married Arun who did not belong to an upper caste like her. She knew too well that her parents were proud of their status and all of those who belonged to higher castes thought likewise. They would to prefer to kill their daughters at birth rather than allow them to marry someone from outside their caste. Anchal's parents had killed her for honor of their family. They spared him though. The girl's community in the village from where they hailed would never accept their daughter's marriage to somebody from a different caste and so would disown them . It would have effected their lives. Their family would have been ostracized so they preferred to do away with the daughter who erred. Only she was punished by bringing her life to an end so the whole issue is closed. This was the only way forward for her kin.

Arun and Anchal were nineteen when they got married. The girl belonged to a Brahmin clan from U P and the boy was a Punjabi Hindu but not a Brahmin. They had quietly married in the village temple and been on the run like criminals since their marriage. Arun was about to go in for a police complaint against her parents for harassing them but her parents had a plan to trick them. Relatives of Anchal soon came to Arun one day and told him that her parents agreed to their relationship and they could return home, make peace and take their blessings. Arun and Anchal returned home the next day and he soon knew they was trapped. They tied his hands and mouth and took him far away that night, leaving him on the road to die in a remote area. This was generally how a family wished to get rid of a dog. They just take it away and drop the dog in a far away place so that it cannot come back home. He heard about Anchal in the newspapers the next day. They had reported at first that she had killed herself. Later the crime came to light and her parents were arrested on charges of honor killing.

Arun never got over the fact that he was cheated .Anchal paid for it with her life. Her parents were punished. The evil is in the society which continues to raise its ugly head. Such crimes happen even today.

It was more than ten years since the tragic incident in his life. He married Sheetal last year. It was an arranged marriage.. His parents kept saying that Arun should settle down and forget his past. They were worried for him since he was the only son of Mr and Mrs Nagpal.. He obliged to marry Sheetal for the sake of his parents. The marriage was a week long affair. Sheetal was related to his mother's sister in law. She was a mature and understanding girl and knew Arun well , Sheetal had a crush on him as a teenager but Arun had not been aware of this. During the period everybody got busy with the functions and various family formalities.

Arun too got so involved with all of it and he was able to start thinking of a new beginning for him.

It was such a hectic time with family and friends gathered at the hotel for their wedding. They were also made to do things like puppets, taking care of the interests of two set of parents, brothers, sisters, uncles and aunts and their in laws. Indeed it became very taxing at the end of the show. They were both so tired and exhausted after the wedding celebrations.

They are back in the same hotel in Mumbai now after a year for a quiet anniversary. It was just the two of them. They had not gone out last year after their wedding. Sheetal had noticed that Arun was quite withdrawn in the beginning of their relationship. She knew about his past . His mother had told her. She said "Arun did not have a will to live. It was so difficult for him to come to terms with what happened with his first wife. I want you to be very patient and take care of my son. He is a good person He will keep you happy."

It is a quiet beach resort in the outskirts of Mumbai. Sheetal booked at the hotel for the week end to celebrate their first wedding anniversary. She lay on a swing in the garden swinging herself to and fro. It was getting dark and the salty cool air lapped on her face. Strangely there were no mosquitoes around her which seemed to be everywhere else.

Sheetal loved the nearby beach. She picked up her bag and walked towards the gate. It was darker now. She could hear the sound of the waves at high tide. It was a full moon night. The hotel guard at the entrance near the back gate towards the beach had denied her permission to venture out into the open on the day they had arrived . "It was high tide and unsafe to go close the shore,"

"Tomorrow morning is going to be a big show of the waves here". The life guard told her that earlier when she went to watch the sunset in the evening. It was indeed a beautiful sunset. A bright red round ball of fire dropping into the sea and the sky bidding goodbye to the sun in almost all the shades of pink, grey and orange. The crowd and the waves were celebrating at the beach with a lot of noise and movement during this time. In contrast, an hour and a half later, all fell silent and the atmosphere went dark. The people who came to bask and cheer the sun were all gone for the day. What a transformation, she thought to herself as she stood and watched near the gate. She could only hear the sound of the waves and feel the mystery of darkness enveloping the sea.

Sheetal turned to walk towards the lobby. The lone guard was preparing to settle down for the night. For him the time has come to lock the gates. People will go back to the room now rather than up and down the beach. He has to check the details for every person entering the hotel before letting anybody out. It is a secluded area near I N S Hamla with the Indian naval unit is nearby, along with the naval police. The name is highlighted in their gate by the road side written in Blue - NAVAL POLICE. "Everything about this place is very orderly. Outward all seems to be quiet, so also the people living here. It is so opposite the noisy boisterous crowds in the rest of the city in Mumbai, she thought.

It was a Sunday morning. Arun was in a talkative mood. He hardly talks during the week days. Sheetal felt happy with him. They came back after a walk by the beach. The tides were big and noisily lashing at the shore. They enjoyed getting wet. After a warm bath and change of clothes, Arun relaxes, sitting and sipping his coffee watching the crows and ravens drink water from the clear blue pool. Just across he can see the wild inviting sea. The crows flock together at the beach to feed on the left over food from the picnickers. "We Indians love to feed our crows for more reasons than one," he said. "Every year we feed crows on Shraddha day as a mark of reverence for our ancestors and relatives who are dead."

"Is that why the crows keep a distance with the people in spite of them feeding them?" asked Sheetal. She looked closely at the lot and wondered to herself about all the myths about the poor birds. "Do they really know what we think of them? Why is it that we do not keep crows like parrots in a cage? It will be cawing away all the time!" she said.

"The black beauty ! Will you keep one with you?" Arun joked with her looking at the crow and they both laughed.

Arun had just walked back to his room to keep his phone on charge having forgotten to do it the previous night. Sheetal sat alone quietly taking in the ambience. She ordered some muffins and orange juice. She was not drinking coffee with Arun. She stopped taking beverages and drinks because she was planning for a baby. She was imagining herself playing with their baby in the children's pool nearby. The waiter placed her order on the table and left.

Sheetal took a bite into the muffin then broke some off and threw the pieces to a nearby crow who seemed to be watching her. The crows were the only birds around the pool.

All the while Sheetal was playing with her wedding ring. She had the four letters of Arun's name embodied on it in blue. The crow came nearer to her, holding the muffin piece in its beak then all of a sudden circled around her head. It flapped its wings thrice, snatched the ring from her palm and swiftly flew away. Sheetal was amazed. She thought her ring had fallen down and started looking for it on the floor near the pool when she suddenly remembered a passage she read recently from the Bible - "All of you repent and be baptized in the name of the redeemer for the forgiveness of your sins and you will get the gift of the Holy spirit." She thought she would tell Arun that his ancestors came to bless her! Just as the Christians believed in the holy spirit.

Soon after Sheetal felt a little uneasy. She started to get up to walk but sat back down. Suddenly she heard a faint cry, a sound of a female in a distance. She looked back. There seemed to be no one but she felt as though someone called out to her. She started to walk away. Again someone called out her name. It was a female voice. Maybe someone she knew must have come to the resort too but she didn't recognize the voice. She suddenly felt as if somebody was beside her. As she stood, she became nauseated. Her head was reeling round and round. She somehow made it to the nearest chair, closed her eyes tightly to stop her head from rotating so fast. She held on to the handle of the chair, lest she fall. By now she was shivering inside in spite of the warm sweater she wore .She had never had such a chill in her life even though her name Sheetal meant cold. Sitting in the Garden chair near the pool where Arun left her, she passed out.

A helpless Arun rushed his wife to the hospital. The help of the hotel transport during the evening rush hour was a great support. Arun, not being able to revive her, was not fully aware what befell on her during the half hour he was not there. He felt devastated and guilty of putting the life of another girl on tender hooks.

Sheetal lay unconscious for a long time but when she recovered she refused to speak to anybody and only stared with a blank expression.

Arun waited to talk to the doctor who finally gave a brief to him." Your wife seems to be in a trauma. Perhaps she will talk to you. She doesn't remember anything and refuses to speak to anybody. However, she is in the family way. She is four months pregnant."

Arun was shocked to hear this. "But how can it be?" asked Arun. "She has a recent report of her sonography for last month and she was not pregnant then," he said.

"Maybe the report is wrong Arun, but here she is, four months gone," said the doctor.

Arun was anxious to get near his wife's bed but they had taken her for a head scan to rule out any injury. It was more than ten hours when Sheetal was finally wheeled back to her room .

Arun was waiting anxiously to see her. What he saw gave him a shock. This was not his wife Sheetal, but his past love Anchal . "Where is Sheetal?" he asked her, "and who are you?"

The lady opened her eyes to look at him. For a long time she stared. Then she said, "Don't you see me darling? "I am your wife Anchal ."

"But where is Sheetal?" he asked.

"Sheetal is in me and I in you !" Then she smiled and laughed. "This is our baby growing in my stomach."

Arun knew what the mystery could be. He was in a soup. Of this he was sure. There was obviously everything strange about the whole thing. Who is truly here and who is not? One does read in books about such stories but this was happening to him in his life, "No, this is is not possible," he screamed. To Arun she appeared as Anchal his first wife who was killed by her own parents in the name of honour.

The thought of his past bad experience came back to him. "No, no, not again!" he spoke to himself. "Why am I punished like this?" he cried out loud. "Anchal, Anchal, please forgive me. You. knew I was helpless and innocent," he muttered . "I couldn't save you from the evil intentions of your own parents. How could I have known what was in their mind when they asked us for a reconciliation?" The guilt lay heavily and he believed he was being punished by her for forgetting her.

Yes, now Arun remembered. Anchal was four months pregnant when she died. "Could this be really her spirit?" He became anxious and so confused . To all others this lady, his wife was Sheetal. To Arun, she appeared as Anchal whom he still loved more than anyone in the world. He hadn't forgotten her and the way her life was destroyed in front of him and how helpless he felt.

How can one live with the spirit of a lover in the body of a pregnant wife? And what will become of Sheetal? These were the questions in his mind. He felt like running away, just to get away from all this madness. Just run, he thought. He went back to the hotel, checked out and planned to leave, but soon realized that it would be worse. He could not just desert a pregnant wife!

Arun went back to the hospital and near her bed breaks down when he is alone with her but Anchal consoles him. "Don't cry. I need to give birth to our baby, that is why I am here," she says emphatically. Arun asked her why could she not think of coming earlier to him. Why did she wait until he married again.

Anchal replied lovingly. "We are just souls, our baby and me, and needed to come into somebody. So I came now to be by your side, to give our baby, the mark of our love, to you through her."

As sheetal remained sick and unwell, staring with a blank look, the doctors suggested that since she was in a precarious condition, she was not able to take care of herself and she should remain in the hospital until she delivered.

Arun could not share any of this with anybody so Arun kept the secret all to himself. He came every day to the hospital to visit his wife who remained still through- out . The only conversation he had was with Anchal when he was alone with her. She used to come and speak to him, so continued the love affair with his old sweet heart. Arun now looked forward to this every night. He watched his unborn baby grow in Sheetal's body as Anchal 's spirit lived in her. Anchal wished to remain until the baby was born so that she could once see her baby. Arun believed all what Anchal said.

He was happy for the moment but worried of the future. It was time for the baby to arrive. Sheetal was not showing much response. The doctors kept their hands crossed. Let the baby come first, they told him and then we will see what mode of treatment we could follow. We could provide her with other alternate treatments to revive her from her present state.

During her stay in the hospital for five months, Anchal had a far away look , whenever Arun tried to strike a coversation, she would look away, behaved oddly, but he noticed she looked forward to his visit every day. This he understood. One day Arun was getting ready to go to the hospital just then he felt something amiss . He sensed Anchal's presence for the first time in his room.

"Anchal, How is Sheetal? How did you leave her alone and come here"?.He thought Sheetal's life depended on her.

She looked at him sadly as if bidding goodbye . "They are both fine. You go and see our child. She is born and waiting for you. And as for us we will meet again. I am in no hurry. "You can only be mine in our next life and for seven lives to come. This I know. In this life I have to pay for the sins of my parents. That is karma." After saying these words she disappeared.

Arun was disturbed once again. He was confused . Anchal 's soul had never appeared to him in his home. And what of Sheetal and the child? He hurried to reach the hospital and there he was surprised to see Sheetal back to normal, smiling at him with a bony baby girl lying by her side. Arun was once again shocked. All he could do was hug them both for a while.

Sheetal spoke after a long period. "Why are you crying ? Aren't you happy." asked Sheetal for the first time since she came to the hospital.

"These are tears of joy", he said, not willing to disclose or know anything further and make their life more complicated. He looked at his child closely. She was a true copy of Anchal.

His wife looked at him. "We will name her Anchal."

He didn't reply or even look at her. He was all the more confused. " Who is true , who is not! Only time will tell," he thought.

Life went on peacefully for them. The next wedding anniversary, they went to the same resort hotel. This time with baby Anchal. They sat once again near the pool with the baby in the clear weather out in the sunshine to take in some morning sun. Suddenly a crow came and dropped Sheetal's wedding ring in her lap. She called out to Arun in excitement. " Look, the crow has given back my wedding ring. See I told you , that crow knows us. "

Arun quietly looked at the crow for any more signs of Anchal . He quietly got up, held his wife by her hand, took the baby in his arms and told his wife "It is getting warm here. Let us get back to the room." He walked ahead with her and looked back. The crow had flown away.

*****

**J K Roseline is a published writer** from India with experience in writing for newspapers in Mumbai, India and in the Middle East. She also worked in the media field for many years. A post graduate in English Literature, 'I have found my call in writing,' she cites.

She is an Indian Christian by birth but influenced by world religions. Her poetic search for an identity is being rooted due to the multiplicity of her beliefs and the diversity of influence of different cultures which is evident in her works. Having been through many tussles in the journey of her life, it has brought about in her a genuine love for seeing humanity as a whole as ne big powerful force of life in nature. She loves to write on nature and people and identify with everything around her.

Roseline emphasizes on the joys of contended living and the importance of being positive in life .

Links:

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/roseline.kurian>

Authors Den: www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?id=162467

#  A Bloody Story of Vampires

By Barbara G. Tarn

Lee and Keith were the best of friends. They walked along the alley chatting gaily of everyday problems and adventures, as the night marched on. The night of October 31.

"Keith, why don't you have a girlfriend yet?" Lee asked, concerned and worried by his best friend's sentimental loneliness.

"Because I haven't found the right one," Keith answered with a shrug. He didn't want Lee to know his real feelings yet. "And you? How are you getting on with Claire?"

"Oh, she's fine enough," Lee replied. "But sometimes I get really sick of those shrill voices and high pitched laughter."

Keith observed carefully his younger friend. The shadows were dancing on his lovely beardless face and Lee looked very thoughtful and serious. Maybe he _was_ ready to hear the truth, after all, Keith thought with a sort of relief.

"Lee, I..." he started.

"Look!" Lee exclaimed pointing at something in front of them. "He came out of nothing!"

Startled, Keith followed Lee's pointing finger. An apparently young man was standing in front of them. His face was pale white and clean-shaven, his eyes a deep well where you could get lost. His hair was dark blond, longer than the shoulder, and he was tall, taller even than Keith, and thin. He wore a strange costume of the 18th century with a top hat.

"How did you do that?" Lee wondered with disbelief. The stranger had appeared out of nowhere without warning, without a sound.

"I came out of the darkness," the man answered quietly with a deep rich voice that gave shivers. He flashed a smile at them, the smile of a vampire.

"A vampire!" Lee exclaimed. "Oh, Jesus, yeah, it's Halloween! You did a very good job. Man, where did you get your clothes from? The make-up is very realistic too!"

"From legends, that's where I come from," the stranger answered politely. "I know you've never seen anybody like me."

"I've seen tons of vampires every Halloween of my life," Lee retorted, disgusted. "They were not just as good as you, your mask is only a little better than the others!"

Keith kept feeling weird and in danger, while observing that moon-colored face. He didn't like the man nor what he pretended to be.

"Let's go, Lee, or we're gonna be late again," he said quickly, breaking his silence.

"Yeah, let's go," Lee approved.

"Why don't you try my bite before you leave?" the stranger called them. "Or are you afraid this mask might be my real face?"

"He's crazy," Lee whispered to his friend. "I'm not scared," he declared boldly, turning back to the strange man. "Use your fake teeth on me and go back home, it's almost dawn and you must be drunk, you know?"

"Sure." The man smiled kindly at him.

Fascinated, Lee walked to him, almost against his will.

Keith froze.

The stranger took Lee by the neck and drew him near, bending on him as to kiss him between neck and shoulder.

Hypnotized, Keith followed the beautiful lips of the stranger until they touched Lee's pale skin in the darkness. Lee closed his eyes, then whined. Keith's eyes widened as something dark stained Lee's neck from the stranger's mouth.

"No!" Keith screamed, as the bite was much too real.

He jumped on the man and freed Lee, who fell to the ground, unconscious. The stranger's eyes were red as Keith fought him, discovering the other one was much stronger than him.

Still dirty with Lee's blood, the vampire's mouth captured Keith's shoulder. Keith yelped as his strength was drained from him by the vampire's sucking bite. Keith plunged to the ground near Lee, shocked.

"See you later, my sons," the vampire whispered, disappearing in the night as suddenly as he had arrived.

Keith panted while Lee came back to his senses. They helped each other to stand up and reached Lee's house. Keith was too sick to go back home and dropped himself on the guest's bed in Lee's room.

***

"I think it's time you young men get up," Lee's mother said, opening the curtains.

"No!" Lee shouted hiding his head under his arms. "It hurts!"

"What?" his mother asked, puzzled.

"The sun!" Lee screamed in pain. "It hurts! Close that goddamn thing!"

His mother obeyed in wonder.

"Are you guys all right?" she inquired. "Did you have a good Halloween party?"

"We did," Keith answered half asleep.

Both the boys went to sleep again. Lee's mother shook her head and got out of the room with a sigh.

Lee and Keith slept almost all day. As the night came, they felt sicker and weaker. Neither of them ate. They just laid in bed, burning with fever. Lee's mother was starting to think she should call a doctor.

"It's only a hangover," her husband told her. "You'll see, tomorrow they'll be fit again."

***

With the moon, walking through walls and doors, came the vampire. He sat on Lee's bed and leaned on him. The boy was sweating with fever. The vampire caressed his cheek and hair before speaking with his deep rich voice only the two of them could hear:

"Do you want the fatal kiss or eternal life?" he asked. "Make your choice now, Lee. Die or live forever."

Lee opened his eyes, breathing with difficulty. "I'm only twenty," he whispered. "I don't want to die."

The vampire smiled. He opened the vein on his left arm and offered his bleeding wrist to him.

"Drink." It was more a telepathic command than offer. Lee drank the vampire's blood.

"No!" Keith exclaimed, terrorized. "Lee, don't!"

He tried to stand, but fell from the bed. He was too weak. He observed Lee falling back on his pillow with a grimace of pain.

"I'm fine," Lee said, panting slightly. "I don't feel any different. Drink, Keith, we'll be all right."

Keith saw the vampire leaving Lee's side to crouch near him, offering him his wounded arm. The red blood was so inviting... Intoxicating, like wine...

The vampire took back his arm and hid the little wound under his shirt's sleeve. Keith felt much better and saw that Lee was sleeping again; no traces of blood were anywhere to be seen on him.

"I'll see you tomorrow night, my sons, for your first meal," the vampire said, as Keith went back to bed. And disappeared again.

***

"What's going on, honey? You stay up all night and sleep all day!" Lee's mother seemed very worried. They were having dinner, and Lee looked very pale." And you don't even eat!

"I'm not hungry, mum!" Lee snorted. The food in front of him wasn't really appetizing. But when his parents came too close, he felt his blood run wild in excitement.

He knew what he had become. The vampire had reminded him the following night, when he was fit again and ravenous with a strange hunger. He hadn't eaten since then, food was not what his body needed, and he was really starving by now.

"I'm hungry," he told Keith when they met in the darkness. They stayed out all night and slept all day, hoping to "recover" from their nightmare. But there was no cure to their "sickness".

"I'm hungry too," Keith answered gloomily. But they couldn't eat without killing somebody. And they couldn't do it. Not yet.

Lee had dated Claire, telling her to bring a friend for Keith. So they met Julia and took the girls to the movies; a vampire story that made the boys even sicker. The girls were scared and amused, and didn't notice the pale faces of their companions. They decided to go for a walk.

"You're very quiet, tonight," Claire told Lee. She was a dark-haired girl who liked Lee very much and was hoping to become his steady girlfriend.

"Yeah," Lee answered, absent-minded. All he could feel was her heat, her breath, and the sound of her heart thumping in his head. He was burning, starving, needing... it seemed so easy for the vampires on the screen to feed on human life... He embraced her and kissed her and bit her, sucking her blood and her life without even thinking about it. It was pure animal instinct, the new vampire instinct in him.

"Enough." The cold white hand of his father vampire on his shoulder made him stop. The vampire grinned a fanged grin. Lee let go of Claire who crumbled lifeless at his feet. He fell to his knees, now conscious of what he had done; he touched her skin, smearing his hands with her blood. His tainted hands covered his face: he was full, but he had killed his girlfriend.

Julia was dead too, but Keith didn't care very much. He cleaned his lips of her blood and turned to Lee. His younger friend had blood on his face and hands, and looked shocked.

"You did your first killing, my sons, welcome to the kingdom of darkness," the vampire said quietly.

Keith embraced Lee who succumbed trembling in his arms. The madness was gone. The blood was running wild. Tears came out silently. The vampire smiled. Keith kissed Lee, hoping to forget they would be twenty-six and twenty-years-old forever.

***

Author's note

This is the only story of vampires you'll ever read from me. It was an experiment, and I do not intend to keep writing this kind of fantasy.

A "manga" version is also available – all royalties for that go to the Japanese artist, Masayo Tanaka.

This story was originally published in _Druscilla's Garden # 3_ (October 1997). It has been slightly edited for this edition.

A very special thanks to Joleene Naylor for going over it without screaming at me like my other friend did when I first wrote it ("NOOO! That's NOT how vampires behave!" I'm still shocked at the memory, sigh). So she's The Editor of this project, and her vampires are the best. Check her Amarantine Series if you don't believe me.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Barbara's writing. Such as...

Star Minds - the complete series

by Barbara G Tarn

"Technological Angel" (book 1)

Heartbreak is an eye-opener. When Kol-ian is rejected by his beloved "angel", he finds refuge on low-tech Earth. Until he feels the need to get back into the galaxy loop to explore the rogues' world. Cyborgs, shape-shifters, merciless telepaths and two earthlings lost in the Milky Way, learning to deal with aliens long before the rest of the blue planet.

"Mind Link" (book 2)

True love between two telepaths generates a mind link. Ker-ris's mind is free. Free to fall in love again. When vengeful S'lyss comes after Kol-ian, the symbiosis of the mind link threatens the life of both lovers. Dark lords and sneaky Saurians in the sequel of Technological Angel.

"Slave Traders" (book 3)

It's impossible to tell the true depth of someone's feelings. When Gaurishankar's ex-girlfriend vanishes, he goes to the rescue, if only to save his own brother. But taking down the slaves market isn't easy.Obsessions and unwanted passion on the planet of pleasure and beyond – the closing book of Star Minds.

*****

**Barbara G.Tarn is a writer,** sometimes artist, mostly a world-creator and story-teller. She's been building her world of Silvery Earth for a number of years - stories, comprise shorts, novels and graphic novels. Her novella "The Hooded Man" has received an Honorable Mention at the Writers of the Future contest. Used to multiple projects (a graphic novel is always on the side of the prose), she writes, draws, ignores her day job and blogs

Links:

Blog: http://creativebarbwire.wordpress.com

e-mail: creativebarbwire@gmail.com

Silvery Earth Chronology

Star Minds (science fantasy)

#  A Couple Of Dogsbody's

By Roger Lawrence

Steam from the freshly gutted body he'd just flung on the table was beginning to make Bob's eyes sting. He turned to his friend, staring back at him as if to gauge his reaction.

'Don't you think we should put it in a bin liner or something? I mean we've already got enough, and what with the fridge on the blink it's going to start smelling in a couple of days.'

'Hours I reckon, now the air-con's packed up as well.' Kirk smiled, a strange gleam sparkling in his eye. He'd looked better with two eyes. Admittedly the ravaged battlefield that had been his face before the fight with the Doberman pack hadn't been pretty. But at least he'd had a nose and not that ragged gash constantly oozing pus and blood. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. He wasn't exactly an oil painting himself, what with no ears and all. Not to mention his hands now the eczema had made the skin turn black and scabby.

'So, what's it going to be, curry or chilli?'

Bob resisted the urge to sigh. He wished he'd learned to cook instead of always relying on everyone else. Whether they had Terrier Tikka, Cairn korma, or even Jack Russell ravioli - it was always the same old thing. It wasn't so much that he didn't like it but it was just so boring. And even after bowing to his constant moaning when Kirk had finally taken to doing chilli twice a week; alternating between such culinary exotica such as Toser taco's, Poodle paella, or even Chilli con Corgi: it was still just dog meat. Even Doberman dumplings had been a bit of a let-down.

But now there it lay; the treat of the week. It had taken ages to convince him that the effort would be worth the reward. He could barely wait, and even if it was just going to be curry or chilli, just the difference in texture would be enough.

'So you're just going to let it hang, until it's rotten?'

'Why not? You never heard of jugged hare?'

'Well there's a bit of a difference. Nobody ever complained about hares and pheasants hanging about and stinking up the street. I reckon the neighbours are going to get really shirty about this. I mean, telling them you're a taxidermist isn't going to work for ever. Taxidermists are supposed to stuff things, not kill them.

'Nobody's going to say anything.' Kirk dragged the denim clad legs off the already stained table. 'Let's get it downstairs.'

It only took fifteen minutes. The trail of blood would be a problem to clean up since they'd run out of towels, but not much more so than any of the previous occupants of the cellar. It was just that the newest had leaked a bit more seeing as how Kirk had hacked its head off already. And Bob had never guessed how much the street cleaner might weigh. He'd been a big man when alive, dragging himself up and down the street complaining to anyone who might be listening about what a hard life he had and how his poor old heart wasn't going to take much more of this. Now it wouldn't have to; the only strain currently being place on that redundant organ was the six inch butcher's hook pinning it to the wall.

That had been yesterday.

"So what's it to be? Chillied rib or curried kidney?" The note said.

'Give me a break!'

Bob had been patient. The only reason he'd persisted about the street cleaner was for something new. Labrador and lentils; German shepherd pie; Pekinese picador. He was sick of it. This monotonous diet was going to kill them both.

'Look.' He raised himself to his full five feet four. It would have been a few inches more just a few weeks ago had not the smell necessitated the removal of his feet. 'Either we get some different food around here or I'm going to the law. At least they'll give me a decent meal before they throw away the key.'

Kirk smirked. Or at least he might have. It was difficult to tell what with his lower jaw missing. He'd thought his friend had just cracked a tooth on the bone of a particularly spicy Chihuahua chow mein the night before. Until the small cry, more one of surprise than pain, had made him look up from his own hamster cutlet to see the tiny thread of skin which was all that connected the jaw to his face. He'd laughed; a mistake probably, taking everything into consideration.

So today was what he'd been waiting for. No more dogs, cats, squirrels, hamsters or budgies. Tonight was to be fresh meat night. Street cleaner a la carte. Another note was thrust into his face. Kirk's handwriting had always been neat.

Colon soup

Liver Provencal

Sweet breads

Kidney pie

Bob's mouth began to water. Kirk'd always had a sense of humour. The thought of it made his knees tremble. He would have slapped Kirk happily around the shoulders if he hadn't been tied up. Which was the way he'd woken up about an hour ago. He didn't mind particularly. Kirk usually did it to him when he had a fit in his sleep and tried to bite his own arm off.

'Do you think he'll taste good?'

Kirk nodded, his eye alive with delight.

'And are you going to let me go now?' His head throbbed agonisingly, just like it always did after a couple of pints of that stuff Kirk brewed from the leftover blood. And why was he walking towards him sharpening the carving knife with slow deliberate strokes?

Kirk stopped, fishing a gnarled hand into his pocket and pulling out another filthy scrap of paper which he carefully straightened before pushing before his face. He could barely read it through the blood and mucus. "I'm going to smoke the cleaner and save him for another day. An experiment in preservation."

Bob smiled. It was a relief in a way. He hoped that neither he nor the dead man would be too tough.

The exquisitely sharp knife slid in so effortlessly that Bob barely felt it as Kirk, gently, so as not to spill anything opened his stomach, breathing in the aroma with a toothless and jawless smile before reaching over for a bowl. And just as the darkness came, he heard the sound of his belt being undone before smiling wistfully.

He'd always liked coq au vin.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Roger's writing. Such as...

A Little Twist

by Roger Lawrence

A selection of short stories with a twist in the tail

*****

**Bio: I've yet to decide which is my favourite genre,** so I've written in quite a few. From three comedy SF novels of three teenage heroes saving the galaxy from murdering mutants, to an occasionally humorous series about three cantankerous old gits who do the opposite, albeit accidentally. My second horror novel in a series of three has just hit the shelves and my first suspense mystery with a little horror thrown in will be ready soon. I also have a collection of short stories with a strange twist at the end.

The second Old Geezers installment is under furious editing and I've just begun the third monster installment. I wish there were twenty five hours in the day so I could do more.

#

# Predator

By Joleene Naylor

Terry licked his lips nervously and inched closer to the window. The bushes rustled and he caught his breath. A tense moment passed, but he relaxed when no one looked his way. The occupants of the house were still unaware of him.

Blissfully unaware.

Inside the warm house a girl of about twelve lay on the floor. She had honey colored hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. With a pair of shiny scissors she gleefully clipped something from a magazine; the object only an indistinct shape from Terry's vantage point. She finished her clipping and dropped it to the floor next to her, then paused to look up at her father in his chair. The man had his back to the window, but his voice carried outside as a low, but pleasant, sound. Pleasant, yes, that was the word for it. They were all oh so pleasant.

The bushes poked through his jeans and Terry shifted again. The girl dropped her project and bounced to her feet, her attention on someone in the next room; no doubt her mother. The girl was so exuberant, so full of life – so delicious. At that thought a dangerous smile curved across Terry's thin lips and his breath came in excited little rasps.

"Not yet," he mumbled softly to himself. "Not yet, but soon."

The girl disappeared and Terry slowly extracted himself from the bushes. His eyes darted nervously to the side yard. Two dog houses sat there, but they were empty. He thought it was odd that they had dog houses, but no dogs, but maybe they got rid of them? Though he really couldn't remember ever seeing dogs there. Either way, that was his good fortune. With free run of the lawn, he could better plan his coming assault.

Assault. That was a word he liked. It made him think of danger, blood and French fries. Nothing was better afterwards then a nice plate of fries at the diner.

The thought made his stomach rumble, so he hurried with his final assessments. He had everything planned out to the minutest detail. Tomorrow night Mr. and Mrs. Dorin would be at a work party and Nicci – sweet little Nicci – would be home all alone. She was a big girl now, at least that's what she'd said. He'd heard the whole discussion only last week while they sat hunched over their hamburgers. And, though Mrs. Dorin had been oh so reluctant, Mr. Dorin had agreed. He'd whispered a little too loudly that he thought Nicci could handle it, that she was fully recovered from "what had happened".

Those words had really gotten Terry's attention. When his shift was over he went home and hopped on Google. A few searches later he was left snickering to himself because now he, too, knew "what had happened". Newspapers on the web were wonderful.

" _Missing Minnesota girl found wandering in state park_. Seven year old Nicci Dorin was found yesterday in Big Stone Lake State Park, apparently abandoned by her abductors. In a state of extreme trauma, the child is unable to say what has happened to her or give any clue as to the identity of her kidnappers..."

Terry smiled at the memory and, with a single glance back to the house, slipped into the nearby cornfield. "Poor little Nicci," he murmured to himself. "You'd think mommy and daddy would have learned, wouldn't you?" Somehow the idea that someone else had hurt her before excited him, though he couldn't say why.

His car was waiting for him on the other side of the rustling corn field. He unlocked the doors and hopped in. He'd been following NIcci ever since the Dorins had moved into the area. From the moment he saw her he knew that he had to have her. He just seemed to have an instinct for picking out the poor victims - and a special taste for the pretty ones - but he'd waited the last two months patiently. However, tomorrow the wait would be over.

Friday morning started like usual. Terry slapped his alarm clock off and went back to sleep. At eleven his friend Mort showed up and they smoked a bowl while they watched Red Dwarf and talked about their plans for the weekend. He told Mort he was going to see his family and wouldn't be back until Monday. He couldn't chance his friend dropping in and seeing something he shouldn't. He liked Mort and didn't want an unfortunate incident to come between them; something like Mort finding him with a twelve year old girl tied up in the kitchen and calling the cops. Mort was a good guy, but he wasn't the kind who'd understand.

Mort left and Terry took a shower and got dressed, then he cheerfully packed his car with everything he'd need: a flashlight, gloves, black clothes, a ski mask, rope, and his .45. In his pocket went the most important item; the shiny silver key ring Mr. Dorin had lost in the bathroom at the diner last week. With those keys Terry was going to make his plan a reality. It was kind of funny, when he thought about it. It was almost like Mr. Dorin was helping him.

When everything was ready, Terry headed to the diner for supper, like he did every night. A roast beef sandwich and home fries later, he left a tip and then made his way out to the Dorin place. The drive was short, but he spent it reflecting on the bright red sunset and the events that would soon take place. He'd done this before so he knew the routine, but it was better to go over the plan too many times than too few.

He cut the engine and let the car slowly roll to a stop. He climbed out into the chilly air and quickly changed his shirt and coat, then he pulled on the gloves and the facemask. The gun and the flashlight went into his pockets and he slung the rope over his arm.

He approached the house cautiously. Lights shone in a handful of windows, but most were dark. He could feel Nicci's aloneness – almost smell it. Her vulnerability seeped through the walls like a fine perfume that he couldn't resist.

A twig snapped under his feet and he froze in place. His eyes darted nervously around, but when nothing happened he chanced another step.

Then another.

Then another.

Just as he began to relax the barking started. Loud and vicious, the dogs in the side yard pulled on their chains and flashed their teeth at him. He stared in wide eyed confusion at them. They weren't here before. They were not a part of the plan.

And then to further complicate things he saw Nicci looking out the window. He saw her look at the dogs and then her terrified eyes met his. Her mouth opened and he could hear her scream.

Terry cursed under his breath as she turned and fled from the window, no doubt to call someone. He didn't have time for this! The dogs chomped and snarled and, without another thought, he pulled out the gun and shot them both in the head, one after another. The first fell silent immediately, but the second lay on the cold ground whimpering. For a single, solitary second Terry felt kind of bad about having to hurt them. He normally liked animals.

But he had no time for guilt.

He shook it away and then hurried up the steps to the front porch. The door was locked, just as he'd expected, but that was okay. He slotted the house key into the lock and, within seconds, he was walking through the door.

"Nicci," he called loudly. "Where are you? I know you're here! Come out, come out!"

He strained his ears and heard a soft whimper coming from the direction of the kitchen. "Oh, Nicci! Is that you?" He walked to the doorway and looked around. It looked like a hundred other kitchens; a refrigerator, a stove, a sink, counters and a large wooden pantry cabinet. Ah, yes, a cabinet.

Terry decided to test his theory. "Come on sweetheart. No point in hiding. We're going to be good friends, I can just feel it."

As he suspected, a sob sounded from inside the cabinet. Gleefully, he swooped in and threw the doors opened. The girl was curled up inside around the potatoes, her pale face streaked with tears and her summer blue eyes filled with sweet, delicious fear.

He paused for just a moment to savor her, and then he pulled her out by her hair. She screamed and kicked, but her efforts were ineffectual and completely futile. He wrestled her to the floor and looped the rope around her wrists. She struggled at first, then fell still. This was the moment he loved the most; when the fight faded from them and their bodies went slack in defeat. Yes, in this moment he was the one in control.

But, instead of a whimper, Nicci gave a very soft laugh.

Terry paused his work and stared down at her. She laughed again and the sound raised the hairs on the back of his neck, though he couldn't say why. There was something wrong with it; something unnatural. It was like the laugh of a monster or a crazy person. For crying out loud, had she snapped so quickly? How was that going to be any fun?

"Nicci?"

Her laughter grew louder and more maniacal, until Terry slowly released her and pulled away. He stood over her, gazing down at her shaking back, and scratched his chin through his ski mask. This was not part of the plan. In fact, this had never happened to him before. He really had no idea what to do. He just knew he had to make the creepy laughter stop.

"Nicci? Look, if you stop I'll go easy on you, okay? Hey, tell you what. If you stop, I'll even let you live. You're not gonna get a better deal than that."

Her laughter died and a smirk slithered over his face – but it faded when Nicci propped herself up on her elbows and fixed him with a blood chilling glare. Her face was twisted in a sarcastic snarl and her eyes – there was something wrong with them, something not right. It was almost as if... as if they'd changed. As if they were...

Yellow?

"Oh, you'll let me live?" Nicci asked, her voice deeper than usual. "Isn't that kind of you?"

Terry backed away slowly until he banged into something. The contact made him jump, but it was only the kitchen counter. He swallowed hard and held up an appeasing hand. "Now, now, sweetheart. It's all right-"

Nicci pulled herself to her feet and gave him a dismissive once over. "You don't need to tell me that. I'm not the one who's going to die."

That was when Mr. and Mrs. Dorin walked in. Their clothes were disheveled and each one had what looked like a bullet hole between their eyes. Terry blinked rapidly to clear what must be a hallucination, but the pair continued to advance on him, both looking very, very annoyed.

"You really are a sleaze ball, aren't you?" Mrs. Dorin demanded as she came to a stop before him. "Picking on little girls is bad enough, but you left us for dead!"

Mr. Dorin gave a soft chuckle. "She really hates that, you know. She takes it personally." His face hardened and he glared at the intruder. "On the other hand, I take it very, very personally when someone thinks they can get their jollies by kidnapping little girls and-"

Mrs. Dorin scowled. "Nicci's in the room."

"Yes, dear, but I think she's old enough to figure out what's going on!"

There was a moment of silence as husband and wife gave one another disagreeing glares, and Terry used it to point at them and mutter feebly, "But you're at a party. I didn't shoot you. I shot the dogs."

"Well of course you did!" Mrs. Dorin snapped. That's when Terry noticed that her eyes weren't right; they were yellow with slits for pupils. He gaped and she snarled to reveal jagged, pointed teeth.

"Staring only makes her madder," Mr. Dorin suggested coldly. "Either way we have things to do tonight, so I suggest we get on with it."

Terry tried to dodge around them and make for the back door, but something large and furry tackled him to the floor. He rolled over in time to see a pair of flashing, snarling jaws and a set of furious yellow eyes as the werewolf attacked.

He screamed.

"Twelve year old goes missing from her Plattsmouth Home."

Nicci proudly held the article out to her parents. Mr. Dorin wiped the last of the blood from his face and took the magazine clipping.

"There's been seven disappearances in two years," Nicci explained. "I'm sure it's all the same person."

Mrs. Dorin took the clipping and scanned it, her face set in a frown. "I don't know, I'd rather planned on Sacramento. A little sun might be nice, you know?"

Her husband looked thoughtful and then shook his head. "We don't do this because we want to go somewhere particular, or because of what we gain. It's about serving humanity by saving the world from creeps like that guy." He pointed to the mangled mess that lay on the kitchen floor, still bleeding. "Besides, we did put Nicci in charge of tracking down the places where we're needed, dear. Remember? She has the instincts for it."

Nicci beamed proudly and her mother relented. "All right, Plattsmouth it is. But," she gave her daughter a very stern look. "First you have to finish your dinner."

Nicci rolled her eyes. "Oh geeze, mom. It's not like I'll starve to death!" Despite her objections she stretched her body and shifted into a furry, medium sized wolf, then headed obediently for what was left of Terry.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Joleene's writing. Such as...

Shades of Gray

by Joleene Naylor

**When Patrick is found dead in his apartment,** Katelina is left in a vacuum of uncertainty with no leads. Then the enigmatic Jorick appears. In a single sweep he turns over the rocks of reality to reveal what hides underneath in the shadows; monsters that she thought only existed in horror movies.

Trapped in a nightmare, Katelina is forced to accept the truth of vampires; vampires who want her dead for her association with Patrick. Jorick saves the day, but what should she do when her hero turns out to be one of the monsters? Can she really trust – and even love – someone who isn't human?

Caught between light and dark, Katelina and Jorick must travel down a path of mystery and terror as their pasts are slowly revealed and their passions ignite, in a world that smells like blood and tastes like fear.

**Look for the action-packed sequel,** _Legacy of Ghosts!_

*****

**Joleene Naylor is the author** of the glitter-less Amaranthine series, a world where vampires aren't for children. As a compliment to the novel series, she has also written several short stories, including the Vampire Morsels collection, and has plans for an Amaranthine Encyclopedia. In her spare time, Joleene is a freelance book cover designer and for-fun photographer. She maintains several blogs full of odd ramblings, and occasionally updates her website at JoleeneNaylor.com. She and her husband live in Villisca, Iowa near the famous – and reportedly haunted - "axe murder" house. Though she enjoys the paranormal, she refuses to invite the ghosts for a visit. Between the cats, dogs, and turtles, her house is full enough.

Links:

website- http://JoleeneNaylor.com

author blog: <http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/>

FB author page: <https://www.facebook.com/joleenenaylorbooks>

twitter <http://twitter.com/joleene_naylor>

good reads: <http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3165393.Joleene_Naylor>

#  Travelers of the Loneliest Roads

By Rami Ungar

Miracle Jones hitched up her bag as she walked alongside the road, the moon high overhead and not a soul around for miles. She'd just been in some no-name town with only a diner and general store, and she'd been there long enough to give herself a well-needed haircut and to find out that nobody could give her a ride out of town before she started walking again.

At this time of night, the American desert had a surreal feeling of being almost nonexistent. If you stepped too far away from the road, Miracle felt that you could almost expect to find nothing but canvas and paint blocking you on either side. The only thing that felt real was the road, the sound of her feet slapping against the ground, and the cool night air. Those things grounded her and helped her know that she was walking, moving away from LA and the past. The more she walked, the more she put those things behind her. Those thoughts alone could keep her going for miles, though if someone offered her a ride she wouldn't say no.

Miracle stopped as she heard the howl of a coyote. A second later another one howled a reply and then a third joined in. She shivered, hoping that wasn't the signal that a good meal was all by its lonesome on the highway. Quickly she looked back to see if anyone was coming up the road, but there was not a single vehicle. Of course there wasn't. Nobody travelled these roads unless they were from the backwater towns that littered the area or they had a damn good reason to avoid the main roads.

Quickly she started walking again, hoping that she would be left alone and listening for the sounds of coyotes howling in the distance. Quiet had descended upon the desert again, but it was an eerie quiet now. Miracle expected that at any moment that it would be broken, and when it was it would be the sound of something horrible coming.

_Stop thinking like that!_ Miracle chastised herself angrily as she moved onwards. _You left Frank three states back in Burbank. The worst thing that's likely to get you is the wildlife. Just watch the road for anything dangerous and you'll be fine._

Miracle stopped to take a deep breath and try to calm herself. Ever since leaving home she'd become very good at calming herself. She'd always been a little nervous, which Frank had taken advantage of more than once. Now that she was backpacking and hitchhiking to wherever the roads took her, she was finally learning to calm herself, to be Zen as all those super-moms whose groceries she used to bag would say after coming from their yoga classes. All it took was a few deep breaths and pleasant thoughts about Frank dead in a ditch with his face bruised and bloody and she could move on down the road with ease.

A little while later the coyotes started up again. Miracle wasn't unnerved this time. They sounded far away, and she didn't think coyotes could throw their voices. However, there was something about the howling that caught her attention. Last time it had been like the coyotes had been engaging in conversation, the way one would call and the other would answer. However now they were all howling at once and there was a shriller quality to the howling, almost urgent in nature. She wasn't exactly scared or nervous, but something about it stuck in her mind. It was almost like they were warning each other about something.

Miracle walked on, but then she thought the road in front of her seemed a bit brighter. Was she imagining it—no, she wasn't. The road was definitely a bit brighter, and it was getting brighter with each passing second. Miracle turned around, knowing what to expect, and sure enough a pair of headlights were approaching. Miracle stuck out her thumb, hoping that whoever was driving would notice her and would be considerate enough to pick her up.

The car pulled to a stop next to Miracle, who was surprised to see that it was one of those stretch Hummer limo things. Thirty feet long and painted black, the limo had a pair of cattle horns mounted above the grill and a trail of painted flames trailing along the side starting under the side mirror and ending at the back bumper. The engine of the giant beast rumbled as Miracle stared at it, incredulous. Living in LA, she'd seen limos like these before, but never did she think one would stop for her, especially out in the middle of nowhere like right now.

The driver's window rolled down with a whir, revealing an elderly man with piercing grey eyes wearing a striped black suit and a deep glower. "Get in the back." said the man, his voice revealing an accent she'd never heard before, slow and slightly melodic. "The missus wants you to join us."

"Um...okay," said Miracle. Did the man just say his wife was in the back of this limo? She guessed that meant the man was traveling with his family and for some reason they had taken a limo instead of an RV. Odd, but not threatening. She thought that getting in would be okay.

Stepping into the back of the limo, Miracle found herself in a sea of red: red carpet, red leather, red lights, all in the same bright, gaudy shade of red. Along one wall were a flat-screen television, liquor bar and fridge, while the other had a long couch that ran from the front passenger seat to the back seat. On the couch sat a woman in a brown biker's outfit, a little girl in a black satin dress sleeping on one side of the woman with her head in the woman's lap, and a large, purple blanket with some lumpy thing hidden underneath on the woman's other side. The woman, a beautiful blonde with teeth that seemed as white as pearls, flashed Miracle a smile and said, "Welcome aboard. My name is Mara."

"Um...Miracle." She replied. Miracle looked at the woman, surprised that such a pretty young woman was the "missus" to the older gentleman in the front. Maybe "missus" was another word for "madame" or "my employer" or something.

"This is my daughter Amy," said Mara, gesturing at the sleeping girl in her lap. "This is my son Abby." She gestured at the lumpy blanket, which shifted a little as whoever was under it heard his name. "And my husband Lucy is driving. Everyone in my family has a nickname for their real name. My husband and son's full names are quite awe-inspiring when you hear them."

Oh, so they were married to each other. Miracle could guess how they got together—she'd met more than one woman who'd married a rich older gentlemen for the perks—but she had to wonder why this woman's husband and son, if they had such great names, used girls' nicknames. "Um...it's a pleasure to meet you." said Miracle. "Your family has some interesting nicknames."

"Is yours a nickname, Miracle?" asked Lucy, his voice carrying clearly down from the front. The sound of the engine revving up again accompanied his voice, giving it the strange effect of a growl behind a civilized man's baritone as the limo began to move forward again.

"No." said Miracle on reflex. She'd been asked that question so many times, she knew the answer by heart. "It's my real name."

"What an interesting name." said Mara. "I've never met anyone named after a figment of someone's imagination. Oh, please forgive me for talking so openly, but people only believe in miracles because they need a reason to believe in something better for themselves."

"Something better for themselves?" Miracle repeated, confused.

"You see, people need the miracles of Genesis and the Flood and the Resurrection and the Red Sea." Mara explained, running her fingers through her daughter's hair as she talked. "They see this world, the shit that happens in it and they despair for meaning to such an existence. So what do they do? They create miracles. They make them up, or they choose to see something as miraculous. That way they're not tempted to put a gun in their mouths and end it all because this world has no meaning."

"Oh." said Miracle, confused and slightly wary of this strange, beautiful woman. Where did she get off telling Miracle about her own name's meaning and making a philosophical statement? Not even Frank, bastard that he was, ever made a weird comment on her name. "I-I never thought of my name in that sense. I only got the name because my mom had fertility issues and thought of me as her miracle."

Mara laughed. "Sounds more like luck." she said. "But then again, that's almost the same thing as a miracle: people looking for meaning and patterns where there are none." Miracle wasn't sure whether she should be shocked and upset or perplexed by this latest statement.

From the front came a laugh. "Don't take my wife too seriously." said Lucy, coasting the limo into a smooth turn. "She can debate anything with an –ology at the end, but she sometimes forgets that not everybody wants to hear it."

"It—It's fine." Miracle lied, looking around the back of the limo. Were her eyes playing tricks on her or did the inside of the limo get slightly bigger? She could've sworn when she stepped into the back that it was smaller than it was and less spacious. Maybe it was just her imagination though. "So...So where you guys headed?"

"Oh, around." said Mara nonchalantly, waving her hand in the air. "We travel a lot as a family. We stick mostly to roads like these, the barely traveled roads of this and other nations. There's something majestic of travelling down a road that's not congested with traffic. And sometimes we run into the most wonderful people. Like you Miracle."

"Oh." said Miracle. "Thank you."

Then Mara hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Oh, where are my manners? Would you like something to drink, Miracle? We have every drink under the sun and then some here."

"Got any coke?" asked Miracle, suddenly thirsty. She was sure the limo wasn't this hot when she stepped in, but the temperature had gone up at least a couple of degrees. She watched as Mara leaned forward and opened up the fridge, pulling out a can of coke and throwing it at Miracle, who caught it and popped the tab. After taking a very long gulp, Miracle looked for something to talk about and her eyes fell on Mara's daughter.

"You're daughter's very beautiful." she said. It was true: she had a round, rosy face that looked as delicate as china, blonde hair down to her waist that shone like sunshine and a black satin dress and matching bow in her hair that shimmered like stars. She almost reminded Miracle of a life-size doll. "You said her name was Amy?"

"Yes indeed," said Mara, stroking the girl's head. "She's been sick for a while now, but she'll get over it soon. She's just resting until we give her the last dose of medicine, which should be soon. Otherwise, she would happily open her eyes to meet you."

"And your son?" said Miracle. "What does his nickname stand for?"

"Oh, Abby's full name isn't really important." said Lucy from up front. "And please forgive his rudeness: he's rather shy around people he doesn't know. Otherwise he'd happily come out from under that blanket and introduce himself. Right Abby?" There was a stirring from under the blanket, which Miracle interpreted as the boy underneath answering his father.

"So Miracle, tell us a little about yourself." said Lucy, glancing back at them. "Where are you headed? And what are you running away from?"

Miracle blinked, surprised and suddenly scared. How had he known? "I-I'm not running away from anything." she lied.

Lucy laughed. "Oh but you are child." he replied, turning his attention back to the road. "Why else would a young girl barely old enough to buy alcohol be hitchhiking through the Utah desert in the middle of the night and accepting rides from strangers in limousines if she weren't running away from something? You're trying to put distance between yourself and something that you either hate or fear, and I'm going to go with fear."

Mara laughed and the boy underneath the blanket stirred again. "Nothing gets by my husband." said Mara. "He knows everybody's deepest and darkest secrets. That's actually part of his job, and one of his best talents. So, what're you running away from?"

"I'm not running away from anything!" Miracle insisted, trying to sound angry when what she truly felt was terribly scared. How much did these people know about her? Did they know about Frank? Had getting into this limo been a huge mistake and had she walked into some sort of trap? Her mind reeled at the possibilities.

"Oh, don't be boring Miracle." said Mara, gently lifting her daughter's head off her lap and standing up. A moment later she appeared beside Miracle on the backseat, her left arm draped around Miracle's shoulder. Miracle stared at the woman, stunned. How had she gotten over here so quickly? She'd had barely time to blink before Mara had appeared next to her. "You can tell us. We'll keep it a secret."

"Listen, I just don't—"

"Please?" Mara looked straight into her eyes, and suddenly Miracle felt the overwhelming urge to spill the beans to this woman. She tried to resist, but the more she looked into Mara's eyes the more she felt compelled to tell her. Finally, it just became too much and she gave in.

"I-I left my boyfriend." said Miracle. "I wanted to get away from Frank."

"Frank." said Mara, saying the name like she was relishing some sweet candy. "What's wrong with Frank?"

"He beat me." Miracle explained, trying to shut her mouth despite the strong compulsion to keep talking. "I moved in with him after my mother died. My stepdad didn't care much for me, so I left him for Frank as soon as I was old enough. I was in a bad place and I just wanted someone to love me."

"Oh, you poor dear." said Mara, her face looking more amused than sympathetic. Stroking her cheek, Mara urged Miracle to go on.

"Frank's a driver for some florist in Burbank." Miracle continued. "He says his job is tough and stressful and that he can't handle his anger when I bug him after he gets home, but I know that's not true. His own boss says he barely puts in the minimal effort at work, and...he's just an ass, that's what he is. He beats me just because he can and he knows I can't fight him back. I thought he'd change or that I could change him, but it became obvious after a while that he wasn't going to change. He was going to make me his punching bag for the rest of my life unless something happened."

"What did?" asked Mara.

"I saw some texts on his phone." Miracle explained. "The florist he works for has a daughter barely into high school. She'd sent him some naked pictures of herself! Turns out he'd been screwing her in the back room when his boss wasn't around. I just knew then that he didn't love me, and that I'd chosen the wrong guy, so I had to get out of there. So I packed up a few essentials and hitchhiked out of Burbank. I knew that if I didn't he'd track me down and kill me for leaving." With a note of finality, she said, "I've been running ever since."

"I see." said Mara, sounding satisfied. "Thanks for telling me, Miracle." She stood up and went back to her seat. Now that Miracle was no longer looking in her eyes, she realized how thirsty she was and downed the last of her coke. Had it gotten hotter in here again? It felt almost like a sauna in this limo. And she was sure that the limo hadn't been this wide before Mara had sat down next to her. The back seat stretched almost ten feet from one side to the other. And...was the length between the back and the front with Lucy lengthening? Miracle blinked, but still she saw the front seat and the back of Lucy's head getting more and more distant from her.

The heat must be playing tricks on her. It was making her see things, and maybe even feel things too. It felt like the limo was going as fast as a bullet and that the temperature was a hundred degrees. Wiping her forehead, Miracle said, "It's a bit hot in here, isn't it? Maybe we could turn on the air conditioning?"

"Oh, Leviathan's always this warm." said Lucy. "Especially when we really pick up speed. Then she's almost as hot as home."

"I'm sorry?" said Miracle. "Leviathan?"

"It's the name of the limo, sweetie." Mara explained, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. How was she not sweating like a pig in that leather outfit? "The Leviathan. Best vehicle in all of Gehenna."

"Gehenna." Miracle repeated. "Where's that? New Jersey?"

"Gehenna's the old name for Hell." said Lucy. "Which explains why it's so hot in here."

Miracle blinked, surprised. Had she heard him right? Did he say this limo was from Hell? She blinked again. In between the closing and opening of her eyes though, things changed within the limo. The backseat stretched to twenty feet on either side, while the distance between the front and the back shortened to only three or four yards. The temperature was soaring, and the limo was moving at speeds faster than any car was supposed to travel. Miracle sat against the backseat, sweat and fear plastering her to it. What the hell kind of ride had she stepped into?

"You're probably brimming with a million questions." said Mara, standing up. "Or maybe just one question: what is going on? Well, I think to begin we'll reintroduce ourselves. I'm Mara Satan, that's Lucifer Satan, my daughter's Amaymon, and my son is Abbadon."

"L-Lucifer?" said Miracle, eyes widening. "Are you saying that you're—?"

"Our finding you on that Utah road was no coincidence, Miracle." said Lucy, appearing next to his wife. "We were looking for someone like you to pick up. A hitchhiker with no one to care if they disappeared off the face of the Earth. You were perfect. Oh, and don't worry about who's driving Leviathan. She can drive herself very well."

Miracle didn't know if they were messing with her, if they'd spiked her coke, or if she was actually facing Lucifer and his whole freaky family. All she knew was that she had to get out of this limo and she had to do it now. Unsticking herself from the backseat, Miracle scrambled for the door on her hands and knees.

"Abby, stop her!" said Mara. From beneath the purple blanket shot a black blur that came to a stop in front of the back door. Miracle froze as she saw what Abby was: not a boy, but a long, black snake with horns on its head and thousands of insect-like legs. Crawling forward like some giant millipede, Abbadon opened its mouth and hissed, revealing several rows of sharp fangs. Quickly Miracle began backing up, but then Abbadon leapt forward, wrapping its long body around Miracle and squeezing. Paralyzed, Miracle fell onto the floor with a cry, Mara and Lucy—no, Mara and Lucifer watching her with amused grins on their faces.

"Why are you doing this?" Miracle sobbed, tears leaking out of her eyes.

"It's nothing personal." said Mara, picking her sleeping daughter up and carrying her over to Miracle and Abbadon. "But we kind of need your blood. Our dear Amy possessed an old woman in Bavaria, and the priest who exorcised her wounded her pretty horribly. She's been in a coma ever since, and we need human blood's life-giving qualities to heal her faster."

"I'll give her my blood." said Miracle desperately, every breath hurting her as Abbadon squeezed harder on her. "I'm a blood donor. It's A-negative!"

"It doesn't matter what your blood type is." said Lucifer as his wife laid their daughter next to Miracle and Abbadon. "What matters is that Amy gets your blood. And most likely, she's going to get all of it. That's just the nature of how this works." Lucifer reached down and pulled Miracle's head up by her hair, baring her jugular. Miracle cried out, looking up at Lucifer and Mara pleadingly.

"Now honey—" Lucifer began.

"I know." said Mara, sounding as if she'd heard what her husband was about to say a million times before. "Nice, neat cut so as to get the most blood in her mouth." She extended her finger, the nail long and pointed like a claw. "I've done it twenty-four times already, sweetie."

"Let's hope number twenty-five's the magic number." said Lucifer.

Mara bent down and opened Amaymon's mouth. "Now hold on Amy. We hope to have you awake soon." To her husband, Mara said, "You know, I think this might be the one. I haven't been this sure of anything since I decided the Buddha was a lost cause. Man that was a fuck-up."

"I've had that problem before." Lucifer replied. To Miracle, "Oh stop sniveling. It'll be all over soon."

"Indeed." said Mara, poking Miracle's jugular with her nail. A drop of blood dribbled out of Miracle's neck, ran along the length of her nail, and dripped down into Amaymon's mouth. "Trust me, your life wasn't that great to begin with. But hey, at least you'll never have to worry about Frank finding you."

Miracle closed her eyes, expecting any moment the slicing pain of her jugular opening and then death. Was this how she was going to die? She'd left Frank to try and find a new life. And now she was going to die. Why did everything in her life have to go wrong for her? She cried harder just thinking about it, the tears spilling out of her closed eyes, waiting for the tearing pain to sweep across her neck and the end to take her.

Then a new voice said, "What's going on?"

There was a pause. Then Miracle, Mara, Lucifer and Abbadon looked down. The little girl stared up at them with big, blue eyes full of surprise and wonder. "What's everyone doing?" asked the little girl.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Mara took her nail away from Miracle's neck, Lucifer let go of her head, and Abbadon unwrapped itself from around her body. The whole family gathered around Amaymon, hugging her and kissing her. Mara's eyes were watering with tears red as blood as she held her daughter's face in her hands.

Miracle watched silently, daring not to make a sound. Slowly she began to inch towards the door, aware that the limo had slowed down significantly. Perhaps she could jump out and escape before they turned their attention back to her.

"Miracle." She froze and looked at the family, who were all looking at her with big smiles on their faces. "Where do you think you're going?" asked Mara.

"Um..." said Miracle, heart pounding.

"Because we really have to thank you." said Lucifer, standing up and crossing the divide to her in a single step. He sat down next to her, looping an arm around her shoulder. "I mean, that one drop of blood could've come from anyone, but it came from you. And that is deserving of reward."

"That's kind of you, but I really don't need anything." said Miracle quickly. "Really, I'm happy to have helped. So how about I just go—"

"Oh, but we insist you stay." said Mara, appearing at Miracle's other side. "At least till we've properly repaid you for the donated blood."

There was a flash in front of her and Amaymon appeared on top of Miracle's stomach, smiling at her benignly like a real girl. Abbadon skittered towards them, raising his head above his sister's. "Maybe we should keep her." said the little girl, as if talking about a little lost kitten.

"Keep me?!" said Miracle.

"Wonderful idea." said Lucifer. "We'll keep you. You can join our family. We always love a new member."

"We'll have to change your name though." said Mara. "'Miracle' is too saintly for any member of our family."

"I wonder what that boy Frank will think when he sees you in a loving new family." said Lucifer.

"Frank!" Miracle repeated.

"All in good time, dear." said Mara. "All in good time. But first, you have to be more like us before you become one of us."

"I really don't want to become one of you." said Miracle bluntly, but she knew it was no use, that they wouldn't take no for an answer. What was going to happen to her would happen to her whether she liked it or not. Indeed, Lucifer and Mara grabbed her shoulders and held her down.

"Amy, do you wish to do the honors?" asked Mara.

Without a word, Amaymon leaned forward, looking like she wanted to kiss Miracle. But as the little girl got closer, something big, red, and insect-like slithered from between her two lips, clicking its pincers loudly. Miracle screamed until the creature burst forth from the little girl's mouth into hers and down her throat.

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Rami's writing. Such as...

Snake

by Rami Ungar

**How far will you go for love and revenge?** When a young man's girlfriend is kidnapped by the powerful Camerlengo Family, he becomes the Snake, a serial killer who takes his methods from the worst of the Russian mafia. Tracking down members of the Camerlengo Family one by one for clues, the Snake will go to any lengths to see the love of his life again...even if it means becoming a worse monster than any of the monsters he is hunting.

*****

**Rami Ungar is a student at Ohio State** University who is studying History and English. For Rami, scaring people and writing are two of his greatest talents, so merging them is like a marriage of two great loves. His influences include Stephen King, Anne Rice, and James Patterson. When not writing, Rami enjoys reading, watching TV, and sneaking up on people when they least expect it.

In addition to blogging and writing and publishing horror fiction, Rami is also a writer and administrator for the blog Self-Published Authors Helping Other Authors and works at Ohio State University's Student Financial Aid office. His bucket list includes getting a bed made from a coffin, a hearse converted into his personal Scare-mobile, and running down the street in an actual Dalek suit yelling "Exterminate! Exterminate!"

But before he can get to any of that, he has to do his homework.

Links:

Blog: <https://ramiungarthewriter.wordpress.com/>

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/RamiUngarWriter>

Twitter: <https://twitter.com/ramiungarwriter>

Self-Published Authors Helping Other Authors: <http://selfpubauthors.com/>

Wattpad: <http://www.wattpad.com/user/RamiUngar>

#  Paparazzi

By Adan Ramie

Dear Tamzin Keet,

My name is Elle and I'm twelve years old (almost thirteen, like you). I'm your biggest fan! I have all of your movies. Some people say I look like you. Big compliment, huh? I cannot wait to hear your new CD. I'll bet it's the best CD ever! I wonder if we sing alike, too. I got my hair cut just like you did. It looks really cute. Will you send me an autographed picture?

Thanks a ton,

Elle Reese

Hi again Tamzin!

I'm writing this letter to thank you for the autographed picture. It's really cool. I put it up on the wall in my room in a frame, and my friends are so jealous! I wish I could meet you. That would be the best thing ever. Of course I would settle for a shout out on Twitter. My handle is KeetFan92. Good luck with your new movie! Break a leg!

Your biggest fan,

Elle

Dear Tamzin,

Thank you so much for the shout out! I'm insanely popular on Twitter right now. Guess what? I'm turning thirteen in just two weeks! It's so exciting, but I'm really nervous. My parents are planning this huge party and I'm afraid I'm going to goof up in front of a bunch of people. I really hate being embarrassed. How do you deal with embarrassment? Oh, who am I kidding? Why would you get embarrassed? If you were in my shoes, what would you do? I hope the movie is going well.

Love,

Your Biggest Fan,

Elle

Hey Tam!

I wanted to tell you how happy I was to get your last letter. It was delivered on my birthday! Gosh, I don't know what would have made me happier, except meeting you. That would be a dream come true. You're my idol. You are the reason I want to be an actress when I grow up. I've been practicing, taking drama classes, and I even have a private tutor who used to be a Broadway actor. I want to be the next Tamzin Keet!

With Love, Your Biggest Fan & Fan Club President,

Elle

Dear Tamzin,

My mom told me that you were stopping in town promoting your CD. She said she was getting tickets to the talk show you're going on! Is that cool or what? I am so psyched to see you. I hope you see me and know who I am! Do you think you could sign my flight jacket? It's an authentic replica of yours from your movie. I got it for my birthday. My parents are the best - besides you! When I wear that jacket, I feel like I could be you.

Love,

Your Biggest Fan & Fan Club President,

Psyched to Meet You,

Elle

TEEN STARLET ATTACKED IN TELEVISION STUDIO

Earlier today, police were called to the scene where teen actress and singer Tamzin Keet (of GALAXY ELEMENTARY fame) was attacked by a crazed fan on the set of her new music video. Just after two o'clock, Keet went missing from her dressing room after she received a distressing note. Spokespeople for Keet had this to say: "It's a terrible tragedy that a young fan lost her life due to lack of supervision and adequate mental treatment." Sources also report that Keet has been hospitalized with injuries that are not life threatening. She is expected to make a full recovery.

"Tell us, Tamzin, what was that like?" The hostess leaned closer to the girl and put a hand on her forearm. "What was it like being the victim of a violent stalker?"

The young teen held out her hands, a brave smile on her face. A single tear fell effortlessly down her pale skin. "You can see the scars where I fought her off. And on my face," she said, leaning toward the closest camera for a close-up on the salty tear and fingernail scars. The woman leaned in to investigate and gasped. "But, really, it was worse for her. Her name was Elle. She was my age, you know, and she was just this huge fan. She even started a club on a few social media sites, and it was so popular, she was starting a website to handle all the traffic."

The host nodded, her ultra-concerned face on, and glanced at the audience for their reactions. They stared back in awe, some with horrified expressions, others dabbing tears with the tissues the studio provided. "Tamzin, I know this is probably difficult for you to talk about, but we all want to know what happened up on that roof. How did you survive this attack?"

She looked into the camera, a brave, sad look on her face. "It was hard for me, really hard. Here was this kid, just like me, who had just let it all go to her head. It was a tragedy." She wiped at a tear that trailed down her face. "Pushing her off that building was traumatic. It was such a long way down; if her mother hadn't been there to identify her clothes, no one would have recognized her." She paused for a moment with her eyes dropped to the floor, then looked up with a smile. "But I'm in therapy, and I'm looking forward to my next film."

"Yes, your new film!" The host clapped. "There are rumors that you're going to be starting filming on the sequel to Galaxy Elementary soon. Can you tell us about that? We're all excited!" The woman grinned as if they hadn't just been talking about the death of a child.

Tamzin smiled. "We are going to be starting soon. I'll be back as your lovable intergalactic pilot, Haley Xight. And this time, we'll still be fighting the evil Zvi Dynasty, but we'll be doing it while facing the perils of junior high!" She laughed, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "What's funny is that I feel like I'll be acting for the first time, like I'm a whole other person. The old Tamzin Keet is gone for good, and the girl sitting on this stage today is going to blow her memory away."

*****

If you enjoyed this story you might like to read more of Adan's writing.

**Adan Ramie lives in** Texas with her partner and children. She has been published by Skin to Skin, MicroHorror, and is soon to be published by Paper Tape Magazine and the A Murder of Storytellers anthology, Beyond the Nightlight. She is working on two manuscripts, and the first of which, a LGBT thriller, will be published as an eBook in 2015 **.**

Links:

Blog: http://adanramieblog.wordpress.com

Twitter: <http://www.twitter.com/adanramie>

Facebook: <http://www.facebook.com/adanramie>

Google+: <https://plus.google.com/113266484951012825522/posts>

#  Thank You!

We hope you have enjoyed the stories in this anthology and have found a new favorite author (or more!) Please be sure to check out the writers' other work, and if you enjoyed this collection, even a little, please leave a review and share it with your friends and loved ones. Though writer's say they write for themselves, the truth is they write to be read; to entertain. Because what good is a movie if no one watches it? Or a toy, if no one plays with it? Or a book, if no one reads it? So thank you for taking the time to read our stories. We hope you enjoyed them!

