

Frozen

By Elle A. Rose

Copyright © 2012 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

They say many years ago, before my great, great, great, great grandparents were born, the young at heart and kids of all ages celebrated Halloween. On October thirty-first of every year, individuals would dress up in costumes either to party with friends or, to go door to door and collect candi from neighbors. Candi, what a foreign name. It's unknown to our generation, but from what I've been told, it holds an alluring sweetness. After The Great Takeover, production of any sustenance not needed for survival was unnecessary. Although the joyfulness of Halloween is extinct, the premise of collection or 'Trick or Treat' still remains.

Halloween is now a day for obtaining provisions to support our family throughout the year. I'm of age this year, so it will be the first time I'm allowed to participate in the food and materials scavenge. My name is Verick Cedar. I reside on the planet formerly known as Earth. The Great Takeover, which occurred sometime in 3100 left the entire planet's surface merged together. The Xecerptavode (ex-serp-ta-void), an alien race, infused our land, drained all the fresh water, and forced us to live in destitute conditions. Because of the relocation and meshing of the grounds once separated by water, the spiritual barrier between the living and dead, ley lines, were also destroyed. Without intact ley lines, spiritual nights like All Hallows' Eve have become the salvation for humans of the planet once called earth.

Thanks to the Goddess, Pomona, this one night she and our ancestors rise from the dead to entomb the xecerptavode in stasis, while our people attempt to gather food. Even though Pomona is a powerful Goddess, she is unable to hold back all of the spirits of the dead. The xecerptavode, who have lost their lives on this planet, also rise in spirit form to assist their imprisoned descendants. For this reason, collection of necessities can become fatal. Although this is my first year of 'Trick or Treating', it very well may be my last.

My father is depending on me tonight, I see it in his gaze. For months now, he has coached me on what to expect. If it wasn't for the chronic, gurgle of warm bile swishing in my stomach, I may have tried to back out for one more year. I believe my mother is right, sixteen is still way too young. Granted, next year, I will begin the tradition of picking a wife, courting her and wedding her by eighteen--that is, if I live through this night.

I've barricaded myself in my four-by-five foot room with the mattress. It leaves me little freedom to pace, and I continue to kick the dried seaweed and kelp that has leaked from my bedding onto the floor. Resting my arms behind my head, I mull over the pending adventure of the night. Thea and Rylee, my younger sisters, scurry past my door singing. Their angelic voices squelch all doubts. I can do this! I have to do this! If I do not do this for myself, then I shall do it for them. With a slight nod, I flip my mattress away from the flimsy fabric used to close my bedroom off from the rest of the residence. More brittle algae spills to the floor, but I do not stop to refill my bed.

My sisters come running toward me, arms open wide, as I emerge from my room. Rylee, the younger of the two, bounces into my arms. As I pull her close, her wavy blonde hair brushes my face. Thea, our middle sister, wraps her arms around my leg, and both girls giggle while I try to walk with their bodies attached to me. It's one of our favorite games. Their giggles turn to hysterical laughter as I pretend to struggle under the extra weight I've picked up. We make our way into the kitchen, with a grunt here, a moan there, and laughter that rings throughout our small household, reminding us of better times.

Mom and Dad are in the kitchen. The creases seem to fade from Mom's face as she watches us make the six long steps from my room to the kitchen. Her eyes water and she turns back to stirring dinner--stone soup. Dad looks up from sharpening a knife. I count three more knives on the table. Mom says I look like him. We both have green eyes and the same shade of reddish-blond hair. Dad's face is set in an unreadable expression. His brother was my age when he lost his life on All Hallows' Eve. Thea releases my leg, and Rylee slides from my arms, as we join Dad at the table for supper.

There's little speaking between us as we eat. It's cool outside and the soup has done little to warm my insides. I wanted to place my spoon back on the table after the second mouthful, but I know I need my strength, regardless of whether my stomach can handle the mineral slosh. After dinner, Rylee and Thea give Dad and me hugs, and then Mom ushers them into their windowless bedroom--it's best they're asleep before I leave. If it wasn't for my sisters, I believe my mother would come scavenge with us. My Aunt Ella, Uncle Etan and cousin on my mother's side will be making their way to the house, along with my grandparents from my dad's side. The grandparents, my mom and aunt will keep the children safe tonight.

While we wait for the others, Dad pulls out a hand-sketched map of the ground we will cover tonight. I've seen this map before; however, this will be the first time I must pay close enough attention to the precise legend scribed on the side. For generations, my family has used this map, marking on it new paths to follow and old avenues that may lead to death. I commit to memory all of the lines marked with a red X. Those are lines that we no longer used, and are marked in blood to represent the death of a family member.

The rusted tin door rattles from a light rap. I can't hide my fright as I jump from the noise. Dad's eyes focus on me for only a second before he leaves to let everyone in. As the door creaks open, I notice the sun has begun to fade. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and a cool sensation brushes my skin. Our human spirit ancestors will be erupting from the shattered ley lines soon, so will the xecerptavode ancestors who died on this land.

My aunt kisses my cheek as she breezes by me to lay my cousin in the room with Thea and Rylee. He, too, is asleep. I'm greeted as one of the men this year. My grandfather reaches his hand out and we shake. Next Uncle Etan welcomes me. Then as tradition dictates, the eldest family member retrieves a small statue of the Goddess Pomona. We take turns. First, the women, then in descending order, the men, all ask the Goddess of fruit and seeds for safe passage tonight. Being last, I gaze at the miniature statue longer than everyone else. I give one more silent plea for a safe return to my mother and sisters come dawn.

My father, Uncle Etan, and I say our goodbyes as the last sliver of the orangey-pink sun slithers behind the dusty horizon. In the children's books Thea and Rylee read, it's claimed that once upon a time ample trees and bushes graced this planet. The stories talk of lush foliage that at this time of year would turn pretty shades of red, orange, yellow, and brown. After the fresh water dried up, most vegetation died. Due to the xecerptavode's chemical makeup, our atmosphere has been altered, resulting in an end to precipitation. Other than the plants that can survive on salt water—which are very few, you cannot find shrubbery in sight. We do, however, maintain underground farms, which consist of mutated plants from the old world.

"Verick, I need you to pay close attention."

My father's voice pulls me from the melting sun.

"Yes, Dad. Go on, I'm listening."

He gives me an uneasy gaze. Perhaps he's second guessing my participation tonight. I stand up straighter and square my shoulders.

"Last year we headed east first. We seemed to have had luck that way. If you get lost make sure you take the southwest route back," Dad says, as he taps his finger on the map.

We never return home on the same path in which we begin our journey. In years past, nomads wait on the direct paths back to our slums. For a proper one night's sleep, they'll rob you of your goods and return missing items to the xecerptavode. Out of the corner of my eye, I see other families are on the move. To fill my empty hands, Dad thrusts the handle end of the knife he sharpened earlier, along with three burlap sacks towards me. As we begin our trek, my heart frantically throws itself against the wall of my chest, trying to be free, to flee back to the comfort of our home.

The first few miles need to be jogged. There's a lot of land to cover and time is slipping by. Before we make it one hundred feet from the house, we come across our first xecerptavode spirit. It is still materializing, so we slip pass it. That is a sign our ancestors are freezing all living xecerptavode in the midst of activity. I pray the semi-transparent alien we skim by will not make its way to my home. By now, Mom will have the jack-o-lanterns lit. It takes days of preparation to carve the jack-o-lanterns for every window ledge and doorframe for the three households. All of the pumpkin innards have been stored and will be a part of the celebration feast upon our safe arrival home. The gourd itself may not ward off unwanted souls but it will deter them.

I'm panting as we finally make it to the fork in the road Dad spoke about earlier. To the right, nothing but dry soil as far as the eye can see. I believe that path was the one that led to what ultimately took my uncle's life. To the left, the peaks of castles appear. All xecerptavode tribes occupy stone castles. I say 'tribe' loosely. Besides being able to give birth to offspring, every xecerptavode is able to regenerate a carbon copy of itself. This only occurs when any part of their body separates from the host. That is why we have not been able to kill them, and how the human race lost The Great Takeover.

We hesitate only a moment. But that is all the time needed for a crazed spirit to spot us. With a horrid shriek, the fully formed body hurls itself at us. I'm frozen, and cannot move, no matter how much I will my body to do so. I can't shield my ears from the screech threatening to shatter my eardrums. My eyes are no longer in my control. They're permanently fixed on the creature closing the distance between us. And my feet, though I've given the command to move, have betrayed me. The mutilated embodied soul is inches away from me, when the air whooshes from my lungs as something pushes against my abdomen. I fall, hitting the ground as my father comes between the attacker and me. In one fluid movement, Dad strikes a match and throws it at the soul. Bluish-green flames fill the space around us as the spirit is vanquished back to the other side until next All Hallows' Eve.

Dad whips around and yanks me from the hard ground.

"Don't you do that again!" he screams, before the light from the flame fades, and we are shrouded in darkness. He shakes me and I fight the urge to vomit. "I will not lose you. Do you understand me? I will not go home without you." Relief washes over his face and he pulls me nearer. This is the first time he has hugged me in years. His heart is jack-hammering through our thick layers of clothing. "Verick, you have to be more careful. I'm not always going to be here for you." He releases me and Uncle Etan's heavy hand comes down on my shoulder.  
"I find it easier not to look them in the face." Uncle Etan is a man of few words.

I nod.

"Here," Dad pulls a few more matches from his pocket and hands them to me. "We'll have to scavenge for more while we're out, but if need be, use these."

I secure the matches in a small pocket mother stitched inside my jacket and we sprint toward the castles.

It's not until we come closer to the village that we get a glimpse of a xecerptavode in stasis. Our ancestors who rise from the dead do not take flesh-form as the xecerptavode spirits; instead, they insert themselves into all living xecerptavode to freeze them in place. Although the creature is frozen mid-stride, we still take precaution slipping by. This is my first time seeing one in real life. The drawings I've seen have done no justice. From behind, xecerptavode appear to be human; their build is equivalent to ours. Like humans, the male species is generally taller than the female, but it's their facial features that differ from us. In place of a nose, xecerptavode have four long tentacles squiggling from their large mouths. They pick up scents through two tiny holes on either side of their temples.

I attempt to take my uncle's advice and not stare at the creatures face; however, I'm drawn to its eyes. They are the same shade of green as mine. A slight chill runs up my back, and I look away from the eyes that seem to be glaring at me. I pull my attention back to the fortress in front of me. Other humans have begun to raid the houses. Xecerptavode cannot keep track of time, so they're unaware of when these raids take place. Because of this, they booby trap their strongholds year round. In early days, humans would raid as many castles as possible leaving the xecerptavode foodless and with damaged goods. This would cause battles between the local humans and the new inhabitants of the planet. Now, to help keep order and loss of life to a minimum, we only take what we need to make it though the year. Then when our ancestors vacate the living, the xecerptavodes will go on with their day as if nothing happened.

"All of these houses have been breached. Let's go down a few more rows," Dad states. He motions for us to follow him.

I gape at the huge fortresses that line the dusty lane. It takes us approximately twenty minutes to walk by three castles. I believe my family's home would fit in the entryway of any of these stone houses with room to spare. As we pass the fifth castle, a scuffle breaks out. A man and a woman fight with an angry spirit and one of the xecerptavode's pets, called a Vodepod. The large six legged creature snarls, baring its teeth, before latching onto the man's forearm and giving him a violent shake.

"Should we help them?" I ask. It appears Dad and Uncle Etan may just keep walking, as if they do not see the distressed woman frantically trying to fight the vodepod off now that she has set the spirit aflame. She throws herself against the beast over and over again. Her untamed hair reminds me of my mother and without thinking, I dash toward the struggle. As I near, I call out to get the creature's attention. It works. The scaly beast's head pops up and sniffs the air. Resembling its alien counterparts' facial structure, its scent glands sit on the temples with eyes and large squirming tentacles around the mouth's outer ring. The vodepod rakes its webbed paw across the dirt, and then begins to charge. I've just removed my knife when Uncle Etan attacks. The creature is down in an instant.

My hand shakes as I slide the knife back into place. Dad scowls at me and I wait for him to bellow. Instead, he, Uncle Etan and the woman go about dividing the carcass. I watch for a moment before assisting the man bandage his arm. He's bleeding heavily and we end up cutting what's left of his jacket into strips to tie tightly around his upper arm.

With three of the burlaps sacks filled with meat that the women will preserve once we return home, we move on. I believe I've slowed the men down this year. I sense Dad and Uncle Etan are becoming agitated the farther we walk. So many castles have already been raided. The further we travel, the more we will need to backtrack to make it home. And we must be well on our way before the sun begins to rise.

After another hour and a half of walking, we come to a castle that looks untouched. We scout the surroundings and find a pit filled with seawater, seaweed, and ophidians. The snakelike creatures are a delectable treat after being cured. Uncle Etan pulls rope and a hook from a pack he carries on his back.

"You two go ahead. I'll collect a few of the snakes and seaweed." He lights a small beige jack-o-lantern and begins securing the rope to the hook.

"Come on, Verick. Follow me and watch your step," Dad says.

Air sticks in my throat like mud on the walls of our house, as Dad takes a running jump across the moat from which my uncle is fishing. My hands twitch helplessly while his fingers grasp a rope that dangles from the grimy stone siding. His feet scrape the sides before they turn outward to gain hold on the slim rock foundation under him. He gives a hard tug on the rope and a door opens. Then in one swift movement, Dad swings his body onto the falling door and waves me forward.

"This way, son."

I'm relieved I don't need to jump the moat as well. I would've surely fallen into the pit. The ophidians may be delicious, but their bite is deadly. I glance at my Uncle as I cross the bridge and he smiles.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," he says.

After I cross the drawbridge, I realize we have not entered the house yet. With watchful eyes, we make it to the front door. In the archway, Dad holds up his hand, and I wait as he removes dirt from his pocket. He sprinkles it on the stone in front of our feet and some of it bounces off of something suspended in the air. On closer inspection, it appears to be a dark cord hanging between the framework. Dad taps me on the shoulder and points up. I follow his hand and am shocked by the contraption looming over our heads. It appears to be holding massive size rocks.

"Should we let Uncle Etan know?"

Dad shakes his head.

"He'll see the dirt, plus he knows to watch where he is walking. You just remember this if you need to leave the house without me."

Concern has crept back into my dad's face. "I'll be careful," I assure him in a weak voice. Could I leave here without him? Could I make it back home by myself? Those questions roll around in my brain as we trespass further into the house.

We make it another two feet before we are approached by another creature the xecerptavode brought to our planet. It's smaller than the vodepod, but is fierce. This beast has gills that open and close rapidly. Although its mouth doesn't have tentacles, when it opens its jaws, six rows of teeth move back and forth within its maw. My mind races as Dad skillfully takes the beast down. This creature will now feed our family for a few months is called a seavode, because they can live in and out of water.

Dad looks up from the dead beast and says, "Why don't you search the house for some fabric. Remember, don't take too much, but enough for a few new tops and bottoms will do."

Because we've killed the seavode, we'll need to leave a door open. The aliens who own this house will think the beast just ran away.

"Verick."

I stop and face my dad. There's blue blood dripping from his knife.

"There may be more seavodes or vodepods roaming in the house, so stay on your guard. I'm heading for the kitchen next, so meet me there."

I respond with, "Yes, sir," as I turn back and place my hand on the stone railing which leads up a massive spiral staircase, thankful that lit lanterns illuminate my ascent.

Sheep, like all other animals, died out centuries ago. Xecerptavodes grow the only plants from which fabric is made. I would like to stuff at least one of my sacks with cloth. One sack is already filled with the meat from the attack on the road, and I'll wait until I meet back up with Dad to fill the third sack. When I round the final few stairs, I spot two smaller xecerptavodes sitting still in the long passageway. They, too, are in stasis. I believe they are both female and appear to be playing some sort of marble game. I want to swipe the marbles from the floor and bring them home to my sisters. I wonder if the females would know they were missing. Would they be upset if their toys disappeared? I've decided to mull this over as I make my way to the first room. Perhaps I'll snag the goodies for Thea and Rylee on the way back.

I'm amazed by the items that adorn the creatures' walls. Paintings and clay works align the space, whereas, at home one sees nothing but cracks and holes in the mud that holds our structures together. I resist the urge to place one of these items in my bag as well. I finally find what looks like a linen cupboard. Everything the xecerptavodes produce is in shades of gray, brown, and sometimes green. I grab a handful of different size towels and blankets, and cram them into the bag. With my sack half full, I search for the resting quarters. During my quest, I stumble upon a xecerptavode woman. I can tell it's a female by the hair. She has something in her hands. I edge around her, careful not to touch her. She's holding a book. I bend to read the spine, but it's written in their native tongue, and I have no clue what it says.

I'm wasting time, so I move on to find other fabric. With a few tops and bottoms from the resting quarter's safely in my bag, I go in search of the smaller females' rooms. I bet Thea and Rylee can fit in some of their clothes. In another room--not the one I wanted--I find candles and a few more matches. Just as I add the wax to my sack, a loud crash comes from downstairs. I take off running. "Dad? Dad, are you okay?" I receive no response. My feet race down the unremitting hallway, past the two girls and pound their way to the first floor.

On the main floor, I search for my dad. Neither he nor Uncle Etan are in sight. As I make my way in the direction in what I hope is the kitchen. I stumble, losing my balance. I slam onto the hard stone floor and the sacks spill from my hands. The impact knocks the wind out of me. Blood pools in my mouth. Gasping to replenish my lungs with air, I wipe blood from my jaw. As my eyes refocus, I find my father battling a spirit in the center of the room. A renewed sense of strength washes over me. The spirit has Dad by the neck. His face is turning a dark blue. Back on my feet, I start moving toward the soul. I dig into my pocket to retrieve the matches Dad gave me, only to find I must have broken them during my fall. I can't light any of them, and still have enough flame to throw it on the deranged soul. Instead, I reach for my knife.

The spirit is unaware of my approach. Dad is unconscious. I can only hope he's still breathing. Just before the ghost throws Dad into the wall, I strike. Bits of flesh fall to the floor and a hollow scream echoes through the castle, as the full bodied ghost spins around to face me. The soul charges and I attempt to cut at it again. "Uncle Etan!" I cry. I thought he would be inside by now. With a lucky few swipes, I hack away at the creature again. That's when I notice chopping the ghost was not a good idea. The pieces of flesh have begun to regenerate. No one has shared this information with me. I guess this is why we burn the souls back to the other side. Now, instead of fighting off one soul, I must contend with three.

Uncle Etan has to be on his way. I only need to make it out of this room. As I step backward, the ghosts draw near. I reach and try to pull one of the lanterns from the placement in the wall, with no luck. I need fire. Just as I've almost made it to the entrance of the room, I hear a grisly sound behind me. I dare to sneak a peek at what has made the noise. My heart, the one I doubted could beat any faster, stops. I'm surrounded. Behind me, coming up fast is a huge vodepod.

I have to think of something. Scanning the room, I remember Dad still has matches on him, and I have matches in the sacks I dropped in the outer hallway. One way leads me to face the vodepod, the other way the three spirits. I believe the ghosts to be the lesser of the two evils. I just need to make it a few yards. I know I can do this. As everything seems to close in on me, I take a deep breath and then it hits me. The lanterns on the wall! Those are lit flames. Heat from the one nearest to me on the wall warms my face. With no matches to use, I rip and tear a few shreds of cloth from my jacket.

A sharp grounding noise echoes in the hallway behind me, but I do not stop to check the distance between myself and the impending attack. While my eyes never leave the ghost, my hand reaches up and runs the three strips of fabric into the lanterns. Salty, burnt mold fills the air as tatters of my jacket catch fire. I need to move fast, before the clothes burn me and not my three pursuers. As I go to release the strips, something sharp pierces my leg. I fall forward, letting out a scream.

The vodepod pulls harder on my leg, and I fight to free myself. With a quick jab with my left foot, I kick the beast in one of its scent glands. It causes the animal to release me. Before the creature strikes again, I fling one of the burning cloths at it. It shrieks and the hallway flashes blue, as the vodepod retreats, flames bouncing off its scaly back. I have no time to celebrate. Twisting backwards, the last two pieces of jacket leave my hands just in time. Both wicks land on the spirit closest to me. He bursts into flames, screeches and flays his arms, hitting one of its clones.

My hopes of all three souls taking each other out go up in smoke. The third spirit avoids its brothers by diving towards the ground as the middle ghost begins to thrash about. Our heads smack, making an awful hollow thud. I reel backwards and roll to my side. There's a loud hum in my ears and the room is spinning. I wheeze, saliva thick in my mouth, as I try to crawl away. Dad is still sprawled on the floor. He hasn't moved, but his color seems to be returning.

"Dad?" it's such a small cry, it doesn't even echo off the stone walls. I inch my way closer to Dad, with a sharp pain shooting through my leg. As I near, he stirs and his eyes open. A weak smile settles on his lips before his sight shifts. Panic washes over Dad and his hand shoots out, pointing behind me.

"Verick!" rushes from his bruised lips and a hot pain zips up my leg. I yelp and my arms buckle. Fingers gouging into the bite from the vodepod draw spots to my eyes. The distance between Dad and I widen as I'm pulled backwards. My hands grasp at the cracks in the flooring, only ripping the nails away from the skin. The xecerptavode spirit yanks me closer to him and flips me over on my back. A knife looms over my head. I must've dropped my knife during the struggle. Putrid gases spew from the ghost's mouth, and his tentacles brush my upper lip and cheek. He's missing an eye and one of his tentacles. That had to have occurred before his real death.

Behind me, Dad whimpers. I recall him saying he won't go home without me. He was there the night his brother died. The family doesn't talk about it often, but Dad blames himself. He shared once, how he was nearby, and yet, could not make it to help his brother. I can't let there be a repeat. Struggling under the soul's grip, I fumble for the broken matches in my pocket. I don't have to throw the match far to vanquish the spirit. The only problem is I'm going to burn myself in the process.

With one hand, I fight to hold back the knife—my knife—in the ghost's clutches, while after a few attempts the other hand finds the top of a match. I give one hard shove, granting me room to pull my salvation out and rake it across the floor. The scratching sound of the match lighting sings in my ears and I flick the flame onto the ghost. Bluish-green flames fill the room along with the cries of the spirit. But before I catch fire too, the ghost is jerked from on top of me. The knife clinks to the floor next to my head, and Uncle Etan's face appears.

"Well, that was close." He reaches out his hand and helps me sit up. "I would've been here a little sooner, but after someone set the vodepod on fire, it triggered the rocks in the entryway. There was no other way in, so I had to clear the doorway."

His gaze shifts from me to Dad. I turn and see Dad is trying to stand up. Uncle Etan and I move to help him. My leg still hurts, but I ignore the pain and go to my dad's side. Dad reaches out to steady himself using my shoulders.

"What happened to your leg, son? Is anything else hurt?" Dad's voice comes out as a harsh whisper.

One hand comes to rest on my chest, to feel my heart finally pumping at a normal rate, while his eyes probe over me. "I'm okay. The vodepod that triggered the wire bit me." Uncle Etan drops to his knees to examine the wound. I take the time to check Dad out. There's purple and brown bruising in the shape of handprints around his neck, a huge gash on his chin and his bottom lip is split in four places.

Uncle Etan stands, "Let me get some saltwater to clean the wounds. We need to get moving soon. Will you both be ready?"

Dad and I nod and Uncle Etan retreats to collect the water.

"Jason?"

All movement stops.

"Yes, I'm in here."

"Jason? What are you doing?"

Lillian enters the room and finds Jason sitting right where she left him a few hours ago. He turns and gives her one of his breathtaking, make-you-forget-your-name-and-what-you-wanted-smiles. Lillian's face flushes and she turns to hide the effect her best friend has over her. As she busies herself with a string on her outfit, she attempts to speak in a normal voice.

"I can't believe you're still playing that silly game."

Jason laughs. "I play Halloween Xe, every year."

"Yeah, I know. Well, it's time for the party. You're going to make us late if you don't put your costume on soon. You know I hate bobbing for apples after other people have had their mouths in the water."

Jason laughs again. "All right, I'll finish playing later. Give me a few minutes to get changed and we can go."

Jason watches Lillian leave the room in her Lydia Deetz's costume, then hits save on the game, before putting on his Beetle Juice attire for the school Halloween party.

A Grim

Tale

By Elle A. Rose

Copyright © 2012 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Blood has a distinct scent when it burns. Take the aroma of rusted sheet metal, boiling in a cast-iron pot, with seawater, and you have the smell of caramelized blood. This fragrance drifts passed me as the body of the recently deceased sizzles in its inferno tomb. I move swiftly to the driver's side door. The car, which moments ago swerved off the side of the road, is being swallowed by orange and blue flames. In general, from the time of death, whatever the cause may be, it takes the soul twenty seconds to a full minute to leave the body. It depends on how stubborn said spirit is before it realizes that it must exit its host. My job is to be there moments before the time of death. You see, I am a vampire, or another term, which coincidently most do not refer to in the same sentence is, the grim reaper. I and others of our kind are dispersed to a scene or accident where just before the human is expected to die, we step in. Draining the body of its blood moments before its death, we then wait for the soul to emerge from the corpse, to collect it if you will, for its final destination. With the understanding that its body's remains can no longer house its spirit, I feel a tingling sensation move across my skin as the soul and host detach.

"Where am I? What happened?"

I don't know the soul's name, and I really do not care to ask. I've grown numb to this job. Over eight centuries of this burden has become routine.

"You're dead. See your car?" I direct his attention to the object he once called his automobile. He turns and gawks at the wreckage. The emergency crew is now on the scene, working franticly to get the fire under control.

"That's your body burning in the car. You were drunk driving and crossed over the lane and almost hit that van."

I point towards the other vehicle that is pulled over onto the shoulder. They're safe. They're the ones who called for help, although there was no saving this kid. I can't say if I care either way, if the other motorist lived or died too, it's just a job. "Come on, it's time for you to go."

"Wait! What do you mean? What's going to happen to me?"

I should've figured with the amount of time it took him to exit his body, he'd be full of questions. A firefighter brushes by me in a hurry to help with the fire. Since I've covered myself in the shadows of darkness, they cannot see me standing here waiting for John Doe to grasp that his time is up. "I mean that you're dead. Seconds before your car smacked into that concrete wall, I joined you in the vehicle and drained you of your blood. Indubitably releasing your essence before your body was smashed and burned." I like to think of that being the kind way out. I know of some who will wait until the body is damaged before they drain the corpse of its blood.

"So you killed me?"

This kid must have killed a lot of brain cells. It doesn't surprise me. He was pretty drunk before he drove his car off the road. "No, I helped the process along. You were going to die tonight regardless of my actions. I just like my blood body temperature and not boiling hot."

Time is of the essence, I reach out to snag his arm. He is going to make me late for my next appointment, and I don't want that. Only two types of creatures can touch a spirit, vampires and faeries. We both have jobs to do. I believe the vampires' job is unpleasant, since we are the ones to welcome the souls to the afterlife of Hell. Yes, vampires, aka, grim reapers, are the transporters of all those individuals that are condemned to Hell. Well, at least the souls that we make it to in time. Faeries, aka, angels, are the spirit gatherers most human beings would want to be collected by. The faerie gets to give the welcoming news that the individual has lived a life which has led them to those pearly white gates. I've been asked over the centuries, 'how do I know I'm not making a mistake in the collections' and my response is: 'I am only sent to the location.' I know nothing, no name, or reason why. All I recognize is the calling or draw which propels me into motion. Once on the scene, I follow the scent of death. There is always a trail, a trace of death that begins to be emitted from the body seconds before the demise occurs. That's one of the reasons vampires move so fast. We need to be able to step in quick enough to extract the blood from the body. Part of the eternal torture of Hell is the burning sensation. That phenomenon starts once the system is drained of the crimson liquid. This kid doesn't know it yet, but as the last bit of that lovely substance dries up, he will start to experience the burn from the inside out. Damned spirits tend to moan in pain and as the burning increases, their cries become louder. I try to get them to the gates of Hell before that point. The hollow sound of their screams can leave a feeling of someone scraping the meat and flesh from your bones.

"So, you aren't an angel?"

We are moving at a fast pace. A human body would not be able to keep up with the speed in which I'm traveling. But as a spirit, they're no longer limited by the unconditioned muscles humans rely on. "No, I'm not. I hate to break the news to you, kid, but you are not headed to heaven. Do you feel that burning sensation? That's the first step in your eternal damnation."

"But...wait! Why?"

He tries to pull away from me when he notices that his feet do little to stop his movement. The soles of his feet glide over the dirt and tree stumps as he is forced to continue on the path that I'm leading him. The gate is close by. I can sense the pull towards the fiery passage. Coming to a stop in the middle of the forest, I wait for the doorway to materialize. The gatekeeper can always recognize the arrival of a new soul. Only appearing in the darkest of locations- which could be an abandoned building, unlit parking lot, dark alley or in this case, the middle of the forest, the entrance can be revealed.

Gatekeepers and their companions, hell hounds, are more sensitive to the light than us vampires. Death occurs at all times of the day, including while the sun is out. Because of this, vampires in the olden days would wear black cloaks to help keep our pale skin from burning. Many pictures of grim reapers depict us as skeletons under those hooded robes, but I believe because our skin is so pale and we move so swiftly, that most images the human eye could detect appear as a bone. Therefore, black clothes are vital to keeping us protected. Any amount of sunlight on our skin will leave our pale flesh blistered and peeling. We've since done away with the robes, wearing all black, like a hoodie, jacket, and pants will do the trick now.

Feeling the rays of sun on our skin, would probably compare to what my John Doe is experiencing. He has started to moan and rock as we wait for the gate to appear.

"Please, can I go back?" he whispers. "What will happen to my body?"

I glance and find him rubbing his hands up and down his arms. His semi-transparent eyes give a ghostly appearance. "You cannot go back. There is nothing left but charred remains."

"My mom, what will she think?"

I shrug my shoulders. I'm sure his mother will think the same thing all mothers think.

The warmth from the gate draws me forward. I slam into the invisible wall and a hiss escapes from my lips. I'm not allowed to enter. Even the bowels of Hell do not allow me passage. The two Hell hounds perk their ears, but do not move from their seated positions; not until they're given the commanded. Undisturbed by my movement, Eskil, the operator of this entry bows.

"Evening, Cyrene. How be you tonight?"

"Well, Eskil. And yourself?" As he contemplates my question, he brings his blackened fingernails to his stubby chin. The act of his nails moving across the stubble sounds of steel grinding upon steel.

"Yuh got a busy night ahead of you? Don't know if I'll be seeing you again, though. I'm being pulled towards the south."

"Yes, the weekends tend to bring out the casualties. This one here is my first of the night. I'm being pulled towards the west after this."

"Reckon you better be getting on your way. No one ends up happy when they go unclaimed."

"I think you'd be right on that."

Eskil gives the quietest of sounds, and the two Hell hounds shift into action. Both massive two hundred pound beasts, move from their seated position and come forth to guide the soul towards its new home. Besides the soul, the Hell hounds are the only ones able to cross the invisible line. Although Eskil craves for the coolness of the night air to brush his ashy skin, and I want to experience the heat that is being released from the depths of the gates, neither one of us can cross that line. John Doe sees the huge hounds shuffling closer and turns to flee. One of the hounds gives a grisly howl and the spirit stops. John Doe then turns on the silent command to face the passageway, and the hounds, one in front and one behind, march the boy forward.

"No, please! I don't want to go! Take me home! Please! I'm sorry!"

"You've got a talker on your hands." I say.

"That we do. Those are always the fun ones." Eskil rubs his hands together in anticipation as he watches the boy cross the threshold. Without another word the gate slams shut and the warmth disappears.

I turn on my heels and head towards the west. I must move as fast as possible. The next death will occur soon, and I don't want to miss it. No spirit collector wants to miss the separation of a spirit from its body. Father Time is always working against us, then again, so is Mother Nature. Besides the bickering between themselves, they also try to keep us from collecting the souls. Any spirit that is not gathered within the minute or so that it takes to depart from its body, will enter into Purgatory, as some would call it. In other words, they become a ghost. Left in limbo in the area in which they lost their lives, that apparition will not enter Heaven or Hell. It doesn't transpire often, but the humans that happen to occupy those locations after the body has been removed are known to have visits from said ghost.

It typically occurs when a great number of deaths take place all at once. Take for example, the civil war. In Gettysburg alone, there were so many casualties that neither vampire nor faerie working side by side, were able to reach all of the bodies in time to collect the souls. In that case, as with the rest of the civil war, Father Time seemed to be pushing time forward, making the surroundings move faster if you will. You see, he likes to have the restless apparitions moving about the earth. Making the occasion move faster or slower depending on the situation leaves soul collectors nothing but hard work. If we don't make it in time to gather the soul, the ghost is left to terrorize the living. Father Time recognizes poltergeists put the living on the edge, and when such fragile beings as humans are on guard they are more open to hurt one another. Father Time since the Beginning has been racing to the finish line. He wants nothing more than for the world to turn on itself, so once there are no living breathing objects left, and he can rest.

Mother Nature is his worst enemy. She loves everything living...including vampires- if you want to consider us living. She refuses to sit back and watch Father Time ruin her world. Because of this, she and her minions work constantly to keep the world moving smoothly. Her fleet of minions or shape shifters will stop at no cost to keep humans alive. Taking on a form that will best suit the scenario, her shifters will try to defuse, block, or divert death. These are only in instances where Father Time has had his hands in things. If it is a natural death, her creatures will back down. But take for example, the John Doe I just deliver to Hell. Let's say before getting into his car and driving drunk, he was at a house party, where of course he was drinking heavily. A girl walks up to him and asks him to go home with her. Now this is some stranger that he has never met, and if he had gone home with her, he never would have seen her again after that following morning. The girl would have been one of Mother Nature's shifters. Most likely before the minion changed into the pretty girl trying to coax John Doe into not getting into his car and driving drunk, she was a fox running through the woods. Since the boy turned down the invite, he was then set in my path. However, Father Time seeing he was a stubborn soul knew that I would be slowed down. Alas, I may have collected that one soul, but in the mist of the sluggish departure, I must now work harder to make it to the next soul so that it will not be stuck in Purgatory. If Father Time accomplishes what he has set out to do, the question for us vampires is: Where does that leave us?

Being a vampire is punishment. Of course we are not allowed into Heaven, or Hell, and because we are in a flesh and earth bound Purgatory there is nowhere left for us to go. Without the warm substance we drain from our departing souls, we will be left to walk the earth as the living dead. The thought of going without blood forever is torture enough, but to know that we walk this land of the living because of the act of kindness is the biggest punishment of them all. You see, everyone has a path in life, and once your path has been marked with death, once that final decision is made that will end your life, there should be no stopping it. Nevertheless, there is. My un-souling came five days after I wed my husband.

Our neighbor seemed to have thought a few acres of our farming land were his. The men bickered for two days. Come the third day, things became physical. In the mists of the quarrel, the neighbor lunged forward with a pitchfork in hand, and I having sensed the danger my adoring husband was in, stepped in the way at the last possible second. Hence, I became a grim reaper. Everything happened so fast. There were two moving objects, one was the pitchfork going towards my husband's chest, and the other was a black blur. As the manure riddled prongs began to pierce my chest, the vampire paused, sensing that a chain of events was about to occur. After falling to the ground, pitchfork nicely wedged in my heart and lungs, I was lifted into the hands of what felt like cold metal. Moving quickly, the vampire, Dugan, transported me to a new location where the exchanging of blood commenced. Because it was during the day, Dugan was not able to shroud himself in the cover of darkness and my, like so many other births of reapers was public, which leads to legends of vampire attacks.

Being older and wiser, my reaper knew it was best not to change me on the spot. He relocated me, but not too far away, to make it easier for those who loved me to find the body. As the exchanging of blood continued, he explained that I'd committed the worst crime known to mankind-the shift in history, some call it the butterfly effect. The butterfly effect being that history is already written, and if for some reason it is changed-as a result of stepping in front of a pitchfork at the last second that was meant for someone else- you have in effect changed the course of history. The Powers that be have to then work in overtime to make sure this history that isn't already written remains correct. Once the change was complete, I was then enlightened on my new role in my life of the undead. You can say it was a rude awakening to the real universe. My husband of five sun rises remarried in less than twelve settings of the sun, and I was stuck walking the earth as a blood sucking, soul snatching, Hell greeting beast.

Besides welcoming souls to Hell, this undead life hasn't been too bad. With seniority, I don't have to travel as long of distances as in the beginning and have been located in the States for the last five hundred years. Willem, my mate of two hundred years and I share a small underground residence. He also is a reaper, having pushed a young slave out of the way of his father's pistol, he, too joined the ranks of the undead. Our underground house dwelling is modest, but necessary so we can walk around without all black on. There are times when we are both drawn to the same occurrence, however, most days we have to go our separate ways, and sometimes weeks will pass without seeing each other.

I've found my next destination. Still holding the cover of darkness around me, I watch as the next death transpires. I always find it a shame when an elderly person dies of something other than natural causes. I know the next demise will be of an elderly lady. The trail of fatality is shining bright and leading its web towards her. It appears that she has just left the local corner market. There are two men waiting at the end of the dimly lit street for her. I can hear their murmurs. The guys have tracked the old lady for two weeks, and tonight they plan to rob her of everything on her person. Once they have her keys to her house, they're going to shoot her and then raid her apartment. These are times that I would like to be a corrupted soul snatcher, like Dracula. Choosing the souls I'd like to drag to Hell would be nice. No one knows how he, like so few others are able to break from the internal commands we receive. Although, I wouldn't go around trying to turn others and taunting the living, yet, I would definitely choose to snatch the souls of these two men with the gun before having to take the old lady's soul. However, on second thought, I'm bringing her to the gates of Hell, so perhaps she isn't as she appears either. Besides, like the barrier that keeps me from entering the warmth of Hell, the same barrier holds me in place as I wait the next death.

The street light has caught the reflection of my insignia, reaching up I place my hand over the small piece of silver. Centuries ago, when there were more farmers than townspeople, us grim reapers used to walk around with what most call a sickle; it was part of our disguise. To the untrained eye, we carried farm tools, but it was actually a replica of our fangs. As times have changed, we have done away with the sickles and now we wear such insignias as necklaces, bracelets or anything else we can find on the internet that resemble fangs.

Other things have changed with the ages. Vampire hunters aren't as prevalent. As the world revolutionizes most don't believe mythical creatures exist, which leaves less and less men of the cloth wearing garlic around their necks hunting us. Outside of smelling really awful -garlic for some reason has the strongest smelling aroma, and makes us gag- it has no real effect on vampires. We just don't like the smell. Garlic or no garlic, men of the cloth are the only ones who can end a vampire's life...with a stake. The stake must be blessed in holy water and the man must be of the purest heart and soul to accomplish the task. So all-in-all, most attempts to stake a vampire fail. But those that succeeded... well, it only begs the question, what happened to that vampire? We have no souls to become a ghost stuck in Purgatory, and we are not allowed into Heaven or Hell. Some believe when we are staked, we become reincarnated. I only wonder if you need an essence for that.

Another change that doesn't partially go with the shift in the world, but with a vampire becoming reestablished in the world, is after a few decades we no longer need to carry our caskets around with us. You see, while the transformation to a vampire is processing, our systems go into a sort of hibernation. This usually gives the family time to bury our bodies. Once the change is complete, most vampires need to dig themselves out of their grave and find somewhere to hide, or locate black clothing to keep them protected from the sun. It's an instinct to bring your casket with you. Besides the clothes on your back, the casket is the only thing you enter your new life with. That is, if you're lucky enough to be buried. That was another 'pitchfork' in the heart for me. Thankfully Dugan wasn't called to his next reaping right away, so he waited to see if someone would claim my body. Realizing no one would, he moved me to his dwellings and clothed me. He no longer needed his casket since he had a proper shelter, thus as I moved into the world alone, he allowed me to take his for protection. Vacant buildings weren't as prevalent as they are now, and unless we are removing a soul from a residents in which is occupied by the living, that invisible wall blocks us from entering. Furthermore, all holy grounds are completely off limits...even if a death occurs on the premises. As a result, most vampires aren't left with many places outside of the casket to seek shelter in the beginning.

I'm commanded forward to the shuffle. I watch as the taller man on the left pulls out the gun. I reach the elderly lady seconds before he fires. Sinking my teeth into her neck, I draw her warm blood into my mouth. As I drain her essence, I hear the booming click of the gun. The woman gasps as the bullet enters her body. Dealing with weapons is a part of the job, but I hate it. I let out a sharp hiss as the bullet exits her body and enters mine. It comes with the territory. Letting her body drop to the ground, I step back into the darkness and attempt to pull the bullet out of my abdomen. This is why vampires heal quickly. Outside of my own death, I have, over the centuries been shot more times than I would like to count. I was thankful when sword fighting lost its attractiveness. But buses, knives, cars, axes, baseball bats and even a fishing pole are some of the weapons that have battered my body over the centuries. Not to mention those times I've arrived late and found myself jumping off of tall buildings or boats and other such things to make the draining before their lovely blood makes too much of a mess for me to lick up. Ironically, there has never been another pitchfork to pierce my skin. The Powers that be have a sick sense of humor.

Digging deep into my side, I find the bullet and yank it out. The tissue and skin around the wound begin to heal. Hissing again, I throw the metal on the ground. My Jane Doe has exited her host and is staring at me. Her murderers have begun their retreat.

"Aren't you going to stop them?"

Her voice is a high pitch wail. She turns and stares down at her body, and the blood that's left, as it slowly leaks out onto the sidewalk. "No, not today, but maybe one day I'll get the calling to." I glance through the new hole in my shirt and I find the puncture is completely closed. "Come on, it's time to go." My Jane Doe faces the direction in which the men ran and spits a saliva-less spit before turning back towards me.

"Well, now what? I'm assuming I'm dead."

"That you are. Follow me."

We need not travel as far this time to the next gateway. I can sense it materializing. Making a right, we head for a dark alley that smells of urine and has a hobo sleeping under a box next to the garbage bin. As we walk past the bum, the old lady mutters an ungodly word and attempts to kick him. Her foot goes right through his leg, and he feels nothing. I stop and once again and I'm greeted by the warmth of the depths of Hell. Ormand is the operator of this opening. He, too, is flanked by two hell hounds.

"Must be those weekend things or whatever you call them. This is my six emergence of the night."

"How are you this fine evening, Ormand? Yes, it is a weekend, but I have a feeling it shall soon slow down. I do not sense the calling of another as of yet. This is my second of the night."

Ormand nods at me, and flashes a toothless smile towards our Jane Doe.

"Burning yet?" he questions with an unworldly beam. He then gives a slight click of his tongue and the two hounds stand and position themselves.

Jane throws her nose in the air and says, "I need no assistants from these mongrels. I've known this was coming for some time."

She attempts to push past the beasts whose muzzles stop at her shoulders. With her head held high, she marches into the gates of Hell.

Ormand smiles at me and says, "It wasn't too long ago that I saw Willem, perhaps he's close by."

Gatekeepers have no way to tell time, other than what information us vampires pass onto them. He may have seen my Willem, but it possibly was not on this evening. It could have been months ago for all I know.

"Perhaps. There are no other calls for me as of now, so I shall go home and await his company."

Ormand steps back, pulling the gate closed, and I draw the shrouds of darkness around me. Heading out of the alley, I head home and await Willem or my next calling, whatever happens first.

The Rabbit Hole

By Elle A. Rose

Copyright © 2012 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

"Where did you get these tickets?" I ask Cam. They're printed on the cheapest of cheap sheets of paper. I can see my fingers' silhouettes through the flimsy material.

"Some clown on a street corner handed them to me. He said, 'this is the best haunted house around,'" he replies, stuffing his shoulder length brown hair into a ponytail. "It sounds cool—what else do we have to do tonight?"

He's right, it's Halloween night, and there is nothing to do. There's no way we'll be caught going to a dumb costume party since we passed the age of trick or treating years ago. Plus, we're already here. Lanterns dressed as scarecrows hang on either side of the cave entrance. The heads glow bright with fire dancing behind their hollowed eyes and gaping mouths. Every few seconds the lifelike effigies twitch like a body being electrocuted.

We drove miles to find this place. For a while, I thought Cam had the wrong directions. He's good for that: tell you to go left when you should've continued straight, mix the numbers up of an address. And I doubt he could tell you if he was facing north or south, even with a compass in his grasp. As I was about to give up—egging a house would have been funnier than riding through Hickville—we spotted the sign for this place.

"Good evening." Cam and I jump as a creepy-looking butler guy drags his hunched over frame from the depths of the cavern. "Welcome to the Rabbit Hole, we're so pleased to have you." His words remind me of the way Alfred Hitchcock used to speak. The slithery tone sends the hairs on the back of my neck to attention. Cam must be weirded out too because he takes a step back. This is going to be great. I love when they hire real actors for these gigs. "Gentlemen, if you're ready, your driver awaits." Creepy guy passes us each a plastic flashlight with pumpkin cutouts molded to the lights. When mine flickers to life, a toothless, smiling jack-o-lantern, bobs about the dark walls.

"Oh, here do you need these? How much does this cost?" My voice bounces off the dark wall of the cave, with as much excitement ringing in it as there is adrenaline zipping through my veins.

Reaching out to offer the thin tickets to the butler, he says, "Keep them, we will make our collection at the end of the course." As he speaks, a van pulls up and four teenagers pop out of the back. "Ah, more souls," breathes creepy guy. "Boys, if you will kindly move along, the ferry will transport you to your destination.

"You ready, Matt?" asks Cam, with a hard swat to my back. He fist bumps the air and flicks his lantern to life too.

"Hell yeah!" I whoop and stuff the tickets into my pocket.

"Boys," the butler calls. His words coil around us like a boa constrictor. "This is a very old cave. It's been said one with a keen eye can find relics like gold coins still lying around. And mind the walls, they do move at times."

The new group of teens draws creepy guy's attention back to the mouth of the cave, and Cam and I edge our way into the pitch black tunnel. After a few feet, the ground seems to slope downwards. Our stupid flashlights do little to help us see.

"Did you hear that?" whispers Cam. His shoulder bumps mine and we stop walking. "I think I heard someone crying."

"Nope. It was probably the group behind us. We weren't the only car out there. Maybe someone in front of us," I respond and start walking again.

"I'm freaking myself out and we haven't made it to the house yet," Cam chuckles and catches up to me. We trek along for a while in the dark. Every once in a while fake bats fly overhead. Their glowing red eyes appear to be searching the night for a way out.

"Is it me or is it getting hotter?" I say as I remove my jacket and tie it around my waist. We're still on a downward descent, and I swear with each step it's getting warmer.

"I guess," Cam says. His sight is focused on something in the distance. "I think I see one of those gold coins old dude was talking about." His weak light dances across a small gold speck on the left. He's right. Bending, he smacks the ground with the back end of his flashlight to release the coin from the ground. The light from the cheap gadget flickers and with the last blow fades away. "It's cold," he claims and flips it back and forth before tossing it to me. I almost miss it as the shiny metal vanishes in the darkness around us. But when the heavy coin hits me in the chest with a low thud, I grasp it before it tumbles to the ground.

"You think it's real?" I doubt my own question, yet still try to examine the coin with the one light we have left.

"No way. I bet it's chocolate or something on the inside," Cam states and yanks the coin from me.

"How about you bite it and see?" I joke.

Cam reaches out and tugs on my elbow and I jerk away. "Stop touching me and let's go," I urge.

"I didn't touch you," he snaps.

"Okay, whatever. I felt you." I go to walk away and he grips my arm again. "Let go."

"Matt, it's not me." Whipping around, my arm breaks the hold only to spot something moving back into the jagged wall of the cave.

"Did you see that?" the words tumble from my lips like jars falling from a shelf in an earthquake.

"Matt, what are you talking about? First I'm touching you and now you're seeing things," Cam laughs. The sound bounces off the walls before it cuts off in almost a strangulated gasp. "I felt it, too," he yelps and jumps. Around us, arms and legs begin to emerge, some from the walls, and others the ground. I dare not look up to see if they're looming over us too. A rotten, sulfur, old-trash, dead vermin scent fills the air and we both gag. The robotic hands reach for us, trying to haul us towards the wall.

"Come on," I holler. Now I hear it. Cries ring, haunting us, chasing us, and we race forward, seeking an exit.

With ease I zip pass Cam. In school, Cam is always picked last in gym, because he becomes winded too fast. I blame it on the fact that he'd rather sit and play a video game than go out and shoot hoops.

"Matt, stop," Cam calls from behind me. "I think we're in the clear," he states between gasping for air. I slow and try not to laugh. Are we a bunch of babies? We let ourselves get spooked by nothing more than props.

Screams echo behind us. We both bolt upright and edge closer together. "I bet it's another group." Why I say this out loud, to calm me or Cam, I have no clue. Sweat drops down my face and I wipe my jacket across my forehead. The heat is still rising. After a few steps, Cam stops and picks at something in the wall. It's another gold coin. Repeating his actions from last time, he rams his broken flashlight into the rock wall until the coin falls into his hand. More stone falls and what looks like pale fingers wiggle their way through the hole from where the coin has vacated. I don't know why but I reach out to touch them.

"What are you doing?" whispers Cam in my ear. He's closer than I thought, and just as the lifelike, ice-cold fingers stroke mine, I jump back.

"I don't know," I stammer and rub my hand on my jeans.

"They're coming again," Cam says in an eerie voice. I don't have a chance to question who 'they' are as the rotting smell wafts past my nose. Something brushes my foot and we take off running again.

Exit to ferry flashes in a neon green light as we round the next bend. My nose, lips and throat burns from the intense heat. Cam again is a few feet behind me. I catch a glimpse of the moon beckoning me from the depths of the cave. I don't hear Cam's footsteps anymore so I spin, flashing my dim light back into the cave. "Matt, I found another gold coin," says my friend from the darkness. "That smell came back and I saw those dead body parts again," he states with a smirk and drops the coin into his pocket. He strolls towards the opening and I notice he has ditched his flashlight. Mine still works so I slip it into my pocket and follow him out. "I'm gonna sell these coins first thing tomorrow," he declares and pats his leg.

"No, you're not. I'm telling you they're fake," I say and laugh.

A corn-stalk archway lined with a string of small lit plastic jack-o-lanterns comes into view. Please, wait for the next ferry reads the half hanging lopsided sign over the arch. I need to duck to keep from smacking my head on the jagged end of the dangling sign. Even though we are outside, it's not any cooler. The sounds of a horse and carriage draw my attention from the sweat running down my back to the muddy road before us. Two white horses pulling a flatbed with bales of hay covering it come to a stop.

"Evening, guys," giggles a small brunette from the cab. She's dressed in a pair if blood-red heels, black fishnet tights, and a red-leather mini-dress fairy costume, showing ample cleavage and wings sprouting out her back. "Wipe the drool from your mouths, boys. Pay the footman and hop aboard," she purrs, while adding another coat of her glossy crimson lipstick. Damn, I think the temperature just went up a few degrees.

When we don't move, the fairy slips her shades down the bridge of her nose and glares at us. She must be wearing red contacts too. Cam and I push our way to the back of the cart.

"Hey, isn't that the guy who substituted when the English teacher was out," says Cam as we come to a stop in front of the steps.

"I think so."

"Mr. Knox, right? Were you our substitute teacher a few weeks ago?" Cam questions. The man dressed in a leprechaun outfit doesn't respond, but instead, shoves an empty pot in our direction.

"How much?" I say and pull my wallet out.

"To access the hayride, three gold coins will have you on your way," he says with a wicked smile, flashing all of his teeth.

"Aw, man. I wanted to keep these," pouts Cam as he digs the props from his pocket.

"I told you so," I say and elbow him in the side before jumping into a huge pile of spilled hay on the wagon. As Cam joins me, I lean forward and say, "Did you see his teeth? They all have pointed ends."

"Yeah, they're caps or something. They didn't look like that in class."

"I'm not sure if he is the same guy."

"Of course he is," counters Cam. "He's acting. Just like hot chick up there." His head bobs in the direction of our fairy. I turn and find her glaring at us.

"While riding the hayride, please keep hands and feet inside of the carriage throughout the voyage. I'd hate for you to lose a limb...on my watch." With that, she flicks the reins and the horses jerk the buggy forward. I glance back to see if the leprechaun joined us, but he's gone.

After a few feet, we make a sharp right and slip between a path cut out in the middle of a cornfield. Our ride races between the dried stalks. The crops tower over us. From time to time, I catch a glimpse of the moon above us. I grasp at the other bales to hold me upright.

"This hay is making me itch," whines Cam, as he rakes his blunt nubs he calls nails over his arms. I go to speak when I spot what looks like a person running parallel to the wagon, only meters away. "Do you see that," my hand juts out pointing at the figure in the stalks. By the time Cam twists to look, it's gone.

"No, what?"

"Nice night for a ride wouldn't ya' say?" booms a voice from next to me. My heart leaps into my throat and I fall into Cam as I spin to see where that voice came from.

"What the hell?" stammers Cam, as he begins to push me off of him, only stopping when he notices who has somehow joined us on the cart. Before us sits a man in a genie costume. His bottle rests still on his knee as if we aren't being jostled across this land like Jello strapped to a rollercoaster.

The genie leans forward, pale blue lips grinning at us and says, "If you had one wish tonight, what would it be?" As he speaks, the buggy jerks right, and we skid to a stop.

My attention shifts from the genie to what has brought the ride to a halt. The horses neigh, jumping about, and our driver stands, yelling a foreign dialect. Orange flames sprout from the ground licking at the dried stalks. They've formed a sweltering barrier, blocking our entry to this turn on the maze.

"One wish—what would it be?" murmurs the genie. His sight is still trained on us. In the new light, his lips appear to have deepened to a dark purple. Being burned to death doesn't seem to be a concern of his. Our driver yanks at the reins pulling, trying to redirect the horses. "I could make this go away, if you like," he states and spreads his arms wide. The fire reacts to his movement and stretches. The walls on three sides of us now glow in bright orange flames.

Before Cam or I can respond to the genie, the fairy regains control of her beasts, and we begin to shift backwards. A few steps away from the dead end, we take off racing down another path.

"Maybe I can be of help later," claims the genie as he stands and jumps from the speeding carriage, disappearing into the crops. My friend's wide-eyed appearance can only mirror my own. We take a quick left and hit a bump, losing a bale of hay. Every attempt I make to grab something to keep me from flying off the flatbed slips through my fingers as we zip down the narrow lane.

"Do you think she knows where she's going," says Cam as we finally give up and hold each other to remain on the ride.

"She must. It's all a part of the act," I say, but when we make another sharp turn, I question if the fairy still has control of the buggy.

"Whoa, there!" yells our driver. We've made a left here and right there and now the cart slows. She gives another command, stands and pulls hard to stop the horses. Curiosity tugs at me and as we roll to a halt, I get on my knees and peer over the front of the cart to see why we've stopped this time. Sweat drips from my forehead blurring my sight and I reach for my jacket to wipe my face. My hand searches for a moment or two, before I realize it must have become a victim of our fast ride. With the inside of my shirt, I scrub my face clean and finally spot why we are no longer moving.

Paul Bunyan, or at least an actor dressed as him and his blue ox stand in the path.

"Clear the way," calls the fairy. Her red heel stamps the floor boards and she places her hands on her hips. In response, Bunyan lifts his axe, hoisting it over his head, and heaves it in our direction. Our driver lets out a loud scream and dives to the floor. As the axe spins like a pinwheel towards us, Cam and I spring from the buggy. A loud thud echoes in the darkness as the axe's blade wedges itself into the wood from where Cam and I just vacated.

"Get back on the cart," yells the fairy. Her voice sends chills up my spine. We ignore her and hide behind the hitch. Paul's heavy footsteps seem to make the ground shake as he storms towards us. "Get back on," calls a faded voice in my ears.

"What do we do?" questions Cam. The lumberjack yanks his axe from the flatbed and stares at us. Only feet away from us, he lifts the weapon again.

"Climb under the cart!" I scream as the blade whirls passed us. We both cringe when a huge hand swipes the air inches away from where we sit. "Go that way," I point towards the left front wheel. Mud soaks my jeans and sticks to my hands as we crawl. When we make it to the front of the cart Cam starts to slide out when the ox sticks its painted blue nose in his way. It grunts and nips at Cam.

"Back up, back up, back up!" he wails. I do but stop when something grabs my leg. A whimper leaves my lips as I'm hauled from under the cart. Cam's paled face vanishes and I fight to be free of Paul Bunyan's grasp.

"Get on the damn cart," yells that voice again.

My world spins. Movement sounds behind me as I'm pull upright to face the lumberjack.

"Hurry," calls a female's voice.

A whip cracks. My stomach turns when Paul Bunyan leans closer. His warm breath slams into me like a sack filled with rocks. I feel the cart against my back shake and start to ease forward. From behind, someone tugs at my shirt.

"Go!" hollers Cam.

On command, the carriage begins to move and a tug-a-war commences. Each man yanks on my tee-shirt. The cheap material starts to tear. I'm not sure what's louder—my heart banging in my ears or the fabric shredding with each jerk.

My heart stops when Cam lets go. For an instant, I believe they will leave me, but, instead, Cam places his hands under my arms and wrenches me away from Paul Bunyan. We tumble backwards into the itchy hay, both breathing heavily as the cart dashes down the path, away from our attacker.

"That can't be a part of the attraction. Can it?" Cam breathes and throws his arm over his face. "It was too real. Man, I'm shaking."

"No kidding." Neither of us moves until the ride slows again. Like puppets, we both shoot up, as if a puppeteer has ordered us to life. "Now what?" I question. The stars have disappeared in the wake of the new light. Stretching out before us, sits a large house.

"End of the ride, fellas," states the fairy.

Cam and I stare at each other, and then the huge mansion. Strobe lights flicker through some of the windows, and from time to time figures dash from one room to another. Screams, chainsaws, cackling, and loud music fill the air. Our driver throws us an impatient glare and Cam and I slide off the buggy. Without any answers as to why a lumberjack attacked us, the cart whips around and speeds off into the night.

"I'm not sure I really wanna go in there," whispers Cam.

I'm thinking the same thing. How the hell did I let him talk me into this?

"Come now, boys, the fun has just started." The deep voice makes us jump. As we turn, we find the genie standing next to us. "There're two ways out of the house," he says and begins to push us forward. "Give the command and I can release you from your entombment. Or, find the exit. Your choice."

His words fade away as flames of light blast out of the small holes in the ground leading up the aisle to the doorway.

"Where did he go?" Cam says and spins like a dog chasing its tail.

"I don't know, man, but let's just get this over with."

I'm not sure, but I think the siding of the house is pulsating, and damn-it it's only gotten hotter. As we approach the front steps, the door swings open. At first, flashing lights and smoke fill the opening. When we near the door a hunched dark shadow drifts through the smoke toward us.

"Ah, there you are," exclaims the creepy butler from the cave. "I hear we almost lost you in the maze. It would've been such a shame." His old wrinkled hands clasp, and his crooked form leaps for joy. "So few of our guests make it this far. That group behind you‒" he shakes his head and heaves a heavy sigh. "Well, enough of the gloomy news. Please enter." Cam and I glance at each other. My best friend is sweating as much as I am. His hair has fallen from the ponytail and is matted to his scalp. Dressing up for a costume party doesn't sound so bad anymore.

If we were little boys, I think at this moment, holding hands would be acceptable. Instead, we fist bump, square our shoulders, and step forward.

"Wonderful! We're so delighted you're willing to join us tonight," says butler guy in that eerie voice. "Take caution in the choices you make, and remember, the sign marked exit is your only way out."

A maid saunters by carrying a tray with glasses filled with a red liquid. Flames dance on top of each of the drinks. She, too, is dressed in a very short costume with high heels.

"I think we should go in the opposite direction that she's headed," I breathe.

"Wise choice, young man," the butler voices and steps back and bows. "Welcome to our home."

As he speaks an ear piercing siren blares, causing Cam and I to cover our ears. The house goes dark and when the lights come back on, creepy guy is gone.

We enter the threshold at the same time and automatically make a right. "Let's find the exit quick."

Cam nods and turns down a long hallway. All of the doors are shut. "I say we divide and conquer. You take the doors on the right. I'll take the doors on the left." In response, Cam reaches out and clutches the handle near him. "One, two, three!" Both of our doors swing open. My room looks like a plain ordinary drawing-room. There's no one in here and everything seems neat and in order. Behind me, Cam yelps and slams the door. The sound of a barking dog, scratching and ramming the flimsy wood rattles the entire wall.

"Matt, I don't know what the hell that was, but it wasn't a dog," Cam states in a shaky voice.

A tremble moves down his body and he leans against the wall to steady himself.

"Come on, buddy, this will be over soon." It takes him a moment to regain his composure. When he's ready, we walk down to the next door. Running feet slam into the floor above and as we open our next doors, screams echo in the house. Behind door number two, I find a small projector room. An old black and white film plays on the screen. It appears to be a horror movie. The light from the hallway spills into the room and the viewers moan and groan, twisting in their seats. Hollowed eyed zombies, whose heads all seem to bob sideways, face my direction. The same smell from the cave wafts passed me as I gaze into empty eye sockets. Their mouths all gape open, hanging by thin strips of skin. As one, they begin to rise from their seats and I shut the door. My heart thuds in my ears.

"Matt. Look at this." For a moment, I dare not drag my eyes from the portal in front of me. The handle rattles a few times, but when it stops, I set my sight on Cam's room. He's left the door open and has stepped into the room. I follow, unsure if he should be in here.

Bubbles. They fall from the ceiling like rain. Stepping inside, my skin tingles as hundreds of bubbles land and pop on my body. "Where do you think they're coming from?" my friend asks as he spins, arms spread wide. I go to speak when something plops on my head. Without a thought, I reach up and find something cool and mushy in my hair. Another plop lands on my shoulder as I remove the mystery object. It squirms about in my grasp and I need not see it to know what has fallen from the sky. Dad has taken me fishing plenty of times for me to detect a worm's movements without seeing it. Yet, the next one that falls on the bridge of my nose sends an alarm off in my head. "I think it's time to go, Cam."

The instant I stop speaking, thousands upon thousands of worms descend from above. Unlike the bubbles, they hit the ground in a soft thud, squiggling about the floor. Cam thrashes wildly, trying to make his way through the thick curtain of creepy-crawlies. I dare not open my mouth to speak. Worms now slither down my entire body and visions of them entering my mouth make me gag. It feels like I'm walking on jelly as I step backward into the hallway. The small contents of my stomach roll like waves as I shake the writhing creatures off of me. Through the wiggling pinkish-brown veil, Cam's fingers emerge. Flashbacks to the cave blind me for a moment before I grasp his hand and haul him from the room.

"Get them off of me. Get them off," he shrieks. His long frame slams to the ground, rolls from side to side kicking. His voice causes the other doors in the hall to rattle.

"Shh, Cam." I need to say this a few times to get him to stop. Worms now litter the hallway and my best friend sits with his back on the wall.

"I can't do this," he says. It's low and I need to stoop to his level to hear him better.

"Yes, you can."

"Are you asking for an out?" the genie's voice makes us both jump.

In this light, his skin has taken on a red hue. I didn't notice them before, but he must be wearing fake nails, which are so long they have begun to curl. As he hovers closer to us, I gag again from the rotten smells pouring from his now blacken lips and brown teeth. "No, we're not wimping out," I sputter. This place is crazy but there is no way we won't make it through this dumb funhouse. Without another glance at the actor, I yank Cam to his feet. "Come on, this was your idea. We can do this."

Again, Aladdin's friend disappears without a sound. I stare at Cam for a second. His appearance looks like he did last year when he caught the flu. "We need a different plan of attack. No more entering rooms unless you think you see an exit. I'm not sure, but I have a feeling the way out could be anything, from an open window to a hole in the wall. Remember it's Halloween, and these guys are only here to scare the pants off of us."

"Yeah, they're doing a really good job of it," he chuckles.

His voice sounds hollow and is sucked instantly into all the other noises thudding in this house.

Three doors down a guy and girl emerge from one of the rooms. His clothes mirror our own and the girl is barefoot. From where I stand, I watch their chests heave in and out like they've been running a marathon. Their deer-like eyes canvas the hallway, perhaps judging if we are a threat, before running our way. A chainsaw buzzes, numbing all sounds around us. "Run!" yells the guy, as he and the girl wiz passed us. Our heads jerk from one end of the hall to the other, just in time to see the couple skid around the corner. We should've heeded their warning. From the room they exited comes a set of boots, laced with chains that run all the way up leather covered legs, around a thick torso crisscrossing over a giant man's shoulders. His face is masked with black leather and he grips a chainsaw over his head. When the giant spots us, he grunts and revs his tool. We need not be told again to run.

My good friend and I race back in the direction we came. The guy and girl are nowhere in sight. We zip by the front door, which now seems to be guarded by a troll and head for the room the maid carried the flaming drinks into as we entered. The chainsaw is close on our heels as we trek into more unknown territory. Soon the thumping of loud rock music washes out the buzz of the chainsaw. A disco ball hangs from the middle of the room and a checkered dance floor thrives with bodies swaying to the hypnotic beat.

Cam's elbow jabs me in the ribs and he says, "Is she biting his neck?"

As he speaks, the couple closest to us stops bobbing to the music and the woman jerks her head up. Blood drips from her mouth and she hisses at us, revealing fangs. The guy stands motionless, staring off into space. She releases the man and he crumples to the floor, with blood seeping from two puncture wounds on his neck.

"Fresh blood," hisses the creature. She steps over her dance partner and glides nearer. Cam and I step backwards but stop when we bump into a barrier. If I had to guess, a male body has stopped my movement. I flinch as a nose brushes my skin. A shiver runs up my spine as the person behind me inhales.

"Oh, you smell wonderful," is nothing more than a whisper in my ear, but the words are deafening.

"I saw him first," wails the lady and lunges toward me. My eyes close and wait for the impact.

The sound of a chainsaw rips through the music and hisses follow. I sense the air around me shift and my eyes open. "He followed us," Cam states. Around us, bodies lay on the floor, seeping blood. "Back there." I turn and see where everyone else has gone. In the archway lurks chainsaw man, revving his weapon. The dancers have blocked his entry, hissing and flashing their fangs.

We need to go now, while they're not looking," I say and pull Cam.

On the other side of the room, I spot an opening. I'm not sure if I'm ready to face what could be waiting for us, but I can't say that chick isn't really going to bite me. We make our way across the floor as fast as possible without stepping on the people sprawled on the ground.

I'm happy I still have my flashlight and after a few flicks, the toothless pumpkin bounces off the steps before us. We don't speak as we navigate our way into the basement, dungeon, or whatever clever contraption is waiting for us. As our feet hit the bottom step, a green light illuminates the area. Cages with bones dangle from the ceiling and caldrons boiling foul smelling liquids kick the temperature up almost twenty degrees.

"We have new patients," calls a voice from an unforeseen corner. "Nurse, we need two gurneys."

Shoes slapping the cement ground, and the high pitch wail of a squeaky wheel follow, "Of course doctor."

My flashlight drops from my grasp and Cam and I hit the floor, crawling into a dark corner. "Oh, pooh, they've run off on us," huffs the nurse. From where we hide, I can see her white loafers and white fishnet stockings. She taps her foot and spins around. I move back a tad when I catch my reflection in the gurney's wheel base. "They haven't gone far. They never do," promises the doctor.

I fear if we speak, they will hear us, so I tap Cam on the shoulder and point across the room. There has to be another way out. He nods and we, hugging the dark crevices of the basement crawl along the wall. If it wasn't for the size of the caldrons, I'm sure we would be spotted. When my arm brushes the outside of a pot, I bite back a cry. The skin sizzles and the muscle tense in protest, yet I keep moving. The nurse and doctor taunt us, calling for us to come out of our hiding spot. As we round the second wall, wrapped hands break through the darkness and yank Cam to the middle of the room. My best friend gives a muffled scream and I jump out of hiding ready to attack.

A mummy drags Cam towards the doctor and nurse. Both wear white masks over their mouths and the nurse jumps for joy as they near. No one has spotted me yet. Cam fights to be free, kicking and flaying about. His motions do nothing to slow the mummy's gait. Going unnoticed, I release a thick bone from a cage that hangs overhead. It's wet and smells of rotting flesh. I have no time to gag from the smell as I swing the bone, slamming it into the back of the mummy's head. Cam falls to the ground and rolls to his side, avoiding being crushed by the mummy as he tumbles forward. In the corner, I see a white light and it looks like another set of stairs leading upwards. "Come on, this way." The doctor and nurse charge as Cam springs to his feet. We hit the stairs and dash toward the light.

"Darn, we've lost them, Doctor," echoes behind us.

Up we climb. One floor, then a second, but then again it's hard to tell, there are no doors, nothing but the shining light at the top of the stairwell. Breathless, we reach the landing. Either the doctor, nurse, nor mummy breaches the staircase, or anyone else for that matter. A door with the number thirteen scratched into the wood greets us. Cam and I look at each other, then the door, and then back down the stairs. The bright light above us burst, sending shards of glass showering down on us. No discussion is needed as Cam turns the knob and we almost fall through the doorway. This hallway looks like the one on the first floor, except all of the doors have the number thirteen carved in them.

This time we go together to each door. Behind gateway number one, we find a weeping bride. Her white dress and veil both drip with red goo and a silver candlestick lays at her feet. She looks up and shrills, "Why didn't he love me?"

We dare not enter that room and shut the door. At the next room, we can't get the handle to twist.

"If it won't open, I'm not going to push it," says Cam as he moves on to the third entrance. Soft music flows from the other side of this barrier. It calls to me. My insides feel a pulling that I can't ignore and I'm propelled forward. When the door creaks open, I enter, leaving my misgiving in the hallway. A blonde haired woman sits, playing a harp, singing a beautiful song. "This isn't cool, Matt. Let's go back," says Cam and pulls on my shoulder. At the sound of our invasion, the blonde stops playing and spins to face us. Her eyes flash a crimson-red and her pouty lips pull into a sneer as the blonde hair falls to the floor revealing red-eyed snakes writhing on top of her head.

Snakes are Cam's biggest fear. He whimpers, backing into the door. His movement causes the door to creak shut. The soft click of the latch sends Cam into even more of a panic.

"No, no, no," he cries and jiggles the handle.

"Yes, my pets, we have company," coos Medusa. More snakes slither from under furniture, and vents. The ones on top of her head hiss and spit venom.

"Matt, help me get the door open." He places his foot on the door jam and pulls hard enough to yank the knob from the fixture. Cam tumbles to the ground, landing between the snakes and myself.

Medusa cackles and raises her hands over her head before saying, "Bring him to me, my pets." On command, the snakes glide forward circling Cam. I reach to pull him back when a snake lunges toward me. While the creatures that corner my best friend rise to an attack pose, the others fan out creating an impenetrable line to cross.

"I want out! Let me out," screams Cam. He pulls his knees to his chest and lets out a loud wail.

"Is this your wish?" From the far corner of the room, the genie has propped himself on a desk.

"Yes, I want out."

"Then your wish is my command."

"No! He doesn't mean it." My gut tells me this isn't what he wants. This isn't want anyone would want.

With a snap of his fingers, Medusa and her pets vanish. In their place, a barrier of fire soars, scraping the ceiling and further blocking me from Cam.

My arm shields my face from the heat as I try to brave the flames. "Cam, tell him no." The room is filling with smoke and I choke.

"I can make you the same offer," a voice from the fire says. Although my sight is becoming blurry, I believe I see what looks like the genie's face dancing in the flames.

"Go to Hell," I yell back and drop to my knees gagging.

"You have no idea," he laughs. The barrier drops, and I spot Cam standing, stuck in a ring of fire. He stands motionless, staring at the wall. I push myself to my feet and step forward. To my left, the genie slides from the desk, and snaps his fingers. "Have it your way." With that, the door behind me bangs open and a huge gust of wind sends me toppling into the hallway. I sail into the wall and slide to the ground. From where I sit, I watch with dread as the flames incasing Cam dissipate and the genie lures him to his side. The door slams shut and I jump to my feet. As I reach the entrance, the stupid knob on the first try falls to the floor.

Over and over I bang my fist on the door. My foot slams into the wood until my ankle aches, and still the gateway will not open. Around me, everything goes quiet. Too quiet. When the door across the way squeaks open and a green-faced creature dressed as a witch emerges, I know I must run. She walks with a slant, and drags her broom as a caveman would carry a club. Her crooked walk doesn't slow her down and I dash into the closest room. I don't think before I shut myself in what could be the next line of torture, but relief washes over me when I find stairs leading down. My steps echo in the stairwell as I take two steps at a time. On the last step, my heart thrashes in my chest as I peer through the opening. From here, it looks like the hallway Cam and I first ventured down. At the top of the stairs a low thump, thump, thump, bounces off the walls. The lighting is dim and I can only guess it is the witch following me.

On the count of three, I dash out the archway and race down the hall. Feet away from the atrium, a chainsaw buzzes. I fear who or what may be coming to block me in the hallway. Going on a whim, I run to the door I believe to be the drawing room. I barely get the door shut when heavy feet sulk by. I need to find somewhere to hide in case those creatures come in here. With a quick glance, I realize I may have picked the wrong room to look for a hiding place. The only thing that sits in this room is an easel. But when I look again I notice there is something drawn on the canvas. Could it really be that easy? Here all along, had I paid attention the first time I would have seen the drawing. A picture of a window with the word Exit, sits taunting me. On the top corner of the canvas, a green arrow points to the window behind the drawing.

Racing to the window, I pull, push, and yank the damn thing but it won't budge. In complete frustration, I rip the canvas from the easel and slam it into the glass. Shards of glass flutter away like a bird whose cage door was left open. Cool air finally brushes my skin and pulls me to the opening. It's pitch black out and I have no clue what I'm jumping into, but I don't hesitate as I leap through the abyss. I soar for a moment before I smack something hard, ending my descent. Although it's dark, my world spins and I find it hard to keep my eyes open.

"There's no loitering, here," huffs a deep voice. Is he talking to me? My head feels like someone drove a nail through it. "Keep it moving," he barks and kicks my foot. I try to open my eyes, but someone is shining a bright light in my face. Rolling to my side, I inhale grass and dirt. "If you don't get up, I'm taking you in."

"What?" I murmur. What is he talking about? Where am I? As I roll onto my back, I realize no one is shining a light in my eyes. It's the sun. One at a time, my eyes slide open, straining to adjust to the bright light. Looming over me is a police officer. Now that I'm awake, he straightens and steps back. I rub my eyes and try to focus them again. I could swear he looks just like the leprechaun Cam thought was our substitute teacher. Cam, where is he? I look around trying to find him or figure out where I am. "Mr. Knox?" I venture. "Where am I? Where's Cam?"

The cop glares at me and I wonder for a moment if I have head trauma. I'm sure his eyes flash red before he says, "If you're not gone by the time I come back from my rounds, I'm taking you to the station." I don't speak as he storms away.

It takes me a moment to get to my feet. At this new viewpoint, I pinpoint the community park where I shoot hoops. From here, I can see my car parked across the way. In my hand is a small balled up sheet of paper. My heart leaps into my throat. It's the ticket from the haunted house. Digging through my pocket, I search for the other ticket. I had both of them. I'm positive. Yet when I come up with nothing I can only scratch my head. As the sunlight catches the thin paper in my hand, I notice there's something on the back of the ticket. Perhaps next year, with a smiley face glares at me. A shiver runs up my back and the ticket drops from my grasp, being swept away by the wind.

Come and become a part of the main attraction. You'll never leave, sears my brain as I walk to my car.
Isle of Toothsome

# By Elle A. Rose

Copyright © 2019 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

A lightning bolt flashed followed by an earth shaking thunderclap. Dalilah jumped and dropped the game card from her grasp. Franklin chuckled, in an effort to hide the fact that he was just as scared as his five year old sister of the ground trembling storm wrecking havoc throughout their town. Earlier that day the town officials declared a state of emergency, and banned all Halloween activities. The children were all heartbroken, no Trick or Treating this year.

"Guys are you sure you'll be okay? Iris, their mother asked. "You can come with me."

"Mom, we'll be fine. Go." Franklin tried to sound more confident than he felt. It wasn't often he was left home alone with his sister. But the last three months had been hard since his dad passed away. At fifteen, Frankie, as his friends and family called him, was now the man of the house. He couldn't let a silly storm or the fact that he was alone with his sister, leave him shaking in his boots. His mother gave them one more glance before putting on her raincoat. Frankie had answered the phone a short while ago when the hospital called to ask his mother to come in for an extra shift today. There had been a horrible accident and the hospital needed all hands on deck.

"If you're sure. Remember, Mrs. Hill is right next door if you need anything. You can always call me too," their mother stated.

"I know the drill, you're going to be late."

Frankie stood, marched to the door and opened it for his mother.

"Okay, bye you two," Iris said before she dashed out into the pouring rain and disappeared into the gray background. It was hard to make out the car's headlights as his mother pulled out the driveway.

As he slammed the door shut and spun to face his sister another flash of lightning lit up the sky. The lights flickered and Frankie felt the house tremble. The board game fell to the ground scattering cards and their plastic tokens all over the living room jolting Dalilah out of her seat, skin as pale as a ghost.

"Maybe we should go with mom," his sister whimpered.

"Too late, she's gone. Maybe we should make some hot apple cider and then clean up the game?" he suggested.

Frankie tried not to slip on the cards on the floor as he made his way to the kitchen. Dalilah was right on his heels. "Sorry this is such a crappy Halloween," he told his sister. She was still wearing her Leonardo Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume from school. Dalilah had been excited to be a turtle this year; she and Frankie watched the show together every day after school. Frankie didn't wear a costume to school, but he had a Raphael mask he was going to wear while they went out to collect candy.

In the kitchen, his sister pulled out the stepstool and removed three packages of instant apple cider from the cabinet. They would both have a full package and split the third one between them. Before they could place their mugs in the microwave another clash of lightning struck and a loud boom rattled the house. Everything went dark. Dalilah yelped, dropped the packets and latched onto Frankie's leg.

"I want mom," she cried.

Frankie set the mugs down, happy he hadn't dropped them when he jumped out of his skin.

"It's fine, Dee. We just need to get the flashlight and then find some candles to light." He hoisted his sister into his arms. She was getting too big for him to carry, but there would have been no way for him to walk with the grip she had on his leg.

They edged their way to the hallway closet where the flashlight was kept, bumping into the Boogie Man's minions along the way. After a few brushes against questionable phantom hands, Frankie found the flashlight. "Hold this," he said to Dalilah, "I think the candles are back here too. Shine the light right here." Frankie guided his sister's hand to where he needed to search. The heavens continued to flash as the lightning and thunder played cat and mouse. Dalilah shivered every time the sky rumbled. "You have to hold the light still, I can't see a thing," Frankie grumbled. His little sister felt like a furnace and he could feel the sweat starting to run down his back.

"Ah, yes, here they are."

As he pulled the candles from the back of the closet a huge gust of wind whipped by, causing the windows to rattle and the front door to pop open. Dalilah once again jumped, this time dropping the flashlight. What little light they had went out as the top of the flashlight snapped off and rolled away.

"Crap!" Franklin snapped. He tried not to be annoyed but he was sure he shut the door all the way and really, how hard was it for Dalilah to hold the only light source they had for the moment. With what little patience he had left, he detached his sister from his side and set her on her feet.

"Look Dee, I need you to be brave. You're supposed to be Leonardo today. That makes you the strong one, the leader of the group. Do you think the Turtles are afraid of a little thunder?" The door creaked in the wind and something in the living room tumbled to the floor. "Can you be brave for me and go shut the door?" Frankie asked in the calmest voice he could muster.

For a moment, Dalilah stood still, perhaps debating on if she was brave enough to venture into the living room alone. Frankie could hear her labored breathing. He knew her little heart was beating like crazy, his was doing the same thing, but the door needed to be closed and they needed light too. They had to divide and conquer.

He was about to ask her again when she turned and retreated into the living room.

"Eww, the floor is all wet," she bellowed. A sloshing sound echoed as she made it to the front door.

"Make sure to lock the door, please," Frankie called. He could imagine his sister's socks were wet, just one more thing he would have to clean up later. With the candles in hand, he made his way back to the kitchen to find the matches. He still hadn't heard the front door shut. "Dee, what are you doing? Shut the door before more rain gets in." Dalilah didn't answer him. "Dee!" he called again.

"Frankie," her voice was so small, a cold chill trickled down Franklin's spine.

"Dalilah, what is it?" he asked. His search for the matches was abandoned as he sprinted out of the kitchen. "Dee," he called.

"There's a light, it's coming from dad's office," said his sister.

Dad's office, Frankie thought. That room had been closed off since his father passed away. His mother had refused to let anyone clean it out. Frankie thought that in the past few months he felt a draft seeping from the room every time he passed by the door. He rounded the corner just in time to see his sister push the door open and take a step inside. She was right, there was a light pulsing from the doorway.

"Dee, don't-" before he could finish his warning, Dalilah let out a heart stopping shrill. Franklin raced toward the door. He slipped and fell when he hit a puddle caused by the rain pelting from the forgotten open front door. Water splattered his face as his body squirmed, slipped, and slid across the floor. Frankie's elbow and knee took the brunt of the battle to regain purchase on the slick floor. He ignored the sharp pain telling his body to slow down and bounded for the office.

In the archway, Frankie stumbled to a stop. In front of him was not their father's office, like he expected to find. Instead, the outdoors stretched as far as the eye could see. Frankie used his hand to shield his eyes from the bright orangey sun. The scent of cotton candy filled the air. Water flowed off to his right behind a huge patch of foliage and the birds chirped a peaceful song. He spun, searching for the door he just came through, but it had vanished. Panic jolted through his body. Where am I, he wondered. Where's Dalilah? He whipped back around looking for his sister.

There was a rustle in the bushes and the sound of his sister's laughter.

"I got you," she giggled.

"Dalilah" Frankie called. He wondered for a moment if he had ever needed to call her name so many times in a day. The shrubs rustled again and his sister popped out of the greenery. Twigs and leaves were tangled in her hair and she held a white monkey with a bright pink nose. "Let that thing go before it bites you," he bellowed. Trying to explain how his kid sister was bitten by a monkey in a strange land wasn't going to go over well with his mother. He lunged forward, startling Dalilah and her new pet. They both jumped and the monkey freed itself and scrambled up and over his sister's back.

"Stop, don't hurt him, he's my friend," Dalilah cried. She backed away from Frankie. "He won't bite me, he's friendly."

"You don't know that, stand still."

"She's right," called a voice behind them.

Both Frankie and Dalilah turned to find a teenage boy standing in front of them.

"Who are you?" Frankie asked, putting a protective arm around his sister, not ignoring the monkey that clung to her turtle shell.

"I'm Sweetoo and Shadow is my monkey." The teen made a clicking noise with his tongue and the monkey climbed off of Dalilah and scampered over to his waiting arms. "She has been with my family for centuries," Sweetoo remarked and stroked the creature's head.

Frankie eyed the boy and his pet. Sweetoo looked to be around Frankie's age. He wore what appeared to be a brown dress or a very long shirt, with a pouch strung around his waist and little red and white striped sticks stuck out of his wild hair all at different angles. The boy seemed to be sizing up the siblings too.

A light wind blew and Dalilah moaned, "Oh, that smells so good, is that cotton candy? Frankie, I'm hungry." Frankie smelled it too. It was the same scent he noticed when he slipped through the doorway.

"I doubt it, but as soon as we get home we will eat," he promised, searching again for the doorway.

"We eat from the land. Take your pick," stated Sweetoo as he spread his arms wide.

Frankie stared at the stranger for a moment and then said, "How are you able to understand us? Where are we?"

"This is my home, the land my family has lived on for centuries."

"Yeah, I got that," snapped Frankie. "But how, how can we all understand each other?"

"I'm not sure I understand. We are able to communicate with all creatures here."

"We are not creatures. We're people." Frankie stated. He was growing annoyed with the situation.

"Shadow thinks you're mean." The monkey bobbed her head up and down and began to pace back and forth on the boy's shoulders.

"You can really talk to the monkey?" This had Dalilah's attention. She stepped closer, but Frankie reached out and grabbed her turtle shell. He wasn't going to let her touch that animal again.

"Yes, Shadow likes you." As Sweetoo spoke, the monkey jumped to the ground ran past the kids and then disappeared into the bushes again. She was only gone for a moment or two before she popped back out with what looked like a flower in her hand. Shadow stopped in front of Dalilah and presented her with a flower shaped sucker.

"Ohhh," exclaimed Dalilah as she took the sucker and shoved it into her mouth. Frankie couldn't have stopped her even if he could have tried.

"Where did that come from?" he asked as he searched the grounds past the bushes. Would that sucker make his sister sick? Just one more thing to have to try and explain later to his mother.

"The plants are over there," Sweetoo pointed somewhere behind the group, shrugged and then said, "She said she was hungry. Shadow was just trying to help."

Frankie's mind raced. The monkey could really understand them.

Sweetoo clicked his tongue again and the monkey was by his side in a flash. Without saying another word to the siblings, the boy and pet turned to leave.

"Wait," Frankie called, "Where are we? We need to get home."

"This is the Isle of Toothsome. Maybe my parents can help you get home, but I need to pick up something on the other side of the island first."

Frankie considered the boy's words for a moment. He knew they didn't have much of a choice. He glanced at his sister, she seemed content with her sucker. Her cheeks were sticky and she even had strands of hair covered in the sucker goop. "We'll go with you," he called. Sweetoo nodded and waved them forward.

For a while, they walked in silence with Dalilah skipping just ahead of them.

When Shadow jumped from Sweetoo's shoulder to join Frankie's sister, Sweetoo turned and asked, "Is there something wrong with the little one? She's green and has a shell on her back. Is she sick?" His eyes then shifted to Frankie, perhaps checking to make sure he, too, didn't have a shell attached to him.

"No," Frankie said and laughed. "She is in a costume." A perplexed expression settled on Sweetoo's face.

"A cos-tume?" He shook his head glancing back at Frankie.

"Yeah, you know, she's dressed up, it's all make believe." Frankie started to explain how his sister loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but then realized his new companion probably had no clue who the Turtles were. Instead, he said, "Where we are from, today is a day we dress up in fun outfits and get free candy."

The boy shook his head again, still not understanding, but then asked, "What do you look like without your cos-tume?"

Frankie chuckled and said, "I'm not wearing one. Only Dalilah is dressed up."

"Oh."

Frankie laughed again and stuck his hand out. "By the way, I'm Frankie." Sweetoo stopped and looked at the outreached hand. He smiled flashing all of his teeth, before spitting into his own hand and slapping it into Frankie's. Their hands made a squishy clap and the excess spit leaked from the bottom of their grasp. Frankie tried not to be grossed out and waited until they started walking again before he wiped his hand on his jeans. "Where are we headed?" Frankie asked.

"My mother wanted me to pick up a few eggs and the only place to get them are from the other side of the island." That seems simple enough, Frankie thought. His attention shifted to his sister, she's stopped walking and was examining the ground.

As the boys approached, she turned and said, "The ground looks like my game." She was right. The path they walked on alternated between red, orange, purple, yellow, green, and blue patches. Dalilah and Frankie's socks were covered in a rainbow of colored dust. While everyone stood examining their feet, the bushes to the left of them rustled. Shadow began to shriek, pointing her white furry arm at the bushes. The shrubs moved again and the monkey darted for a tree, leaving the children behind. A low growl slipped through the greenery seconds before a tiger emerged. Frankie's heart flip-flopped as the large beast made eye contact with him. The tiger growled again and prowled closer. Each of its steps were slow, yet precise.

"We need to head for the trees," whispered Sweetoo. He was backing away, moving at the same pace as the tiger. Franklin's hand reached out and snaked around Delilah's arm. Another growl made the hairs on the back of Frankie's neck stand to attention. As the tiger began to crouch, edging closer, its large tail swooshed and its belly inched close to touching the ground. Sweetoo yelled, "Run!" Spinning, Frankie yanked his sister into his arms and followed Sweetoo into the brush on the other side of the path. He heard a loud thud and dared not turn around to see how close the tiger came to pouncing on him. Frankie ran track in school, but he wasn't used to running with the extra weight of his sister. He tried his best to keep up with Sweetoo. Their new acquaintance, only feet ahead of them threw his hands in the air and leapt to grab a low hanging branch. He swung himself up onto the limb and then flipped over to dangle by his knees. "Here, hoist her up." His out stretched arms grabbed Dalilah and pulled her into the tree.

"Come on Frankie," his sister cried.

Sweetoo was trying to urge her further into the tree, as Frankie took a running jump and grabbed the branch. The tree shook and he hoped the limb wouldn't snap with all of the extra weight. Just as he pulled his leg up, the tiger lunged forward. Its sharp claw snagged Frankie's sock, ripping it from his foot. Dee screamed and Frankie almost swallowed his tongue. He'd felt the blades of the tiger's nails skim the back of his heel. Up they climbed, hoping the large cat wouldn't decide to follow them. After climbing a few feet, they stopped to catch their breath. Below, the striped giant paced, circling the ground around the trunk, trying to get a good glimpse of the tree's new inhabitants.

"I want to go home," whimpered Dalilah.

"I know, we will," Frankie promised.

All around him, he could smell spearmint. He was about to ask Sweetoo where the smell was coming from when the other boy reached over and plucked a leaf popping it into his mouth.

"If you're still hungry, these leaves are some of my favorite to chew on," Sweetoo commented while chewing. Dalilah didn't have to be told twice, she grabbed a hand full of leaves and crammed them into her mouth.

"Ohh, they taste like gum," she proclaimed and reached for more.

The three of them sat in the tree for over five minutes munching on the leaves. Everyone froze when the branches around them rustled. Frankie's sight went to the last place he saw the tiger, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the wild cat still pacing below. Again the branches moved, but this time Shadow sprang forward. She was animated as she jumped up and down on the limb. Reaching out she pulled on Sweetoo's arm, making different sounds within her throat.

Sweetoo nodded and looked at Frankie, "Shadow says the branches on the next few trees are sturdy enough to hold us. We need to get away from the tiger."

Dee scooted closer to Frankie, her feet dangling on either side of the branch.

Frankie's grip tightened as the branch shook from her movement. He eyed the distance between them and the next tree and he wondered how they were going to get out of the mess they were in. All of the limbs thinned out and from where he sat, he couldn't see a single place where either of the trees connected.

"Follow me," Sweetoo said in a hushed voice and began to climb higher up the trunk. He went another few feet and then he stated, "I think the little green one should climb on my back." He glanced at Dalilah and waited for her to slide closer to him. Frankie thought about objecting, but the moment Dalilah reached Sweetoo, he situated her on his back and took off like a rocket. Franklin bit back a yelp as he watched the stranger and his sister sail through the air, before grasping the neighboring tree branch. The new weight caused the limb to bend almost ten feet down but sprang back up as they moved towards the trunk. Frankie could hear his sister giggling with glee, not that it helped his heart from going a mile a minute, but he was glad they were safe. After watching Shadow make it across, Franklin did the same thing. He, too, couldn't hide the joy that escaped his lips as he soared through the air. The distance wasn't as far as he thought, and even though it was about a two foot space from tree to tree, the jump was exhilarating. Tree after tree, branch after branch the children wove their way through the jungle's canopy.

"I think we have traveled far enough," Sweetoo yelled as he landed in the next tree. He clicked his tongue and Shadow descended their refuge first to make sure the coast was clear. On the ground, the monkey gave her companions the all clear signal. At least that's what Frankie assumed the noise she was making meant.

"Which way?" Frankie asked as his half-sock feet hit the soft grass. He worried they had gone in the wrong direction while in the trees. In response, Sweetoo pointed forward, in the same direction they were already moving up above. Dalilah and Shadow took to the lead again, running zig zag in front of the boys and Frankie removed his one sock, shoving it into his pocket, and jogging to catch up with Sweetoo.

"Do you have any siblings?" Frankie pointed to his sister and hoped Sweetoo understood.

"Yes," he answered and then chuckle. "I have six siblings. I'm the oldest."

"Cool, me too, but it's just me and Dee."

Sweetoo grunted and said, "All six are girls, too. My father thinks it is his payback from the gods for pulling little girls' hair in the village when he was a boy." Both guys enjoyed a wholehearted laughed, before Sweetoo let out an abrupt strangled noise. Frankie glanced to see what was wrong with his new friend when he heard Dee scream. His head whipped around just as she slipped into a huge mud pit. Shadow let out a howl and threw her white furry arms into the mud trying to reach Frankie's sister. "Tell her not to struggle," Sweetoo yell from behind Frankie. He'd taken off, racing toward his sister.

"Frankie I'm stuck," Dalilah wailed. He could see that the more she thrashed, the quicker she was submerging.

"Dee, stay still, I'm coming!" That was a silly thing to say, of course she was going to struggle. By the time Frankie reached the massive pit, only one of Dee's arms and her head were still above the mud, but she was losing the battle inch by inch. Shadow jumped out the way as Frankie came crashing to the ground, reaching for his sister. "Dee, give me your hand." Both of their arms flailed around, catching a whisper of contact each time. Frankie edged forward, slipping his arms into the warm wet ground. "Dalilah, stay still, you'll only sink faster." His sister was in a full blown panic attack, her face had gone beet-red and she screamed at the top of her lungs. All hopes of grabbing her one free arm sank like the Titanic. She was now submerged from the neck down. To the best of his ability, Frankie slithered further into the muck, waving his arms around trying to find any part of his sister to grab hold of. There was a tug, or so it felt like, around his midsection, but he ignored it. Dalilah was now blowing bubbles, her screams nothing more than a mumbled gurgle. "Crap," he hollered and dove deeper into the earth. At last he found something to latch on to. A half hysteric cry, half celebratory howl escaped from his lips as he tried to wiggle backwards.

"Do you have her?" called Sweetoo.

"Yes, I just need help pulling her out."

"Just don't let go. We'll have her out in no time."

With that, Frankie felt a sharp tug around his stomach. Whatever the other boy had done to his midsection seemed to be working. Between him wiggling backwards and the sharp tug to his gut, Dalilah's body slipped from the mud in no time. Once out of the pit his sister gasped for air, while Frankie cradled her in his lap, much like his mother used to do when Dee was a baby.

"Is she okay?" Sweetoo came and sat next to the siblings. Sweat trickled down his face as he reached over to untie the thick vine he had somehow wrapped around Frankie.

"I think so, thank you." Frankie looked from Sweetoo to Dee and then Shadow. She too had come to sit next to the group. The monkey cocked her head and examined Dalilah. There was concern in her stare and Frankie wondered just how much the creature understood what had happened. But then, he thought about the monkey's reaction and how she, too, had reached out for Dee, before he came to his sister's aid. "She's okay," he whispered to the pet. "And thank you." He wondered if Shadow understood. For a moment, her stare shifted to him, as if to say she understood and then her gaze rested back on Dee. To his surprise, the monkey's paw jutted out and swiped a handful of drying mud from Dalilah's leg and shoved it into her mouth. He grimaced, but then noticed that his sister was sucking on her muddy fingers. "Eww, Dee what are you doing?" He shifted his sister and made her stand so he could give her a onceover.

"It's chocolate," she mumbled as she moved from her fingers to her wrist.

Now the scent hit him, it was chocolate-dark, rich, melted, gooey chocolate. If it was any other occasion, he would have been in search of the biggest spoon he could find. And yet, today, he wasn't inclined to follow suit and self clean the chocolate from his body. He was happy to see that her near death experience hadn't jaded her feelings towards the sweet treat. With a sigh he asked, "Are you all right? I think we need to keep moving." Dee nodded, too busy indulging in the cleaning session she and Shadow were sharing. As he stood, he noticed a large shadow lurking on the side of the group. He gulped and tried to turn just his head. Off to the right stood the biggest bear he had ever seen. His hand twitched at his side, failing to get Sweetoo's attention. "Guys," his voice was strained, and it cracked stretching the word out. Sweetoo glanced up first. "We need to run." Frankie whispered in a rush. As if he didn't understand, Sweetoo gave him a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. "Th-th-ere's a b-b-bear over there." Frankie's head tilted in the direction the huge animal stood.

"Who, Hux?" Sweetoo asked. At the mention of Hux, the bear, stood on its two feet and roared, slashing its sharp claws through the air. Dee yelped and clung to Frankie's leg. And Frankie hoped that was just the chocolate from his sister seeping through his pants and not the fact that he peed himself. Sweetoo, who wasn't worried at all about the giant creature leaped to his feet and chuckled. "That," pointing to the bear, "is Hux and he said hello." Frankie glanced at the beast. It was at least two feet taller than his five foot ten inch frame. Hux took a step forward and Frankie, with his arm wrapped around his sister, took twice as big of a step backwards. "Don't be alarmed, my friend. If it wasn't for Hux here, we would still be pulling the little one from that pit." There was an air of confidence in Sweetoo's voice as he moved close to the bear. Frankie followed the vine that lay by his feet to the other end that was tied to the bear. They all watched as Sweetoo untied the green rope from the bear and the big creature lowered himself back to all fours. "This is Hux's territory. He and his family have always roamed this land. We are lucky he was wandering by and heard all the noise. I'm not sure I could have pulled the both of you to freedom." As he spoke, Shadow scampered over and with one arm pulled herself onto the bears back. She then began to search for bugs on Hux's furry back.

Dalilah separated herself from Frankie and stared at the bear and monkey in awe. Frankie knew what was coming before his sister even opened her mouth.

"Can I get on the bear too?"

How he knew she was going to ask that, he would never know. But he also knew if he told her no, he would never hear the end of it. His eyes met the bear's, and remembering what Sweetoo said about being able to communicate with all creatures, Frankie sighed and asked, "Is it okay if my sister rides on your back?" He felt dumb for asking and half expected the creature to stare at him as if he was speaking a foreign language-which he was. Yet, in response to his question, Hux leaned forward providing an easy access to his back. Dee squealed and raced for the bear. Frankie added chocolate, bear and monkey fur, missing socks (Although Dee made it out of the chocolate pit with her shell on, her socks had not) and a five year old hyped-up on sugar to the list of things to try and explain to his mother. "We really need to try and get home," he said to the group. Sweetoo nodded and began walking. Hux followed and with a delighted little girl and her monkey playmate hanging on for the ride, leaving Frankie to bring up the rear of the misfit group.

After what seemed like miles of walking Sweetoo held up his hand giving the silent command to halt. Frankie came to stand next to the native. "Is there something wrong," he questioned, glancing around in an effort the find why Sweetoo had stopped the group.

"We need to make sure it's free and clear for us to climb and collect the eggs." His hand pointed above their heads to the massive cliff that loomed over them. On top sat a tree that leaned over a gushing waterfall.

"We need to take the eggs from a nest?" Frankie asked in a panic. Had he known his day was going to go like this he would have volunteered to hang out in the hospital with his mother.

"Yes, this location is the only place the females lay their eggs."

"What kind of female? How big is the bird?"

"Bird? No, there is no nest. We are here to retrieve dragonfly eggs. Frankie and Dee frowned at each other. The sound of eating anything a dragonfly could produce churned Frankie's stomach. He was sure Dee's flip-flopped too.

"A dragonfly," he asked Sweetoo, spreading his arms out like wings. "How big are the dragonflies here?"

Sweetoo smiled and said, "Much larger than that," pointing to Frankie's outstretched arms. Frankie swallowed and glanced at the climb they had ahead of them. "Do not worry my friend, once the eggs are laid the female does not hover over them much. We should be able to get in and out with ease." Sweetoo slapped Frankie on his shoulder and walked over to Hux. "Little one, would you mind catching a ride on my back for a while?" Franklin watched as Dee smiled at the native and leaped from Hux to Sweetoo. They both laughed as the native stumbled backwards from Dee's weight. Frankie rolled his eyes. She was going to be so spoiled after this and would never want to walk again. Sweetoo then rubbed Hux behind his ear and said, "Thank you for your help, old friend. This climb will be too steep for you." The bear grunted raking his huge paw across the ground. Dust rose from the action and Frankie was sure he could taste dry cake mix. He too joined in and petted the bear. Giving up her search for bugs, Shadow jumped down and the smaller group started on their new adventure.

As they scaled up the side of the cliff, Frankie thought it smelled of toffee. From the corner of his eye, he watched his sister reach over Sweetoo's shoulder, break a piece of the golden goodness away from the cliff, and pop it into her mouth. His suspicions were confirmed. He started to tell her to keep both of her arms wrapped around Sweetoo's neck, but he was out of breath. He would never complain again about the rigorous exercises his track coach gave the team. Halfway up, he grabbed a loose chunk of toffee. A basketball size boulder broke from the cliff and plummeted to the ground, leaving Frankie dangling by one arm. He yelped and struggled to find a new spot to place his hand. His fingers on his right hand burned and ached as they took the brunt of his weight. Shadow, who was climbing to the left of Frankie's stretched offering her paw. The muscles in his right arm twitched as he swung to get closer to the monkey's paw. Once they connected, Shadow grunted as she found a niche in the cliff for Frankie to grasp. His feet soon found their placing again and he sighed pressing himself as close as possible to the side of the cliff.

"Frankie," Dee called, "Are you all right?"

He dared not turn to look at his sister, so he responded over his shoulder, "Yeah, I'm good." His heart slammed into the toffee, and he wondered if he would ever feel the same about eating a Heath Bar.

It took a few minutes for Frankie to regain his composure. Shifting, he peeled his cheek from the wall of toffee and turned to look at his sister and Sweetoo. They were whispering something between them.

When Dee caught his stare, she smiled and said, "Sweetoo believes the cotton candy smell is the water. I was trying to tell him what cotton candy taste like and he thinks it is the same as the water." Frankie looked past his sister and watched the rapid running water flow down the falls. "I wish our water tasted that sweet," Dee exclaimed.

"I do too," replied Frankie as he noticed how dry his throat was. What he wished for was a cup to dip in the water.

"Shall we keep going? Clouds are rolling in and it won't be good for us to be outside when it rains," Sweetoo warned.

In response, Frankie searched for the next groove to hoist himself to the top of the cliff.

Even Sweetoo was out of breath by the time they lifted themselves to the grassy plains on top of the cliff. The siblings buried their faces into the bubble gum scented grass and inhaled. This time Frankie was the first to yank a few strands of grass and popped them into his mouth. His mouth watered and his need for something to drink dissipated ever so slightly. After everyone caught their breath, Sweetoo rolled to his feet and clapped his hands together.

"Okay! I will climb up the tree and collect the eggs and throw them down to you." Frankie guessed that Sweetoo was giving him a break from climbing yet again. From the pouch sitting on his hip, Sweetoo revealed two sacks. He handed one bag to each of the siblings and turned to inch his way up the tree.

After few a minutes he called, "Ready?" Frankie situated himself in what he thought was the correct spot and said, "Let'em rip!"

"Let them what?" Sweetoo asked.

Frankie chuckled and then said, "Just throw them down." There was no response, but a grapefruit sized pink ball of goo came hurling toward him. The ball landed and stuck to his hand, letting his fingers slip within the first few layers. Franklin stared at the egg. It was light pink with darker pink circles going around the surface. He shook the egg and felt something slosh on the inside. No sooner had Frankie placed the egg in the sack another one came whizzing toward him. When the bag was filled to the brim, Sweetoo began tossing eggs to Dee. Of course, she missed the first one and it bounced collecting bits of grass as it rolled away. That didn't stop Sweetoo from letting go of the next one. While Dee opened her arms to attempt to catch it, Frankie jogged off to grab the errant egg. It came to rest near the waterfall. Water splashed him and the egg as he scooped it from the ground. A snarl rumbled behind him, causing him to drop the egg. "I really hope that's Hux," Frankie mumbled, yet, somehow he knew it wasn't. Spinning he came face to face with a lion. Are there more, he wondered. He knew there was nowhere for him to run. He was backed up to the edge of the waterfall. Frankie searched for his sister. He hoped that if Sweetoo hadn't already, that he would get his baby sister to safety. He also hoped his baby sister wouldn't witness the lion mauling him to death. And he hoped that one day Dalilah would make it home to their mother. The lion growled, taking another step forward. Its huge paw tore holes in the grass churning up chunks of dirt in its wake. Frankie took a shaky breath as he watched the glint of the lion's eyes shift. This was it! The lion was going to make a meal out of him. There was no tree for him to climb and if he jumped into the water, he doubted he would survive the fall. The water rushed by as fast as the class three white water rapids his parents never let him conquer.

As the big cat crept closer, a high pitch shriek sounded from around the tree. At first, Frankie thought it was another large animal coming to help finish him off, but Dalilah came barreling into sight. A crazed, borderline manic glare danced in her eyes. She moved so quick that she took the lion and Frankie by surprise. Everything happened in an instant and as the puzzle pieces fell into place, all Frankie could do was watch in horror as his five year old sister slammed her entire body into the lion, knocking the king of the jungle and herself over the cliff. Delilah's turtle shell was the last thing to disappear, the last thing Frankie tried to grasp. Without a thought, Franklin howled and jumped into the waterfall after his sister.

Water from the falls splashed him before he was consumed by the fast pace rapids. He fought hard to get his head above the water. He'd had little time to take a deep breath before he was pulled under. What little oxygen he did have was slipping from his lungs and his chest burned. Beams of light from the orange sun shot through the water as he worked his way to the surface. If he was struggling what did that mean for his sister? When his head broke free to the surface he gulped in the air. He drank the air as it was the water he so craved only a few minutes prior. Bobbing in the water, he tried to fight the current as he searched for Dalilah. He wanted to call her name, but every time he opened his mouth, cotton candy flavored water entered. Frankie zipped through the water, helpless, as he hoped that Dee was somewhere in front of him.

The water carried him for some distance before the current became more manageable. There was a lot of debris in this section of the river. It was then, drifting through the logs, branches and other plant life that he heard his name being called. Off to the right, his kid sister waved her hands trying to get his attention. She was alive! "Dee, Dee, I'm coming." Frankie shifted and began pushing through the mess to get to his sister. On closer inspection, he found that it was her shell that was keeping her in place. The elastic strap on her shoulder managed to catch a limb attached to the log keeping her afloat.

He released her from the dead trunk and wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her near. "What the hell were you thinking charging that lion?" he barked. His mother wouldn't be happy with his language but he didn't care.

"I didn't want it to hurt you," she replied against his chest.

He pulled Dalilah back and stared at her. Was this the same little girl who was afraid of the thunder and lightning a few hours ago? He laughed and drew her in for another hug.

"We need to get out of this water. Climb on," he said pointing to his back. "And I'll get us to land."

A few strokes later Dalilah pulled herself onto the shore and then reached out to help Frankie get out of the water too. Had she not just knocked a lion off of a cliff for him, he would have told her to get out of the way so he could pull himself up. Instead, he took her hand, but still tried hard not to yank her back into the water in the process. They both breathed a sigh of relief and laid on the ground letting what little bit of sun that was left dry them.

The earth shook as something big ran toward them, causing both kids to sit up. Hux came rushing forth, with Sweetoo and Shadow clinging to him.

"Thank the gods," cried Sweetoo. He bounded from the bear before the creature could slow down. The sacks Sweetoo carried fell and he dropped into a roll that flipped into a sprint from the momentum of his leap. He came to a stop just in front of the siblings and threw his arms around them pulling them into a bear hug. They all laughed and jumped in their tight little circle.

"How did you find us?" Dee asked. The group let go and Sweetoo pointed to Hux. "You'll have to thank him. He was waiting at the bottom of the cliff and as soon as I was able to climb down he raced along the water until we found you."

"What happen to the lion?" Sweetoo turned and looked at Frankie.

"He missed the water and hit the ground."

Frankie was glad Sweetoo didn't go into details. He nodded and walked over to the bear to scratch him behind the ear. Hux seemed to understand Frankie's silent thanks and butted his brown head into Frankie's side.

The kids stood there for a while, petting both animals, but as the last of the sun disappeared behind black storm clouds, Sweetoo said, "We need to head to my family's hut. I don't like those clouds." As if the kids needed anymore of a reason to get moving, the wind began to whirl around them. Dalilah and Frankie both hugged Hux while Sweetoo collected his sacks from the ground. He waved to Hux, promising to see him later and then led the group in the direction of his home. While they walked, Shadow decided to catch a ride on Frankie's shoulder. He wondered if the monkey still thought he was mean. In response to his thoughts, the monkey began picking through his hair looking for any bugs. Frankie chuckled, wondering if Shadow had really understood the thoughts he hadn't spoken.

"My village and hut are right over this hill," Sweetoo stated as the group ascended the incline. At first, a few rain drops fell, and then it picked up to a light sprinkle. The friends was about halfway up the hill when the skies opened up and rain came down in sheets. It was hard to see through the gray curtain that covered their view. It reminded Frankie of the storm back home. A lightning bolt struck meters away from them, causing the kids to run. Left and right, right and left lightning slammed into the ground like a person standing barefoot in a room full of exploding firecrackers. They entered the village and a lightning bolt illuminated the scattered huts across the land. No one was outside as the kids raced between the huts. "There, my home is straight ahead," yelled Sweetoo over the rumble of the thunder. Through the grayness, Frankie could see a warm glow emitting from under the doorway of the house in their path. Sweetoo reached the hut first, flinging the door open a bright burst of light blinded Frankie as they tumbled through the entrance.

The kids rolled across the ground, all groaning, and moaning from the rough landing. The bright light faded and Frankie thought, what was that? His eyesight adjusted to the room and he glanced around. They were back in his father's office, back home.

"Franklin, Dalilah?" called their mother. "Guys, where are you?" Frankie could hear the worry in her voice. He found his sister lying next to him. Even after her ride through the falls and the pouring rain, she still had chocolate on her. She sat up and rubbed her head and Sweetoo rolled over revealing a wet monkey clinging to his chest. Frankie didn't remember the monkey leaving his shoulder but guessed it had to have happened before they ran into the house. He watched as his new friends eyed their surroundings. Sweetoo's chest rose and fell fast with each intake of air as he realized they were not in his family's hut.

"Franklin, answer me," his mother called. Outside of the room, she moved across the hallway. "Why is the front door open?"

Frankie jumped to his feet, followed by Dalilah and Sweetoo. His heart pounded as he made his way to the closed office door.

"And there's a mess all over the floor," his mother shrieked.

Frankie snorted, more out of nervousness than anything else. Wait until she sees Shadow and Sweetoo, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he yanked the office door open and prepared to tell her about the adventure he and Dalilah had while she was gone.

Note from the author: I hope you enjoys this collection of short stories. I always look forward to hearing from my readers. Visit either my Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/ellearose2012 Or Twitter: @Elle_A_Rose. Thank you and I look forward to your response.
About the Author

Elle A. Rose is the author of The Chronicles of Amber Harris series, Hideaway Hill Frozen, and Wayward Love. Her books are available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords in paperback and ebook. Rose is an avid reader who also enjoys hanging out with family and friends or relaxing while watching TV. When she's not doing all of the above her head is in the clouds.

Elle is currently working on book three of The Chronicles of Amber Harris and a new romance. She would love to connect with you. Feedback is always welcome. Find her on:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Elle_A_Rose

Facebook: www.facebook.com/ellearose2012

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/ElleARose

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ElleARose

