I sit down with a heavy sigh.

This is it. I finally got a reply to the add I sent out about my room-for-rent. I only have a few minutes to get myself together before I really have to sell the space.

Or I have to go back home, and deal with the fallout.

A knock on the door prevented me from getting lost in that thought.

Time to meet Joe Shmoe.

As soon as I open the door, I am met with a taller old man with a cute frog bucket hat with a white shirt, leather jacket and blue ripped jeans. Not what I was expecting at all.

“Hello there, Miss. You have a room you want to fill?”

“Hi! Yes, I’m assuming you’re Joe Shmoe?”

“Oh, not just ANY Joe Shmoe, I can assure you!” He grinned with a wink.

This might not be such a bad idea after all.

I giggle, “Of course! Just come on in and I’ll give you the basic information. Let me know if you have any questions!”

I let Joe in and begin the tour of the household. I talk to him about the normal stuff, like how the kitchen was organized, the layout of the rooms, the only place he could not explore being my own bedroom, and such things that was necessary to know before any big decisions were made.

Finally, we ended right by the front door.

"Any questions?"

There was a spark in Joe's eye as he smiled, "Well, yea. Bunches actually! First off, what is your policy on pets? Eh, specifically frogs?"

Caught by surprise, I blink and stutter, "Oh- Ah, w-well I-I guess? Um, I guess not? I'm kind of allergic to fur, so I'm pretty sure that will be alright."

"That's great! What about music? I play a little accordion and kazoo, it would be great if I could practice here! But I completely understand if I need to step out."

More prepared, I let out a little chuckle, "sure! But I may need to kick you out if my eardrums are at stake!"

Joe joined in with a very loud guffaw, "Wouldn't have it any other way! Now, how is your house's fire insurance? Or just insurance for ANY disaster?"

"Uhh... what?"

"Never mind, you shouldn't have you worry about it! I promise if it break it", he leaned in closer to conspiratorially whisper behind his hand, "or burn it", before leaning back out to continue in his original volume, "I'll be sure to pay for it!"

"Ok...?" I'm very unsure of the path this meeting took, but for some reason, I felt this was going to have to be a question to keep coming back to.

Joe shook his head, "Well, I guess I didn't actually have THAT many questions after all!" He turns to open the door yourself, "And I like how you run things around here! I might not rent you out, but I have a couple of friends that may be interested! I'll keep in touch and bring 'em over!"

He shuts the door and leaves, not even waiting for any response I may have given him. That last statement sent chills up my spine, though, and I can only hope it was because a breeze blew in with Joe's swift departure.

It was an average day. Joe still hasn’t gotten back to me and I am searching through my inbox for any other replies to the application I sent out.

The doorbell rings. Then rings again. By the time I’m walking towards the door, I’m already considering changing the ring.

I open the door to find a shorter girl with messy, choppy hair and her attitude clearly telegraphed in her crossed arms.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I understand the your current housing occupation has the space for another individual to coexist?” She spoke so fast I could hardly understand her. Epescially with all the words the was using.

“Um, yes. That’s right. Are you looking to rent?”

The girl looked me up and down, not of bit of her demeanor changing.

“I want to move out of the current abode that I presently share with my parents. I need my space.”

“Oh! Of course, would you like a tour?”

“No. I can live in any environment. The priority right now is the questions I have for you. It is in your best interest to be infallibly truthful.”

“Right…. Are you going to come in? We can sit on the couch, I can make you some tea? Coffee?”

The girl just stood there. I had never before seen someone who stay still for so long. I couldn’t even see a slight sway of balance from the wind.

She steps forward, and I jump back from the movement. “Coffee will be fine. No additives.”

Geez. What makes her so unpredictable? Guess this time body language won’t clue me in to anything she won’t tell me.

She finds the couch on her own and slouches into it, completely defying her earlier behavior.

The entire house is quiet as I prepare drinks and the girl just sits there. Doing nothing.

I try to still my hands as I carry our two cups back to the living room, but she is really freaking me out.

“So!” I exclaim as I set the drinks on the table in front of the couch, “I don’t believe I got your name”.

The girl stares at be just enough to make it awkward before she sighed, “you didn’t. The name’s Cal.”

“Right… Okay, well, what kind of questions did you have about living here?”

Cal sits straight and looks directly into my eyes, as if expecting me to read her mind. “What defense protocols do you have in place?”

I blink, trying to process the question.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The defense protocol. What kind of protection do you have enabled in order to fight off any home-based attacks?”

“I don’t think I have anything like that… just your average apartment with your average facilities”.

“You have a facility? Is it located under this building?”

Ok, my this-is-freaky-meter is off the charts.

“No… I meant, like, the things you use around the house! Like the toilet, the lights, things like that…”

Cal only nods, “What is your escape route for any attack that may occur during your gathering of weapons and advanced locking mechanisms?”

“Um… I would use one of the back windows if anything. One of the ones that leads to a fire escape so I wouldn’t hurt yourself.”

“Interesting, so you are unwilling to put yourself in harms way…”

“OH! Would you look at the time!” I jump from my seat, “I have an appointment thing to get to, so you need to leave right now!”

Cal gets up too, but makes no move for the door, “what? I’ve been witnessing your everyday life to scope out your person and the areas you frequent. You mostly stay home all day if you are not working.”

“That sounds like a problem with your reconnaissance, not with me. So, you gotta leave! Bye!” I practically push Cal out the door and slam it shut.

I am back to one possible tenant, there is no way I’m living with that one.

I’m starting to doubt Joe’s interest. I haven’t gotten any contact from him whatsoever since his visit.

Luckily, I got a call from another interested person. Her name is Kori Lapiz.

Any moment now, she will come knocking on the door, hopefully securing a more promising tenant. At this rate, I’m going to get kicked out of my apartment.

As if I suddenly have the power of summoning, Kori showed up.

I go to open the door, “Hey, Kori! Want to come in for the tour or do you want to talk first?”

Whatever she says flies over my head. Kori looks just like I expected. Tall, long hair, pale complexion. But what I did NOT expect was the kid right by her side, stars in his eyes.

I cut off whatever Kori is saying, “Um, who’s the kid?”

Kori looks at me. I wouldn’t necessarily use the word “glare” but it had the same intensity. “This is my little brother. If we get the place, he’s staying with me.”

Brother? “Oh, I’m… not sure we’d have the space for that…”

“Fine. Guess we’ll just leave”, Kori turns on her heel and drags her brother by the arm away from the house. No other interaction, she just leaves. I swear I mentioned I only have the one bedroom…

One more. This is the last applicant I’m even entertaining. If this doesn’t go right, I’m living with my parents. How low I have sunken…

The bell rings and I just barely muster up a welcoming face and voice as I open the door. But I’m not the one who gets to speak first.

“Heyo!” The redhead greets loading with a wide wave of his hand. Oh, god. I’m not ready for this.

“I’m sorry, and you are?” I sigh. Even if he WAS here for the apartment, I can’t muster up any hope. Everyone else so far has been a weirdo and hasn’t even contacted me back. Something tells me this dude isn’t going to be any different.

“Oh! Whoops, my name is Ash! I’ve heard from a couple of friends that you were looking for a roommate. Sorry I didn’t contact in advance, I don’t have a phone…”. He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a soft chuckle.

I massage my eyes so that they can continue to stay open through today, “ok. Come on in and we’ll have a chat. I’m assuming you don’t want a tour?”

Ash steps right into the apartment, “I’m good! Thank you!”

Ok. In my defense, this dude was real good looking. He was a red head, but had a deep shade of red instead of an orangish tint like you would normally think with the label. His eyes were a bright blue that seemed as open as the skies while still holding deep secrets. That’s not even mentioning the well toned muscles being highlighted by a white tank top that looks a size too small on him. Plus, I really DO need a roommate.

We sit on the couch. I don’t even get a breath before he blurts out, “How is fire insurance in this place?”

No. “Um… I don’t know. I haven’t really checked… I don’t do too much stove cooking. Why? Do you cook?”

“Oh yea!”, thank god, “But it’s actually because I can start a lot of fires on accident…”. His neck rub comes back.

God no.

“Um… what do you mean?”

Please not this one too.

“Well, it’s more like being too hot for surrounding flammables…”

Maybe he’s just a narcissist?

“I can increase temperature of the surrounding air, sometimes to the burning point. I do well controlling it, but it’s not perfect!”

I stand up abruptly and point towards the door, “Get. Out.”

I could tell he wanted an explanation, but I just gave him my best glare and he scrambled off the couch and through the door.

Guess I’m just going to have to move out.

I was almost done packing the rest of my stuff when the doorbell rings. It rings again. And again.

I couldn’t suppress my groan as I walked to the door to see if it was my parents, who I was allowed to crash with till I had enough for a new place.

“Heyo!”

I try to process the group at my door. First and foremost was Joe freaking Shmoe.

Without even waiting for a greeting, he gave me a bright smile, “I heard you met my friends! What do you think?”

I don’t know what happens, but it’s almost as if a tangible string of sanity snaps.

“I THINK YOU’RE ALL CRAZY! I think that if I had to deal with one of you for a prolonged period of time, I would have to be admitted in to a mental hospital! I think that I am going to live with my parents so I don’t have to be homeless, and I think you all should leave!”

I was granted a wonderful five seconds of silence after my outburst before Joe burst out laughing, followed my the kid and the red head. The two girls just gave knowing smiles.

I can only wilt, relying on the door frame for some support, while they finish their bout.

Joe swipes under his eye, “well of course we’re crazy! I would never wish you to deal with one of us for an extended period of time. Actually, we all like it here and you are everyone’s favorite housing option so far!”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“What would you think if we rotated? Say… every week? We all have things to do and don’t need a full time home, but just a space for a few breaks here and there.”

Cal stepped forward, adding, “Plus, we can pay you for any inconvenience in addition to paying part of the rent.”

Hmm… it seems they’re twisting my arm.

I rub my face, trying not to showcase the smile that I’m fighting.

“Fine. Help me unpack.”

Character 1: Alex - The Obsessive Organizer Alex was an extreme perfectionist, with a penchant for organization that bordered on obsession. His application for the apartment was meticulous, complete with color-coded charts and lists.

Character 2: Zoe - The Quirky Collector Zoe had a peculiar obsession with collecting unusual items. Her room was a treasure trove of strange artifacts, from vintage typewriters to taxidermy animals.

When Alex and Zoe moved into the apartment, their eccentricities became immediately apparent. Alex spent hours each day rearranging the kitchen cupboards and labeling every item in the fridge, while Zoe's collection grew steadily, taking up more and more space in the common areas.

Their initial encounters were filled with tension. Alex couldn't stand the chaos of Zoe's collection, and Zoe was frustrated by Alex's relentless need for order. However, as time passed, they found common ground in their quirks.

Alex's impeccable organization skills proved helpful to Zoe, who began cataloging her collection with precision. In return, Zoe's unique collection added character to their otherwise ordinary apartment, and Alex secretly found it intriguing.

Gradually, they began to appreciate each other's idiosyncrasies. Alex learned to embrace a little chaos, and Zoe found comfort in some well-organized areas of the apartment. They even started a joint project, turning one corner of the living room into a curated display of Zoe's most fascinating finds, beautifully arranged by Alex.

In the end, the apartment became a quirky blend of meticulous order and eccentric collectibles. Alex and Zoe, while still strange in their own ways, learned to coexist and appreciate the unique qualities that each brought to their shared living space.

The loud drumbeats of a parade greeted Monica's ears, waking her from what was possibly the best sleep she'd had in months. Turning over with all the stubbornness of a newly awakened lioness, she groaned as she checked the clock on her nightstand.

"Fucking four in the morning? "she growled. "Who the hell is that?"

Leaping from the bed witha dramatic swish of her bedsheets, Monica stomped to the door of her apartment, ripping it open with a gust of rage.

She was surprised to see a little boy holding a small drum, banging with all his might on the fragile little toy that was obviously not meant for such an aggressive performance.

Immediately, her boiling insides subsided, leaving her suddenly cold. "Oh," she uttered softly, masking her surprise. "Hello."

The boy stopped and looked at her. "Dumbly," she would have added. Although she figured that would be too mean. He was, after all, a young child. They were all dumb, as far as she knew. Then they grew up, earned a little bit of wisdom, then turned into actual idiots when they got older. A circle of stupidity that ended in a grave.

"Hello," the little boy said meekly before banging on his little noisemaker once more.

Monica took a deep breath. It's not a big deal, she told herself. I'm up already anyway. "Thanks to the little brat," she muttered.

"Did you say something?" the boy asked, speaking loudly to be heard over his drumming.

"Are your parents around?" Monica asked, knowing full well it would be unwise to repeat her original words to him.

One year ago today, I divorced my narcissistic asshole of a husband.

Now, I make ends meet working three jobs to raise my two kids, and yet that’s still not enough! So, I decided to rent out a spare bedroom in our small flat. In the span of a week, I’ve gotten three calls.

“Hello?”

“Hello! Are you Ms. James? The one renting a spare room?”

The voice on the line was high pitched, as if a child was speaking on the other end.

“If you are, does the room have a night light? I’m scared of the dark, and monsters will get me if there’s no night light.”

“Excuse me? How old are you?”

“Uhm, I’m six.”

I hang up.

The next caller, luckily, was someone who wasn’t a child, but a man in his mid-twenties.

“Hello?”

“Hello! My name is Rufus Leakin, and I would like to rent out your spare room through days July 11th through July 15th.”

“Okay then!” I take out a pen and write down those days on my calendar. “Since it costs $75 a night, your total will be $300.”

“And how much will that be in cheese currency?”

“Cheese what?”

“I can only pay you with cheese, and I don’t know how many slices of cheese would equal $300.”

I hang up, letting out a groan of irritation. When will someone normal offer to rent?

My last caller was a young woman and her husband wanting to share the room for two weeks.

“You’ll be able to pay with regular currency right?” I asked, just to make sure.

“Yes, we will,” The wife replied.

“With American dollar bills?” I press on.

“Yep,” The husband reassured.

“Okay then, I’ll see you when I see you!”

I hang up the phone and breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll finally be able to afford a new couch and new clothes for my kids.

When the day arrives, I make sure the house is spotless. No toys on the floor, no dishes left unclean, and not a single speck of dust can be seen. I don’t have to worry about making sure the kids behave, because that will be their father’s problem for a while.

As soon as the doorbell rings, I’m giddy a with excitement. I practically skip to the door.

But as soon as I look through the peephole, the excitement turns into disappointment. The husband and wife in question are costumed in clown outfits and makeup. The wife has colorful balloons in one hand and a horn in the other. The husband carries the luggage.

I fastened the locks on my door and pretend I’m not home.

Instead of the buying things for the apartment and the kids, I should probably worry about moving.

I like my privacy. I don’t particularly like other people. But right now it’s a choice between trying to find one person I can tolerate and two people I know I can’t - my parents.

Ever since they cut my hours at work, I’ve been struggling to make the rent. I have to find a roommate or I’m going to have to give up the place and move home or, more likely, into my 1998 Taurus.

I knew finding someone I could live with wouldn’t be easy, but after four weeks of interviewing, I am losing hope.

There was the red faced dirty bearded guy who rode up on his BMW motorcycle in flip flops and faded Grateful Dead t-shirt. The stench of patchouli mixed with gas fumes when he walked in was enough to end that interview.

Next came the barista. I had hope. She seemed friendly and put together, until she started talking about her feet. It began with a question about my feelings toward being barefoot in the apartment. It turned into a lecture on foot liberation - rejecting the unconscionable practice of confining one’s feet inside “little prison cells.” Apparently there is a vast conspiracy between our government and the shoe industry. Who knew.

These two were followed by a string of “not in a million years” suitors. The drummer who clearly had lost his hearing. The woman who wore underwear on the outside of her pants - “I saw it in Vogue”. The guy who asked me how thin the bathroom walls are. The person who watched too many Big Bang Theory episodes and presented me with a 75 page roommate agreement.

The longer the search went on, the more I lost my faith in humanity. I’d vaguely hoped this might be an opportunity to find a friend. Instead, I was realizing I may have been too hard on my parents.

I decided to give one last person a try before turning in my keys to the landlord. He looked good enough on paper - in graduate school, steady part time job that paid the bills, verifiable rental history.

The doorbell rang just as I was asking myself, “what could possibly be wrong with this guy?” The moment I opened the door, I had my answer. I felt the prongs of the man’s taser penetrate my skin through my t-shirt, my skin burned. I fell to the ground, writhing in pain. While I struggled to avoid blacking out I heard him scowl “that’s for trying to charge me a $250 pet deposit, roomy!”

There was another thud and a muffled grunt from the wall. Cedric. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to patch another hole in the wall. The little weasel. Correction: Giant weasel.

My name is Jenny, and my best friend is roughly 6’9”, rather furry, but good natured, and, if you don’t mind his inclination to shred the cushions to make himself a cozy burrow in the linen closet, he’s… nearly the perfect tenant. Minus the necessity for wall-patch kits.

Apparently, werewolves are the ones who get all the credit, but they aren’t the only branch of the family: Magna Mustela Sapiens are their cousins. Wereferrets for short. Yes, I laughed, to Cedric’s mild hurt and chagrin. They were less teen-angst, egotistical-alpha, and more…. make you a cup of tea, and tell you, from the living room sofa that the milk in your fridge was spoiled, after gossiping pleasantly about all of his (many) near relatives. Cedric could smell the milk. From 20 feet away. It made me rather self-conscious about my deodorant scent option, along with other various life choices. I had decided, against my better judgement, to try something other than the usual ambiguous “fresh scent” I had been buying for the last 8 years, and try vanilla peach this time. Be brave. Go out of my comfort zone. It was not a good choice. But, I had reasoned, after many inner wrestlings with myself, (and staring gloomily at the little twist container for far longer than the decision should have taken), overly sugared, vanilla frosting, vodka-tinted fruit smell is better than B. O., right? No. It’s not. Cedric, like the gentleman he was, didn’t comment. But every time I would pass, his whiskers would twitch, while he choked down a cough that sounded suspiciously like a chortle. The brat.

I hadn’t known there was anything unusual about Cedric when he’d come as a potential applicant. He looked like your average, non-threatening, good-natured guy. He was fairly handsome, despite his slightly pointy nose, with dark hair, black-brown eyes, ringed by a thick fringe of eyelashes a girl could be jealous of. The only noticeably different features, were his hair brushing the door jamb when he ducked through, and the thick, strangely symmetrical band of dark freckles across his nose and cheeks, and down either side of his neck. He was funny, down-to earth, and his stable normalcy was like a life saver thrown to me while I was drowning in the midst of eel-infested waters.

You see, I’d had other applicants for my spare room.

The first interview had gone fairly well, until the girl (Frieda, if you were curious) asked me if I cared about the furniture, and would my freezer hold half of a 300 lb. frozen boar she had killed. She would need it to feed her wolves. Plural. She had five of them waiting for her in the very beat-up Volkswagen idling down on the street.
Windows cracked, of course. Calmly and politely, I told her no. I was very proud of my self-restraint.

The next several applicants were each more bizarre than the last, and I was getting fairly alarmed and discouraged. I really needed the rent to help with the bills, and the water heater needed repairs. A girl’s gotta eat, and hot water is non-negotiable.

One memorable applicant had smelled like wet rust, wearing a long brown robe to match his long, filthy nails. The man never took off his hood, and only spoke blunt, monosyllabic sentences in harsh whispers. That was a definite nope.

The next was a frog-like, and faintly luminous, green-tinted girl, with coiling, wet-looking hair. Every few minutes, during our entire conversation, the girl (Chloe, she said) would gasp and mist herself with a spray bottle, all the while beadily eyeing a fly in the windowsill. Her main concern wasn’t the size of my freezer, but rather my bathtub. I cheerfully informed her I only had a shower stall. I looked for her gills as she stormed out, but couldn’t see past the faintly wriggling hair.

And then there was Cedric. Handsome, nice, and completely normal. Ha. We hit it off immediately, and, everything arranged, I helped him move in the next day. He was the perfect roommate. No killer pets, or serial-killer vibes, no gills. He washed his dishes, good-naturedly picked up things I needed while on runs to the store, enjoyed the same ridiculously improbable action movies as I did.
He was considerately silent when I needed peaceful quiet after a hard day at work, or would offer witty, companionable conversation when I needed company. He went to bed early, and didn’t disturb me, aside from the occasional odd clunk from next door. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. The illusion of normalcy wasn’t shattered for three blissful months. And, man. Did. It. Shatter. I can tell you, it’s a little disconcerting to shuffle groggily into the kitchen at two in the morning for a reading snack, and ram into something solid you weren’t expecting there. Something solid, and tall, and rather hairy.
If you can imagine a quaint, properly upright, real-life Beatrix Potter-esque ferret in his dapper tweed suit, drinking tea in a gentelmanly manner while wearing a monocle, that’s the vibe Cedric put off. Only he was wearing a white T-shirt and boxers. Boxers with a blunt, bushy tail poking out of them. And instead of a teacup and saucer, he was clutching a large cereal bowl to his chest, (the contents of which now adorned his shirt), looking at me with wide-eyed horror, mouth clamped tightly shut, frozen to his full, stiff height, ears pricked upright with alarm. He looked even taller as a ferret. The weird freckle markings suddenly made a lot more sense.

I screamed, at the exact moment he said, “Jen, I can explain!”

The shadows of our thoughts, they dance and play,In the corners of our minds, where secrets lay. They whisper softly, like a gentle breeze. Revealing desires, fears, and memories.

In darkness they dwell, unseen and unknown,Yet their presence is felt with a soft tone.They shape our dreams, our hopes and our doubts,Guiding us through life’s twists and turns.

They hold the power to inspire and deceive. They are servants to some but a master to others. In the shadows lies happiness, joy, and also grieve.The shadows are humble, but to few masterminds.

In the shadows, truths may hide, obscured from sight,Yet they hold the key to our inner light.For in the depths of the darkness, we can find the strength to face our fears and leave them behind.

We should Embrace the shadows, and let them guide our way.For they hold the wisdom of each passing day.They teach us lessons, both bitter and sweet,And help us grow, in this journey of myth.

So we should not fear the shadows of our mind,For they are part of us,they are a treasure to find.Embrace them, learn from them, and let them be the catalysts of growth, so you may truly see the powers of “the shadows of our thoughts.”

Written by. Jonathan Levey

Brad and Janet, you know who? Dr. Frankfurter, is that you? Oh yes, darlings, it is me. Room for rent, can I see? I need room for Rocky, he’s right here. Hell mostly sleep, didn’t you hear? Magenta and Riff Raff, have gone home. We decided to travel, shall we roam. We didn’t get far, just up the street. Before these heels … my tired feet. Needing a rest, we saw your sign. Room for rent, just in time. Tessa🦋

I lived in a family of eleven. It was a pretty full house. The house had exactly eight bedrooms. Two kids per bedroom took up five bedrooms, one kid got the sixth room, me and my husband had the seventh room, and no one ever entered the eighth room. It belonged to no one, and the door had never been opened to that room. The eleven kids’ names were: Mellie, Amy, Carrie, Elizabeth, Kayla, Jamie (boy), Tyler, Andrew, Niko, Henry, and Janie. All of the kids were pretty cooperative and they rarely fought. However, they each had their own pet peeve that they would happily cause extreme chaos if it ever came in contact. Mellie hated anything being placed on her head. She hated hats, hoods, headbands etc. Amy hates chocolate, including the smell. Carrie despised country music so much it reached the depths of her heart Elizabeth would rather get COVID then touch any type of jewelry Kayla believed that white wasn’t a true color Jamie was an atheist Tyler got sick even stepping onto planes Andrew had a bad vibe towards people who have bald spots (no offense of you have one, he’s just picky) Niko refuses to ever do more than walk for exercise Henry is exactly like Niko Janie screams at any TV show/movie with a love triangle But otherwise, these kids are amazing children with perfect grades and perfect attitudes. They love each other and love everything they have and everyone they meet. They are the most chipper and lovely children. So that’s why we decided to let them pick who would open the eighth room door. Our plan was to rent the eighth room out to someone, and whoever the children decide they like best, will get to open the door for the first time. Their first candidate was Conrad, a 50 year old man who brought the family a box of chocolates, and kissed each child on the head before entering. He told the kids he loved country music, and he looked fit which meant he exercised. He also wore many hats and talked in a British accent. Nellie and Amy hated it. Carrie’s heart broke Niko and Henry walked away. He was kicked out within a short time, along with the box of chocolates. Next, came a kind lady with all white clothes and badge that read PILOT on her shirt. She said she was desperately looking for a place to stay. She said this was because two men loved her and she didn’t know who to choose which meant she couldn’t stay with either. She was in a love triangle. Janie screamed. Tyler vomited at the sight of the badge. “Jesus Christ, what did I say?” The lady said Jamie glared at her. Kayla covered her eyes to blind her clothes. That was the end of her. Many more candidates came, but none of them worked because of their pet peeves. Each personality was different, but none of them would satisfy the kids’ needs. A guy with a bald spot couldn’t even enter the house. Neither could a lady who wore bracelets. So the eighth door never opened. The end!

Dear S

A followup to my last letter. You told me to give you a report this time? Well here it is, dearest: Yon came first. Nobody seemed to know much of anything about the scraggly, lean man, but he came first and I needed the money. So in came Yon. He was, all things considered, a fine guest and no troublesome in the least; he appeared and unpacked on the day his ship arrived, seemingly uncaring for the fugue of transit, and would go about a simple pattern every day: up at 6:15, out at 6:45 sharp, and back at 9:30 without a hair out of place. He’d disappear back into the sore room, and I wouldn’t see him again until morning. It sounds a bit suspicious, but he caused no trouble in the flat and didn’t seem to cause any in town, so I didn’t mourn any sort of investigation. Yon left after a month, exactly. He left his fee on the counter, in cash, and walked away towards the spaceport, never to be seen here again. If only Jekurt could have been similar. Jekurt (pronounced yeh-curt, so you know) was the second to come through, and had none of Yon’s silent dignity. He claimed to have a great commander once, in “a far-flung land, full of monsters the kind ye’d ne’er believe!” Where exactly seemed to escape him, and for whom. The strangest thing about Jekurt, besides his chronically odd hours and constant inebriated state that seemed to not require any consumption, is that I’m almost entirely sure he was telling the truth. He had scars and trinkets aplenty to prove his claims, and I could find a proper hole in his stories. According to J, his stories seem to place him somewhere around Exiven, over thirty standard years ago. Do with that what you will. As I said, though drunk and prone to odd hours, Jekurt seemed as harmless as Yon was. I’m sure he was a nuisance to every barkeeps for miles, but he didn’t seem to get hurt often, and left my flat after about a month and a half. An unproblematic, entertaining man, perhaps the best kind. S, I’m thinking of opening a bar, or some sort of hotel. It seems like good, interesting work, and a great way to find interesting material. Do tell me if you think that’s a bad idea. I believe I have enough money saved, so I’ll just need to figure out a permit.

Yours in pain and joy, now and forevermore,

C���� �. ����

P.S. There’s one I forgot to write about, my current renter, but M will find her fascinating so I’ll tell you about her. Zendra is, believe it or not, Enfedurian. Before you check your encyclopedia, yes those are the spacers from the far tip of the Macron Arm. I’m not sure why she rented the room, as Enfedurian’s don’t seem to sleep, but I don’t honestly care. She pays fine, and I believe she’s good publicity, if that makes sense. See, she seems to be some sort of magician, if you can believe it. The locals all seem to be buzzing about her, and they claim she can read their actual, one-hundred-percent-true futures. I’ll try to learn more, but you should definitely tell M to look into this. She’d be fascinated, always liked that kind of thing.