CLICK! The sound of the chamber slotting into place seems much louder than it should within this noisy room. Perhaps it’s the weight of the moment, shining through in auditory protest, reminding me that I should be terrified. As though I need any added reason to be more on edge than I already am. Sadistic eyes watch me intensely from the surrounding crowd. Their brains ticking, wondering if I will go through with it or take the loss and leave with my life. But I am not here for myself. I am here for her. For her soft soul, her kind spirit, her joyous blue eyes. She who showed me what true unconditional love was the moment I held her fragility in my calloused hands, and in every moment since. I look across the table in front of me, to the man sitting on the other side. Sweat drips from his brow and he looks down towards the tool of destruction that he holds in his shaky hands. His eyes are wild with fear and determination. “This is your last chance” the announcers voice booms from the side. The man addresses the crowd just as much as he is addressing us. Even if this is just some seedy underground entertainment for the far too wealthy. It is still a show, and the show must go on. “You have both managed to make it through four rounds. There are only two chambers left. Do both of you have what it takes to face it, knowing there is a fifty fifty chance that it will mean your death?” He continues, adding intrigue to his voice as though he were hosting a regular prime time game show, and not this horror show of sick human curiosity. I could leave here right now, my life intact. But the only way to ensure payment is to stay. Even if I die here tonight. My family will be compensated. A lesser amount than if I survive, but enough to cover the cost of her medical treatments. Enough to save her life. My ears tune back in just as the announcer turns to the man across from me. “Will you stay?” He asks the man. The man nods. He glances my way, directly into my eyes. It hits me hard, making me feel as though we have shared something important. A secret understanding that only people who have been in this bizarre set of circumstances could possibly understand. I feel like I know him in that moment, he is me, and my heart aches for what desperation must have brought him into this depraved den of theatre. “Will you stay?” He asks me this time, and I feel my voice begin to betray me as I try to speak. So instead, I nod solemnly. The crowd cheers, the sound makes me feel sick to my stomach. It is a strange feeling to be so repulsed yet grateful at the same time. “Raise your weapons!” the announcer instructs. My hand trembles as I reach for the revolver on the table in front of me. The man across from me is already positioned with the barrel to his head. I envy his resolve in this moment I lift the revolver and turn it in the light. There are blood spatters along both it, and my hands. Blood from those who had failed in the earlier rounds. Well, at least from the ones that had been sitting closest to me. The rest of it was on the ground or the table. The hosts had enough consideration to remove the bodies, but not to clean up the excess remains. I place the barrel of the revolver to my head, and the announcer starts to count down. “10…” My wife will hate me for this. But deep down I know that she will be able to go on living without me. “9…” I don’t think I could say the same if she lost our little girl. I fear that she would just, cease to be. “8…” My life for both of theirs, it doesn’t seem like such a bad trade really. “7…” Focus! Focus on her. Focus on the good moments. It might be the last time I ever get to think about them. “6…” Teaching her to walk, watching her discover the world and being in absolute awe over even the most simple of things. “5…” Hearing her say my name for the first time. “4…” Warm weekend cuddles in bed,reading books and playing pretend. “3…” Dancing to that weeks favourite song for the 200th time. But watching her enjoy it as though it were the first time. “2…” Watching her never lose her light, even in the face of her diagnosis and what it might mean. “1…” I have to do this. For her. I open my eyes, blurry and watery with tears, and look directly at the crowd. Some of them look away as my eyes lock on theirs, others just stare straight back. BANG! I hear the gunshot come from my side. I don’t even have to look to know that the man across from me is no longer on this plane of existence. My eyes settle on the announcer and I stare into his eyes. I open my mouth and let out the most guttural cry my lungs can muster. And then I pull the trigger.

I reach for the calm inside of me, but my nerves betray me and i find none. No matter how long I have prepared for this moment, I don't think anything could have truly prepared me for the rush of anxious energy that pumps through my body now. As I walk through the door, I hear the soft piano music rising and falling in the background. People shuffle about, quietly talking amongst themselves. Even though we are in his home, it feels like a hospital ward. The air is cool and dry, making my contact lenses feel scratchy and uncomfortable almost instantly. A sharp and sterile undertone lingers here. One that all of the tactfully placed scented candles, still can't completely obscure. It smells like death. But this is not the death he deserves. Surrounded by people who respect him, people that might even love him, or at least some who fear him. Reassuring him of how revered and important he was in this life. Instead, he deserves the same emptiness that my mother must have felt as her intestines spilt from her belly. As she was left bleeding and alone on the cold tile floor. “You’re late girl.” A voice snaps from beside me, yanking me from my thoughts. I turn to face the woman, my employer, who gestures towards the kitchen in annoyance. I offer up an apologetic smile. “Sorry ma’am.” I say before quickly moving off in the direction she indicates. As i circulate the room offering platters of eclectic foods to the guests, I listen in on the conversations. Some talk of how sad the occasion is. Others talk in far more hushed tones about how arrogant it is for him to have a party for his own impending death. Some even stop talking completely as I move towards them, likely conspiring as to how this death will best benefit them. I watch him as I move, like a wildcat stalking its prey. But there isn't much left to prey on anymore. He looks so weak, so fragile. Laying in his bed, unable to really speak any longer due to the extensive surgery and radiation that his throat had endured. Guests come up to him and offer kind words, taking his hand. He smiles and nods, squeezing their hands in return, feigning a laugh as best as he can, as they share their memories with him. Still playing to his reputation. He would never want to appear scared, even in the face of death. As the day winds down, I find a moment to slip out unseen and into a guest bedroom a few doors over. I hole up in the spacious closet. All that is in here are sports clothing, tennis racquets, and shoes. I don't think anyone will be coming for them anytime soon, given his current state. So I get comfortable and wait as the hours pass. After the music has long ceased and the sound of people talking has faded away, I decide to emerge from my temporary hideout. I slip quietly into the lounge area which is now his makeshift bedroom. He is awake. He doesn't notice me at first, his attention too transfixed on the tv that flickers light over his form in the dark room. I approach from the right and step into his view. It has been 10 years since he has seen me. This is not the way I wanted things to end, with him having one foot already out the door. My original plan was much more intricate and long term. However, plans change like the tides when it comes to the surprises of life. His brow furrows as he tries to get a better look at me in the darkness. I oblige, stepping forwards and leaning closer to him so that he can see my face. His eyes search it, and I wait for the recognition in them. It doesn’t come, there is only confusion. My dark hair, dark eyes, and the time that has passed have done their job too well it seems. I hear movement from behind me, followed by a familiar voice. “ma'am, what are you doing?” his son demands. I stand up straight, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he moves closer. As i stand, the man notices the thing I am holding in my left hand, against my chest. It is my mothers necklace. She wore it everywhere in life. He had gifted it to her, having the pendant uniquely crafted for her by a renown jeweler. It really was beautiful, one of a kind. I watch as it dawns in his eyes. The realisation hits him like a bullet. Understanding, followed by fear. This is what I wanted, this moment, I want him to know who I am. He killed my mother, and he ordered the same fate for me. Luckily that part hadn't quite taken. Before he can offer warning, I swing around and my knife finds its mark in the flesh of his sons neck. His only son. I know that more than dying itself, the idea leaving behind no legacy, knowing that his name will be lost to the ages, is the thing that he fears most, obscurity. The part of me that should feel guilt, should feel remorse, is gone. I had watched for too long from a distance while this boy had slowly become a man. While he became twisted and bent into a shape that was too sickeningly close to that of his fathers. The world would be better with him gone. He lets out what sounds like a wheeze. I look back to him, and the sounds of his sons gurgling blood becomes our background music. I can see it in his eyes. The maliciousness, the hate, it still resides there. He is a vicious storm that rages inside the frailty of a paper lantern. I turn and begin to walk away, leaving him with two words. "Goodbye, Father."

They called the event Masquer-aid. It was sickeningly marketable. A party for a cause. Instead of masks that went around the eyes, everyone was required to wear standard face masks that would be modified in a similar style to the normal fashion of a masquerade ball, to stand out and be dazzling. Pandemic precautions were taken before this evenings event. Everyone was required to self quarantine for three weeks beforehand. A concierge doctor was also sent to all guests homes the day prior, in order to administer testing. I have never been to a ball before. I wouldn't even be invited to this one if it weren't for my job. I am to report back to my paper about all the grand and wonderful things that the Fiori's are doing to help the community by throwing this gala. I roll my eyes at the thought. I am glad that people who need it will be helped through this event, however the insincerity of it all still bothers me. They only seem to be doing this to mitigate the backlash from their partygoing children. To show that they care about the struggles that the pandemic is causing. The night air is chill, part of me begins to regret that I didn't choose a dress with long sleeves, until the moment that I pass through the main arched entryway. Warmth envelopes me, the warm light of the building, the warmth of laughter and conversation, the faint sounds of merry string instruments drifting from further inside. I feel taken aback, I had forgotten how wonderful it could feel to actually be around people that were having a good time. The guilt hits me straight after, like a blow to the stomach. I had just been thinking about how unnecessary this all is, and here I am excited by it? The hypocrisy of my own thoughts baffle me sometimes. I hand my invitation to the man by the entry and he motions for me to enter "Miss Vera Langston." The man announces loudly as I enter the main hall. People turn to look at me and I feel myself shrinking on the inside. How do people feel that they have so much importance that their very entry into a room warrants this kind of attention? I avoid all eye contact and begin descending the stairs to the main floor. At the bottom, a man standing to the side holds out some hand sanitiser. I lift my hands, letting him squeeze the gel onto each of my palms. Then I begin the practiced routine of rubbing between my fingers, over the backs of my hands, up over my wrists. Even this hand sanitiser isn't normal, I note, it is scented somehow, almost floral. Smells like wealth. I pause for a moment, allowing myself to take in the grandeur of the scene before me. Large columns stretch from the floor to the ceiling. Arching between is intricately detailed stained glass, light reflecting into them on the exact right angles to make them give off an almost magical glow. On the inside of the pillars there are two steps that lead down to a large dancefloor. And on the outside are all of the tables, the seating spaced apart meticulously. On the dancefloor itself there is a subtle grid, presumably one and a half meters apart. Couples are meant to occupy the space within every second square. I was relieved when I found out that I only had one invitation. This meant I wouldn't have to talk anyone into enduring my two left feet for the night. As I head towards my designated table, I look over the face masks of the other guests. I embellished mine myself, adding gems and feathers that wing out to the sides of my black mask. Some wear a more modest mask like mine, while other guests have far more elaborate detailing. Some curl up and around one eye from the bridge of the nose. Others spike up and fan out over the forehead. Some even look as though things are growing from them. It is amazing, and at the same time, bizarre to see. I sit down and smile a little at the thought of reputable fashion designers working away on face masks, day in and day out. All so that the men and women of high society could continue their never ending fight to have the best. They would likely have spent more on getting their masks designed than they would be spending on the charity tonight. I catch myself in the thought, it wasn't fair to paint all of the social elite with the same brush. I am sure there are a lot of them out there who genuinely care and want to help. Before I even have a moment to relax and enjoy the soft and wonderful music, there is a hand on my shoulder. "uhhh, we are not supposed to come in physical contact with anyone that we did not come to the ball with." I say as I turn to look up at the person. But they are gone, a scraping sounds to my other side and I turn back to see a man pulling a chair up, right beside mine. "Your memory must be failing you. I was with you on the car ride over." he says. Though I can't see his mouth I can tell by his eyes, that he is smiling. "Plus, we have already been in contact now, so we may as well just keep one another company for the night." He says slyly as he pulls his mask forward a little to pop an appetiser from the table into his mouth. I look at him incredulously, he just took one of my appetisers. "Who are you?" I demand. "My name is Lincoln Fiori" he says with far too much confidence. I roll my eyes, clearly not the reaction he was expecting. "Yep, that tracks" I say with a sigh.

The rain thrums hard against the metal roller door, interrupted only by a hiss of releasing air pressure as my knife punctures the top of the aluminium can. Baked beans again. The smell causes the pit of my stomach to churn with nausea. It's hard to remember that there ever was a time when I actually enjoyed them. A time before the world went to hell. Before canned foods became my main source of sustenance. Food was only for fuel now. There was no enjoyment to be taken from it anymore, only energy. I wolf down the contents of the can as quickly as I can manage and then wash it down with some water. One good thing about the rain at least, was that there would be no shortage of water for the next few days. Not that I need enough for a few days now, I only need enough for one. One more day. I feel the anxious and excited energy bubble in my chest. Grabbing my bag I reach in and pull out a plastic pouch which is tightly sealed, as to remain water tight. Inside the bag is a postcard. It is a little hard to see, but I manage as I hold it up to the moonlight that shines through the window. Luckily It is a full moon tonight. "We are here, find us!” The words look hastily scribbled in large red marker across the back. The message sits on top of the original writing on the postcard. General sentiments like "Wish you were here," "We miss you!" and "Flynn caught a fish today, he wants you to know that it was a really big one!" I smile, remembering the picture that was eventually shown to me of Flynn and his fish, which was ultimately, quite tiny. But he was so proud. The front of the postcard shows a picturesque image of a mountain range with "Fallview Mountains" printed in the bottom left. My wife and I had purchased a little cabin up in those exact mountains, right by a lake and a river that flowed with fresh spring water. We had been taking Flynn there at least once every year since he was only 2 years old. She must have taken him there when everything began happening. I can only hope that they made it. I tuck the postcard away beside the other watertight bag that contains all the photographs I could find in the house. I want to keep them safe, I know my wife probably felt sick about having to leave them. I was just glad she found time to leave the postcard for me, and that she had the foresight to weigh it down on the kitchen table, so it was still there when I got home. I was out of town for work when the Vacants showed up for the first time. After that, things descended into pure death and chaos. It took me a month and a half to get back home, only travelling during daylight made things take longer, but it was the safest way. It allowed better vision for us humans, and it seemed to hinder their vision a little in turn. There was no using cars anymore either, it only attracted the creatures and brought them out in droves. Plus most cars couldn't outpace them anyway, the best thing to do was to stay quiet and lay low. And now here I am, another 3 months of travel and finally only a day out from the cabin. I am taking shelter in the auto shop side of a convenience and gas store, the only one for miles. CRASH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The sound of large metal shelves falling to the floor rings through the air. I instantly leap to my feet. Shit shit shit! My brain struggles to do anything but panic for a moment. That has to be a Vacant, they were too large to be able to move around the cramped store shelves without knocking anything over. The panic wanes and survival kicks in. This is why I chose this spot in the building after all. Leaving my belongings on the ground I hoist myself up onto the bracket of the workshops inbuilt car hoist and into the car that sits there, climbing through the back door that I left open earlier. I climb onto the back seat causing the hoist to creak slightly, pulling the car door closed as quietly as I possibly can. I lay back out of sight, just in time for the sound of splitting wood and broken hinges, as the door to the auto shop bursts open. Then I hear it. The sound is like a guttural clicking, emanating up from the depths of the creature. It sounds almost wet. No matter how many times I hear It, there is just no getting used to it. It makes my skin crawl and the hairs on my body stand to attention. I watch the window, trying to slow my breath and remain calm. ————————————— The vacant left not long after it had gotten there, but I still found no sleep. I stayed in the car until I eventually saw day breaking. It was time to get going. Stay quiet and lay low. After a few hours of travelling on back dirt roads, and off them, I finally see it, the wooden logs of the cabin. Fear suddenly grips me, what if they never made it, what if they didn't even get out of the city. Either way, I need to know. I swallow the fear and push forwards until I see something that makes my heart swell with hope. Our car, it is here! Then, two figures round the corner of the cabin, stopping in their tracks as they see me. My eyes begin to blur with tears and I feel my chest starting to rack with sobs as I hear something that a part of me thought I might never hear again. "Daddy!!!"

It's the third time I've been here, the third day in a row. The alleyway seems even more daunting today, with the dark clouds that hang in the sky and the chilled wind whipping at my face. I run my fingers over the embossed lettering on the front of the envelope that sits in my jacket pocket. MR. ELLIS it said. There was no address on it so clearly whoever had dropped it off had done so in person. The letter enclosed inside had a short sentence and an address of its own. "A new life awaits you." it simply stated. During the first two days I came and watched, eyeing the decrepit looking building at the end, hoping to see someone going either in or out of its large worn doors. I never did. I have no idea what to expect. Perhaps someone is playing a prank on me. Though deep in the pit of my stomach stirs a storm of excitement, one that rivals the storm that brews in the sky. I make my way to the door, the buildings looming up at my sides like giant protectors guarding its entrance. Knock. Knock. Knock. The storm inside me becomes electric as my fist meets the wood. The door swings open and the brightness is such a stark contrast to the dreariness of outside that it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. Inside stands a well groomed man dressed in an expensive looking suit, he says nothing. My hand fumbles back into my pocket awkwardly and I pull out the envelope, handing it up to him. "My name is Peter Ellis," I say. The man takes the envelope from me. "Are you ready for your new life Mr. Ellis?" he asks. I nod, what else can I do? I have come this far already, I may as well see where it all leads. The man moves behind me, taking the handles of my wheelchair, and begins to push. I usually feel like some kind of incapable half version of a human when people push me along. Despite lacking my legs I still cling to some poor and misplaced sense of pride. But in this moment all I can feel is elation. As we move into the building, its warmth encompasses me. The inside is crisp and clean, with high ceilings and a large desk in the middle. The man leaves me by the desk and then exits the room via a door at the back. I look about the room, all around me against the walls are separate little sections. Each section has a screen which seem to be playing home videos. Around each screen is a series of images and below each screen sits a book. The images range within each section from ones with family pictures, to exotic holiday locations, country living, high rise business towers, and many more. "Mr Ellis!" A voice exclaims, causing me to jump a little in my chair. A professionally dressed woman stands behind the desk. When did she get here? I didn’t even hear her come into the room. "We have been waiting for you," she continues, "Its been three days since you got your invitation you know, it is always good manners to be prompt." I open my mouth to say something but she quickly cuts me off as she begins to speak again. "I suppose you're wondering what all this is about" she says with a smile. "Well we think your situation makes you the perfect candidate for the service we offer." "And what is that exactly?" I ask, the nervous excitement still filling me. It was the same struggle every day, struggling to survive but not really living. I lost everyone that was ever really important to me in the accident, and after that I just shut down. Letting my self pity become the thief of my own joy. The lady smiles and gestures to all the different sections around the room "Your choice of a brand new life!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Eight years have passed since I have taken on the life of Mark Patton. I gave up the entirety of my former self, including all of the funds that I had. And for doing that, I gained a family that I now love as my own, a purpose, working legs, a job I enjoy. I have gained life! They assured me that they wouldn't be taking another life to give me one, that the original Mark Patton's essence had already drifted from the world. I would be taking his body and stepping directly into his life in his place. I am lucky that I have never been sick in this new body, have never so much as broken a bone or gotten a papercut. But here I stand now, my wife having just run into me while I was chopping vegetables for dinner and half of one of my fingers lays on the chopping board surrounded by blood and freshly cut potatoes. I am in shock, staring at my finger. Then I see it. Small, shiny, barely peeking through the flesh and blood. It doesn't look like bone. I pick my finger up to look at it more closely. It's metal. I look over to my wife who is already at the phone. "What is goi-." I am cut off as she says two words in succession that I never thought I would hear her say "Peter Ellis". I can't move, I can't speak, every part of me seems to be frozen in time. Every part other than my mind which is now wildly frantic with fear and confusion. I feel even less than half human now. "Account number 5736, Peter Ellis, reset request," I hear her say. Pause. "No, it needs to be done before the children get home. This is why I paid for premium." Another pause. "Okay". The phone beeps as the end call button is pressed. Was I ever really human to begin with?

“I don’t know why they call it a game,” Lily said. Worry and annoyance dripped from the words as she spoke. “It seems rather understated for something that is so absolutely horrific.” Reina looked up from her desk, frowning as she watched Lily pace back and forth. “Maybe he will take one of the elderly this time,” she offered up half heartedly. Lily rolled her eyes, “he hasn’t taken anyone over the age of twenty-six in the last one hundred and forty-seven years!” “Means we only need to last another 2 years and we are in the clear then,” Reina replied with a faint smirk. Lily smiled back, then they both went quiet again as the weight of the day returned to the air around them. It had hung heavily on the souls of everyone in Bright Haven for the last month leading up to this day. Just as it did around this time every year. Reina looked back down to her desk, her eyes skimming the half penned letter before her. “You should probably go,” she said to Lily with a soft sigh. “I still have two more of my letters to write.” Lily nodded solemnly and reached out wrapping her arms around Reinas shoulders from behind, squeezing her into a tight hug. Reina wasn’t all that big on physical affection but tolerated it all the same. It was important to let the people around you show their love for you, especially at this time of the year. If only for their sake, so they would know that nothing was left unsaid or not shown before you went to face the dark. Lily moved to the doorway and paused to look back, “good luck today, may time be on your side,” she said. The concern in her voice showing once more. “You too,” Reina replied softly, and then Lily was gone. Once Reina was done writing, she closed up the letters and then added them to the pile of neatly laid envelopes which sat at the end of her bed. It was a requirement that everyone write their last words to loved ones before Game Day just incase they never came back. Game Day... Lily was right, it really did seem far too kind a term to attach to this particular event. Though perhaps it was a game, to him at least. Mr Wolf had never chosen anyone over the age of twenty-six, however he still required everyone over the age of ten to attend. Sometimes Reina wondered whether he was just toying with everyone. Just reminding them of their place in the line of power, which would be forever beneath him. DING! DING! DING! The sound of the bell pierced through the quiet that had wrapped itself around the town. Bringing with it all of the all too familiar feeling of dread. It was time to head to the Glade. ————- Most of the town was there already. Several thousand sat around the stone amphitheatre. To the north of the central clearing, against the side of a tall cliff there was a large open entryway with steps descending down into the dark. Reina had made her way down those stairs every year since the age of ten. And it had never gotten any easier. Once everyone had been accounted for the speaker finally stood, his voice boomed against the stone as he spoke. “One hundred and forty-seven years ago Mr Wolf came to us. We were one of the last remaining pockets of humanity in the world, and he came to us offering a gift. He would keep us safe from the hollows beyond our borders. He only asked for one thing in return. That we also offer him a gift on the first day of each winter. A soul of his choosing. Today we honor that deal for the greater good of the human race. The chosen will live on through him and his protection of us all. May time be on your side.” Hours passed and people came and went from the dark. Reina had to remind herself to breathe as she watched Lily go in and re-emerge a few minutes later. Lily looked around catching Reina’s gaze and gave a subtle nod of encouragement. “REINA WATTS.” The words struck Reina hard in the pit of her stomach, but she forced herself to stand and made her way to the entrance. She took a deep breath and began her descent, fear rising with every step that she took down towards the darkness. Eventually there were no more steps. She looked to the small torch that stood in the open ahead of her. She was always in awe of how big it was down here, she could not see any walls or even the ceiling. Everything beyond the small amount of light that the torch provided was just darkness. She had never seen Mr. Wolf before, no one ever had beyond perhaps seeing streak or flash of black beyond the borders every once in a while, then hearing the shrieks of the hollows that soon followed. He usually remained in the dark on game day. Reina approached the torch and coughed lightly to clear her throat. She could almost hear her the thumping as the blood rushed through her head. “What’s the time, Mr Wolf?” Reina asked with a voice that was betrayed by her shakiness. A low growl rumbled through the chamber making Reina step back. She felt the air of something moving around her and within a moment there he was. He towered above her, dwarfing her. Each paw bigger than the entirety of her body. His hot breath washed over her. His fur was blacker than black, and seemed to trail out and fade away in almost mist-like tendrils. His teeth gleamed in the torchlight and some kind of black substance dripped from his mouth as his intense eyes fixed upon Reina. “Dinner time” she heard him say.