Mist filled the land of death, cooling the ever cold terrain. The terrain was large and covered with buildings, mountains and lakes that are no longer in the land above. In the dark misty place below earth. Dead things go. Because this is the underworld.

When in the world of the dead, the way to leave is to die which here means to live. Everything here is switched from normal reality. It’s sort of confusing if you try to think about it from stand point of an alive human.

Author thought this day was different then any other, though he tried to begin it the same way. His wife has gone on a business trip off to the coast and wasn’t coming back for around a month.

Around noon, he sat out on his porch with a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand. He sat and looked out to the large pond in his back yard. He swirled the coffee in his hand as he thought on what could make this day different from any other.

Perhaps he could go bowling or to the bar. Or perhaps he could even run a mile. Before he thought of anything else, Jenny walked over to him from next door. “Mr Malacry, how are you?” She asked, her eyes glancing into his for only a moment. “I’m doing well, how are you Jenny?” Author asked in response. “Not to well actually, my husband’s gone missing” And this was the time that Author knew it was not a normal day. When the movies he watched became reality.

The grandfather clock stuck midnight as the sound echoed throughout the park. Not many people were even out tonight to hear the clock, though some people were.

Cinderella with a beauty that only lasts to midnight, came stumbling and rushing her way out of the park at the sound of the chimes. She ran and ran not even glancing behind her.

She ran to the stairs then down them. And she kept running as the magic of her dress started to fade and reviel her poor looking clothing. Pretty soon, she came across her house which was very hard to spot in the cloak of darkness.

She started to slow down as she approached the house. Catching her breath as she slowly and quietly opened the door and went inside. The house was quiet, and Cinderella only hoped it would stay that way till tomorrow.

“And though Prince Charming will forget about me” She thinks “I’ll never forget him”

In the heart shape box a mother kept all her daughters teeth, in the cleanest condition. She collected them like one collecting rocks, storing them all in a special container.

Her daughter was asleep, and had been for months and years now. Peacefully laying in the hospital bed with the heart meter on the wall beeping with clear consistency. The mother visited her every day, hoping for some sign of awakening. And everyday the mother went and sat next to the meter hoping that it changed even by the slightest bit. She would sit down and look at her daughter with a container of her teeth. She had started collecting the teeth since she first got in a comma. And in an odd way, having her teeth with her was reassuring. She looked up from the teeth, back to the bed where her daughter lied. The gentle hum of the machines faded into the background as she gazed at her daughter's peaceful face.

Pods hovered throughout the sky. Humming as they went by, covering the sun like moths to a flame. The streets were empty today and the roads were full. And that’s how Fumble got there first.

Why Fumble was not driving at this very hour was because he had always been a slow driver not because he was bad at driving in general, but because he didn’t trust the car he drove. He drove an old pod his father had bought him back in 2989. The pod was grey and dented with streaks of dirt riding across. It made an old sound sort of like a rain when it hovered and could no longer hover anymore then five feet of the ground, which was very bad for a pod.

He continued walking, his feet starting to hit the gravel below him at his normal rythem. He kept going straight, then he went left, then right. And very soon, he reached it.

The Sun’s Power was a small but very successful green house. Plants all around inside, some climbing up the walls of the building while others sat isolated.

Fumble walked in, his eyes catching all sorts of different plants as he walked over to the woman working the register. She stared at him with a dull look in her eye and asked “How can I help you today sir?” He then responded. “I’d like a job” She looked down, still carrying the look in her eye as she looks at a paper in front of her. Then after her eye travels across the paper a few times, she looks back up. “There are no job openings sir “

The smell of fresh and new cleaning products swam into my nostrils as I walked forward, into the museum. The inside was bright, yet ever so dusty as I continued walking. For some odd reason, there was nothing really on the old green walls. It seemed almost like the wall itself was the art piece, yet I knew that was far from the untold truth. And the very reason I knew, was because there was a single panting on the wall.

The painting had streaks of paint slashed accord with different abstract shapes covering the page. It felt right hanging on the wall, the green blending with the blue in the strangest of ways as it hung there on the nail.

I looked for anyone, anyone I could ask to see where the rest of the paintings had gone.

But I was alone, standing in a large room, glancing at a large wall. And I only hoped someone could help me.

The painting looked like a painting made by a famous painter only in there first or second year of painting. It looked less of a masterpiece and more like a clue of some sorts the longer I stared at it.

Then I understood. I understand all of it, the reason the museum was empty, the reason I left to come here rather then the park. I understand it all.

I walked forward to the panting and carful not to touch the paint, I turned it upside down. With a click, then a ding, it opened like a safe door.

And unfortunately, the only thing on the other side was a paper, and a body.

I sat with my lighter in my hand flickering it on and off, then on and off again. Other then my lighter flicking, the room was dark and dusty.

The phone on the bedside table buzzed, lighting up and showing the name “Mark Heisenberg, FBI”

This was, unfortunately, a more of a normal call then non. Mark had helped me get my name out of several cases and made sure I kept my job. “Hey Mark, what’s the problem this time?” A voice, deep and country like responded from the other end “Problem? Can’t a friend call for fun?” “Did you?” “No, not at all, your name was brought up in the Magnus case. He asked for you especially to interrogate him”

Out of all the times Mark called me, this was by far the weirdest way my name was brought up. Last time, for example, there was a possible arson threat at my property.

             “Why me? There’s at least a hundred agents active currently “

The other end of the phone grew quite. And while the other end was silent, I grew impatient. While I was holding my lighter before, I had set it down when Mark had called. When it comes to business, personal or work, the caller gets my undivided attention. A crackle came from Marks end as he finally said “Magnus says he’s your son” My face had gone white, and if I were standing up I was not anymore. This new was impossible, my son had died in my very arms on December 3rd, at exactly 12:40. I remember the time and day so clearly, it was like it was my birthday. “My son is died Mark, you know this” “I know this, but unfortunately, his DNA says otherwise “