The Fiendish Creature

"Please", she begged him. "Please, you can't go in there."

The boy looked at her, hesitation washing over his face. He tilted his head in confusion.

"That place is...", she lowered her voice into a barely audible whisper "... haunted."

The boy broke eye contact to observe the playground, whose gate stood only a few steps away. It was bustling with activity. The air was filled with laughter and squeals of delight as children ran, jumped, and explored the colorful equipment, occasionally falling onto the soft springy ground. A line had started to form to go down the tallest slide.

"I don't understand", he mumbled sadly. "Everyone seems to be having fun."

The woman continued in her hushed tone. "No, you mustn't trust your eyes. These are poltergeists, imps, fiendish creatures! They can lift the veil between our realms and cast illusions to attract new unsuspecting souls."

The boy furrowed his brow and studied the woman's face. Her terrified pleading eyes were so intensely fixated on him that he, too, began to feel afraid.

"You understand me, yes?", she continued, gently relieved. "Not everything is as it seems. Don't let them fool you."

But the boy kept staring, the terrifying realization slowly bubbling and churning inside him. The woman nodded apprehensively.

"Such an abominable sight, isn't it? I'm glad you see things clearly. I'm glad I got to you in time. Every child's soul is precious, but yours especially so."

She took a step towards him. The boy took a step back.

"Don't be difficult. You shouldn't stay here, it isn't safe."

Another step forward. And another step back.

The woman's face contorted in pain and bewilderment as her whispers took on an aggressive edge. "What are you doing? I thought... But, don't you understand? You must go, run, now!"

She reached for his arm. He dodged her easily.

"They're out to get you, Hunter! It's not safe here! IT'S NOT SAFE!", the woman suddenly raised her voice to a shriek, her arms flailing wildly in all directions.

"Is everything alright?" a male voice asked. They both looked up to meet the gaze of a concerned parent. Hunter recognized the little red-headed girl who held on tight to the man's sweater. She had just been building neat castles in the sandbox.

"Everything's fine, Sir", he cut in hastily, before the woman had a chance to speak. "I'm just acting up, I'm sorry."

As the man began to narrow his eyes in suspicion, Hunter locked arms with the woman and dragged her away.

"Shhh... It's okay, everything is gonna be alright. I get it now, I really do. Let's just get you home, Mom."

Good Girls

"Can I have another one?", Bella asked meekly as she licked her fingers, sticky with sweet gooey indulgence.

"No sweetie, not tonight. You know the rules..."

Bella sighed, resigned, as Mama placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Off to bed now, you! Tomorrow's another day. Be a good girl and you might just..."

"Get another treat?" Bella asked, confident in her answer.

"That's right, love! Good girls get treats!"

Mama was right, of course. She always was. Bella could feel her eyelids growing heavy. She nodded, sleepily, and raised her arms to be picked up and carried off to bed.

"I'll leave the night light on, baby." Mama whispered, after tucking Bella in. She was just about to leave the room when the girl mustered enough strength to ask.

"Did Papa like the treasure I brought him from the beach today?"

"But of course, little angel. He's so proud of you... And so am I!"

Bella yawned, satisfied. "Is he still working?"

"Yes, dear. You know how he always stays up late on days such as these. Now shhh... Sleep. I'll take you to the zoo tomorrow. Maybe you can find another treasure there!"

Bella nodded obediently and Mama left the room. Drowsily, she looked up at her bedroom's ceiling, covered in glow-in-the-dark stars.

"We'll place one up there for each treasure you bring us!" Papa had said with a wink, before ruffling her hair. And look at it now! There must have been dozens of soft glowing stickers up there. So many, in fact, that the novelty had worn off.

Noticing her sudden lack of enthusiasm, Mama had started serving her ice cream after dinner instead – but only when she was a good girl. Bella licked her lips, wondering what tomorrow's flavor would be. She was sure she would never ever get tired of ice cream.

Sighing contentedly, she closed her eyes and slowly began drifting off to sleep. As they often did, the day's events flooded the corners of her consciousness. It had been such a good day. She always had a great time at the beach. Plus, it was so easy to find treasures there, there were so many just waiting to be coaxed from the sand or the waves of the ocean. And they were so much easier to snatch than at the playground, or at the mall.

Bella understood why Papa liked them so much, but she had no idea what he did with them, only that they all disappeared into his office and were always gone the very next day. At first, she had often asked to keep them, but it was against the rules. Still, she wished at least some of them could stay.

It would be nice to have other good girls to play with, sometimes.

Premonitions

I was 6 years old when I had my first precognitive dream. 

I saw hurried feet coming to a halt at a bus stop. There was something small in the corner of the bench; something round and frizzy. Approaching it with caution, I saw it was a severed head. I woke up in a sweat, completely terrified. A few days later, while waiting for the school bus, I found a beautiful lone doll; her hair slightly in disarray. 

 These premonitions always come in black and white, as if to distinguish themselves from normal every night dreams. They’re always strange and vague in nature; their meaning often unclear until the incidents come to pass. Perhaps ironically, their frequency is completely unpredictable – I can go years without them, only to have them for a fortnight straight. 

 I was scared of these dreams for ages; afraid that they might reveal some deep dark secret, or anticipate a horrible catastrophe. The truth is, despite their nightmarish appearance, they are hardly foreboding at all. In fact, they’ve only ever shown me the most mundane of things. 

 Another example: one night, right before I turned 11, I found myself helplessly trapped in a maze-like museum, full of eccentric fixtures and the most outrageous wall-paper. Soon afterwards, on the day of my birthday, I was given a toy house as a present. It was remarkably intricate, with an endless amount of rooms, and filled to the brim with detailed miniature furniture. Perhaps most revealing of all, it came wrapped in the exact same pattern that decorated the museum walls of my dream. 

I’ve been having a persistent dream recently, after many years of what I jokingly call “dreamers’ block”. It’s so pleasant this time, quite without its usual eerie and mysterious aura. I’m simply floating in still shimmering waters, the sun gently caressing my skin. I always wake up rather delighted, even if a bit disappointed, because it never fails to remind me that I can’t swim. 

Anyhow, it’s not like I’m afraid of water; and it won’t stop me from enjoying our honeymoon cruise. These ships are floating luxury hotels, employing rigorous safety protocols and equipment. 

It’s virtually unthinkable that ours should sink.

A Modern Fairy-tale

My worst suspicions were confirmed when my husband confessed that he was cheating on me. Despite my best and often humiliating efforts to win him back, he remained unmoved in his decision to divorce me.

What people describe as heartbreak felt more like a million glass shards piercing and twisting in my chest. I lost an alarming amount of weight in record time, because I couldn’t bring myself to eat. I couldn’t sleep much either, often awakening from anxious nightmares, my body shaking as if I had been standing naked in freezing cold. I was like a broken record, constantly bursting into tears and wailing about my failed marriage. I couldn’t even focus at my job, spending all my working hours lost in prayer instead. Of course, what little faith I had was all but destroyed when I got fired.

The good thing about hitting rock bottom is that it can’t get any worse. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the tides started to turn.

Niles came into my life at the best possible moment. What initially started as a meaningless flirtatious distraction, soon bloomed into something more. Like a knight in shining armor, he rescued me from a bottomless pit of despair. Slowly but steadily, he brought new meaning into my life. No matter how miserable I felt, he could always make me laugh. We talked for hours on end, shared recipes and music, and watched movies together. Most of all, we made plans and dreamed of the day when we would finally hold each other.

Ours is a modern fairy-tale. We met online, on a cheesy dating website. Of course, at first, I was very wary. He seemed too good to be true, so I worried that he might be a catfish – one of those heartless creeps who get off on seducing women with fake pictures and a perfectly manufactured persona. Luckily, that was not the case at all! Our first video call, meant only as a safeguard, ended up lasting the whole day. Being a continent apart didn’t stop us from falling in love. We were yet to meet in person, but the countless hours we spent together, glued to our screens, were more than enough proof for me that we were soulmates.

They were enough proof for him as well; he couldn’t wait to make things official! Still, he agreed when I suggested that we should meet before telling friends and family. In my experience, people can be pretty judgmental. Besides, you don’t ever get a second chance at first impressions. So, before I knew it, he was on a plane, heading to this side of the pond.

Niles was everything I thought he would be. Things were bit awkward a first, but we’re now so happy together. The mere thought of losing him is enough to send me into a frenzy, but it’s been a while since he last mentioned going back!

He’s been shackled for months now; Stockholm Syndrome must be kicking in! ♥

A Much Simpler Time

My kids might just be the happiest in the world!

They compare metal lunch boxes, gloat over their cute pet rocks, and obsess over their color mood rings all the time. They listen to their cassettes and play Pong in their Atari, without ever getting bored. It’s usually so difficult to get a hold of the "next it thing", but I always do my best.

They cross the days off the calendar, impatient for Saturday morning to arrive. It’s their one chance to watch cartoons, because they’re not available all the time. They discuss their favorite Charlie’s Angel while waiting for Schoolhouse Rock! to start, carefully adjusting the antenna for the best possible reception.

They learn so much from TV, even the commercials are wholesome! Filling their mouths with Pop Rocks, they avoid soda at all costs – say it’s a deadly combination! When they grow up, they want to work for NASA, so they always ask for Tang. I've forgotten so many things; see that’s the drink of astronauts!

Their bowl cuts are not the most flattering, but it’s what they wanted to get. Their basketball shorts are a bit too tight; the tube socks a bit too stretched... but that's the price for looking cool. Our household is quite relaxed, anyway. I don’t enforce that many rules. Just “tell the truth”, “pick after yourselves”, and “no begging to play outside”.

Every day, after I kiss them goodnight, I make sure the door is locked. That’s when I check my phone and read the daily news.

The world of today is such a terrible place. Best keep them in the 70s, a much simpler time.

Religious Man

Victor is not a religious man. He prides himself on being a man of science and logic; a rational man without the need for any frivolous dogma or faith. He has never uttered a silent prayer, set foot on any house of worship, nor read a page from any holy book.

Victor is not a religious man. He is a medical researcher, a biologist, an inventor. Even after the accident that robbed him of his family, he never sought comfort in any higher power. Instead, he buried himself in his work. He worked tirelessly, without ever stopping for rest. In the end, their replicas were perfect. His wife; his two children - living, breathing and flawless again.

Victor is not a religious man; he does not know that he should be.

He thought he could play God, but no soul can ever escape Hell.

Only we can.

June 6, 2020

It’s already 11:38. Tonight is freaking cold even though it’s almost summer. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been spelled out for me, though.

“I just finished my shift; the graveyard shift at the drugstore down the block. I’ve made it through the day, and all I want is to go home and get some shut-eye. I know it’s Saturday and all, but I won’t fool around. Tomorrow’s my mama’s birthday. She’s 50 years old; I really want to be there for her.”

I should have put it down; gotten rid of it. But my house is just around the corner. Some people call it a safe-haven, whatever. I ain’t the one for fancy words, but I get it now.

“Look, I’m not a reader, alright? I hadn’t picked up a book since high school. Actually, scratch that – I’m pretty sure I didn’t pick up a book even while I was in high school. Books ain’t my thing. I only got this one to impress that chick, Lily I think she said her name was. She said she worked at this book shop; that I should stop by sometime. Recommended this book specifically too, you know? Normally I wouldn’t read it, but she’s way out of my league. So I thought screw it, why not, it’s not even that long.”

My voice echoed into the night. Everything’s been right so far, down to the last detail. The power shortage, the inexplicable stench down the street, the junk e-mail about some new church. But most of it is personal.

“I ain’t nobody, man. I mean, Sir... M’am? I’m just some boring guy, yeah? Nothing special ‘bout me.”

It’s my own story; the main character is me. And the last line is a killer:

“Butchered on the way home, on June 6, 2020”

A Late Bloomer

Ava is the apple of our eye. We’d been trying to conceive for nearly 3 years when Bridgette finally got pregnant. The day we found out was the happiest of our life, second only to when we welcomed our daughter into the world.

She brought so much joy into our lives; our little miracle. I’ll never forget that heart-melting first smile; her first real belly laugh; the day when she first rolled over and crawled. Before we knew it, she was eating solid foods and sleeping through the night. We enjoyed each and every moment of our first year of parenthood, and often found ourselves wishing that time would slow down.

“Our prayers have been answered!”, Bridgette whispers time and time again, as she gently tucks our baby doll in her crib. I have tried to voice my concerns numerous times, but my wife always insists that our little Ava is just a late bloomer. She isn’t at all bothered that she is yet to learn more than a few words, or take her first steps. “She’ll get there, give it time! One day you’ll miss picking her up and carrying her around!”

I always stay behind after Bridgette slips out of the nursery. Every night, she kisses me and smiles that sweet smile of hers. It never fails to make my heart beat faster, even after all these years. “She’s sleeping peacefully. Be careful not to wake her, alright?”

Bridgette thinks it’s endearing that I like to watch our daughter sleep; our tiny angel lost in her tiny world of dreams. It breaks my heart, but I love her and I’d do anything for her sake. I wait until she runs her bath before approaching the crib, and quickly changing Ava’s batteries.

My loving wife, so fragile and innocent. Sometimes I think it’s a blessing she can’t remember the fire.

Fido

There’s something wrong with Fido. He hasn’t really been the same since he came back.

We’ve had a few pets over the years, but Fido is my all-time favorite. He’s very docile and sociable, though I suspect he suffers from separation anxiety to some degree. It’s probably Mom’s fault. She doesn’t allow for indoor animals, so we have to keep him in the barn. He used to whine and howl through the night, but eventually got used to it.

He’s really intelligent too, as evidenced by how quickly he can learn new tricks. So far, we’ve taught him to roll over, sit pretty and play dead! Dad says he’s a bit too smart, though, because he can be a little manipulative. For example, he knows I can hardly resist his large puppy eyes, so he begs for treats at every opportunity. The doctor said we much watch his weight, but I sneak him an extra bone every once in a while!

Fido can also be a bit mischievous. I’ve caught him digging under the door once, trying to escape. We had to keep him in a crate for a little while after that. He’s my best friend, so it was really difficult for me to see him locked up like that. When we finally let him out, he immediately snuggled up to us, as if to show that he was sorry. Didn’t I say he was smart?

Anyway, we were walking him one day when his collar broke. Before we could do anything about it, he took off and ran into the woods. I was really heartbroken, all the time wondering if we’d ever see him again. The whole neighborhood offered to help, which was honestly very nice. Ms. Agatha even let me keep her own pet for a while. “Just until your little darling returns”, she said with a wink. He was no Fido, so much more aggressive and defiant, but it was a nice gesture anyway.

We found him just over a week ago, all muddy, with matted hair, and so hungry he struggled to walk. We’ve been extra nice to him since, but I can tell he’s still a bit shaken. I’m sure he’ll bounce back soon, though!

He’s such a good little boy!

The New Neighbors

Our town has a bad reputation which, if you ask me, is totally undeserved. Our family has lived here for ages, and we’ve never had any trouble. Sure, things aren’t exactly what they used to be; some of the nearby houses are a bit run down, and the all all-you-can-eat buffet down the street has had to close due to lack of a reliable delivery system. Still, living here has plenty of perks! Despite its long history and rich tradition, it’s a very progressive place, and entirely free of religious influence. Plus, there’s hardly any traffic – which is why it was so easy to spot when the new family moved in.

I was very excited at the prospect of new neighbors, but Papa insisted I wait until the next evening to go and greet them. “Give them some space, will you Mercy? You can’t just close in on them like that, give them some time to settle down.” he hissed, annoyed. Utter rubbish, of course, but I knew better than to argue with him.

The thing about Papa is that he’s a firm believer in “early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." That, and he sleeps like the dead. So, once he retired for the day, I took off and made my way to the old Victorian house the new family had moved into. It was a formidable place, though a bit cliché, even for our neighborhood.

“Hello there! Sorry to be dropping by so late, but I wanted to make sure you felt welcomed from day one.” I said as an elderly couple came to greet me at the door.

“Why, what a lovely young lady. We do so appreciate your coming!” the gentleman started, offering me his hand. “The lack of neighborly kindness was one of the reasons why we chose to leave the city. Everything’s so impersonal these days, isn’t it?”

“We were just about to have supper, dearie!” his wife chimed in. “It isn’t much, we weren’t expecting any visitors so soon.”

“Oh, no, I’d hate to impose!” I said, sensing where this was going.

“Nonsense, we’d love for you join us! Please, won’t you come in?” the gentleman added, beckoning me inside.

“I’m so glad you asked!” I said, stepping past the threshold.

They weren’t exactly fresh blood, but they would do.

A Parent's Hope

Today is the 15th anniversary of Maddox’s disappearance.

It feels like only yesterday that our son seemingly vanished without a trace. I’ll never forget the terrifying moment when we first realized that he was gone. My husband and I hurried to file a police report, and felt utmost powerless as we wondered whether their investigations would bear fruit. Hours turned into days, which turned into weeks, which turned into months. Each night we felt crushed under the powerful fists of fear and doubt, but each day we renewed our commitment to cling on to hope.

Losing a child this way is a truly lonely experience, which no one can really understand or relate to. The worst part was the incessant media scrutiny. Nowadays we realize we should be thankful, for it encouraged us to make use of every resource available to us. We sought solace in therapy and support groups, which somewhat sheltered us from the judgement in some people’s eyes and their silent accusations. 

There were many times when we thought of moving to a different city. The idea of a fresh start, away from all the painful memories, was so very tempting. But, ultimately, we couldn’t. We knew it in our bones that our son was still out there.

As the years went by, life went on. We’ve come to realize that time doesn’t actually heal all wounds, but it does make everything more bearable. We’ve slowly allowed ourselves to rebuild, and even feel some measure of happiness again. But 15 years of tentative recovery all came crashing down with a simple phone call.

“Mom?” My heart stopped. It was unmistakably his voice, his sweet childish tone, as if no time had passed at all. “Mommy, I’m coming home!” he cheerfully declared, before hanging up the phone.

My blood turned to ice as I looked through the window, to the place where we’d buried his tiny mangled body.