“Shit, they found me out, again,” I yelp without realizing I was talking out loud. “What? Reese, you really need to go to bed it is way to late for this.” Dad says, closing my latest book in his lap. “Dad, I know you, you’re going to go up to your study and work on puzzles until 3am. So why can’t I stay up and find out who I have to pretend to be next?” His thick brown eyebrows climb his wrinkly forehead, “Reesie, you are right about me, but you are going to bed. I don’t like how much you worry about this. You are an amazing writer, just as your Mother was.” _ Was. _ The final word rings in my ears, ricocheting off of every inch of grief left in me. He presses his lips onto the top of my head and mumbles something about keeping me safe under his breath as he heads to the stairs. Gosh, he’s crazy if he thinks I can sleep at a time like this. I have hundreds off ideas flowing, and my mom taught me many techniques to utilize each and every single one of them. I just hope that someday Dad will give in and let me put my own name on the cover of my books, not some made of girl who nobody knows because she doesn’t exist. I take a long sip of my cold water and then quickly get back to writing, my fingers dancing across the keys. I can’t be stopped, it’s like candy, I can’t get enough, and I can’t stop until I’m finished. It’s become quite a problem. I find myself not sleeping most nights because I get carried away in my current project. Most times it’s that, other times it’s the haunting memory of finding my mothers dead body on the side of our road. But that was a long time ago, and after spending all four of those restless years hoping for any answer at all-there wasn’t ever one- I learned to block it all out. _Ohhhh, maybe I could be Chloe Anderson this time, there is no resemblance to Reese Montgomery at all. _ _ _My train of thought is interrupted by a knock at the door. Quick on my feet, I glide to the door. I stand on my toes trying to look in the peephole before opening the door, because who would come here in the middle of the night? After Mom, Dad moved me far from where we used to live. Now it’s just him, his crazy theories, and me. I can’t quite see anything through the hole, which is clearly pretty dusty. My heart quickens. I’ve read about this, and I’ve wrote about it too, even lived it once. Well sorta. I pull the door open slightly, enough to see the person at the door, but not enough for them to try anything. An older man, maybe in his late sixties, stands outside. A thick coat is slumped over him and his hood is pulled over his eyes, casting a dark shadow across his face. I hear my Dad at the top of the stairs, he isn’t moving toward me though, just checking in I guess. He can’t even fully see the door, or me from where he is sitting. “C-can I help you, sir?” I ask, fidgeting with a piece of fuzz in the pocket of my hoodie. He looks up at me, finally allowing me to see his eyes. They widen slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting me to speak first. My blond hair blows off of my shoulder from the icy wind outside. A moment of scilence fills the air between us, “Sir?” “Right.” His tone is low, and slightly unsettling. “Are you Reese Montgomery?” My heart bounces off of my ribs, and the color fades from my face, “Yeah, um why?” He lunges forward, grabbing hold of my boney wrist. “Listen, I need you to not panic, and I need you to pay close attention.” He releases my wrist. “I know what happened to your mother.” The muscles in his neck tighten as he studies my face for a reaction. Oh. Oh. _ _“Tell me,” I say. Those were the only words I could force out of my now shaking body. “Tell me, you have to tell me.” “I also know that they are coming for you next.” A shiver rolls down my spine, and all off a sudden I feel like I might throw up. I pull the door fully open. “Why don’t you come in.” He hesitates for a moment seeing Dad sitting at the top of the stairs, and then follows me to the living room. Dad follows too, but then decides to dip out and head to the kitchen instead. “S-so…?” I stutter. “I hacked into the plans whoever this man is and found out everything from your mothers murder to his plans to well… kill you.” He rummages through his pocket and pulls out a small photograph. “Why? Why did they do this?” He shrugs, his eyes growing wide, “I’d assume your mother wrote about him in one of her world famous novels, and killing only her wasnt enough. But I did find this,” he says, handing over the picture. “This was in his plans, it’s a picture off him, er- the killer.” I reach over for the photo. A short man sits in frame with ruffled brown hair and a pair of magnifying goggles over his eyes. I know those goggles anywhere. “T-that’s my dad…” I stutter as I feel a knot of anxiety creeping up my throat. I gaze at Dad through the corridor, a tear slipping down my cheek. The man next to me stiffens, “O-okay, Reese, we need to get you out of here…” I stand, followimg close behind this man I’ve never met until today. I don’t think Dad noticed our absence but if he did, this probably won’t end well. “Where are you to going?” Dad says approaching us from the spot he has stood the entire time in the kitchen. I keep my head low, expecting the man to speak up, he doesn’t. “Dad I-“ but before I can finish, the man pulls a long sharp knife from the inside of his coat. He uses he free hand and wraps it around my waist, pulling me into him. My heart practically explodes, but I’m frozen, hardly able to fight it. “am an absolute waste of space that believes men she’s never met and agrees to leave the house with them,” he finishes my sentence, and then looks down to me. “Your mother would not be very proud,” he says, a wicked grin spreading wide across his face. I try to fight his grip, but I can’t, and Dad lunges forward forcefully trying to pry me from the man’s grip. It’s to late. The man shoves Dad back into the wall, sending me flying. But before I get it together and do literally anything, he has me pinned against the floor. “Say hello to your mother for me,” he says, and then plunges the knife into my abdomen. I let out an ear piercing scream as the pain shoots in every direction and everything starts to fade, becoming dark and fuzzy, until there is nothing at all.

The clacking of the keys encapsulates my thoughts. Words flow from my finger tips like an endless waterfall of knowledge. And yet, it all sounds like shit. I throw my back against my hard wooden chair and groan. _“Maybe it’s time for a break?” _I let my thoughts wonder. My heavy body picks itself up off the chair and flops onto the fluffy couch. As I bury my head into the couch it hugs me in a warm never ending embrace. That is, until the ding of the doorbell breaks my comfort. With a large groan I force myself off of the couches warmth and to the annnoyingly bright front door. With a gentle pull I open up the wooden plank of a door to the cold darkness of the outside. “I’m so sorry to knock on your door this late sir.” A meek voice fumbles out of the young lady standing at my door step. She has long strawberry locks flowing down to her hips in tight braids with bows. Her dress flows with the wind in creamy eggshell tint. Her heart shaped face and ocean blue eyes could soften the heart of any grinch she stumbles upon. I feel warmth bleed into my cheeks as my eyes flicker down to her. “Oh n-no your fine Miss.” I stutter out tripping over my tongue. She giggles making my heart speed out of control. “Well sir, my car broken down across the street, and my phone ran outta juice! Could you let me borrow your phone for a minute, sir?” She asked twirling her hand between her finger as she spoke. Her voice was soft and sweet like an angels. “Oh uh yeah sure! W-why don’t you come inside?” I offer without thinking, the burning red on my face becoming too much to bare. She giggles yet again and skips inside to the warmth. I break away from my frozen flustered state and creak the door shut. “Hey mister!” She calls out already running rampant in my house.
“Ah- yes?” I call back going over to her, I don’t have the heart to scold her for running around. “Where’s your phone? And why is your basement door chained shut? Why do you have no windows?” She asks one question after the other not waiting for a response. I open my mouth to let out a deep sigh of air. “I’m an author, I like to keep my current works under lock and key till I’m finished. Thefts are common and I’d be heartbroken if my life’s work was stolen by some thug.” I explain tiredly gently guiding her away from the basement, she doesn’t need to see that yet. “Got it! You’re a weirdo! And what about the phone? I’d really like to make it home as soon as possible, new MafuMafu album came our and I _need _to listen to it.” She asks yet again. I don’t want her to leave yet, I want her to stay. No ones ever made me feel this way before. “Phone doesn’t turn on till tomorrow moring. But I’d be happy to let you stay the night! I’ve been having writers block anyways.” The lie slips through my teeth like a serpent. She rolls her baby blue eyes and crosses her arms. “Oh alright fine. I guess I can here wait till tomorrow. Better then freezing in the cold I suppose.” She reluctantly agrees with a groan. I couldn’t be more excited to have her stay, she fills me with more warmth then a fireplace. I quickly lead her to the couch and lay her down with a plop. I drape her with my fluffiest blanket and smile. Her eyebrows furrow, and she frowns a bit. I can’t possibly imagine why shes upset, perhaps she’s thirsty? “I could whip up some tea for you if you’d like! Wouldn’t be any trouble at all.” I offer tripping over my words with excitement. She doesn’t answer for a minute. Closing her eyes, thinking it over. “Yeah alright, tea sounds really nice actually. Thanks Mister.” She accepts lean against the couch as she takes out her strawberry braids. Her fingers dance along her hair beautifully, I just want to take her fingers into mine and never let go. I hop off to the kitchen filled with a new life, re-energized again. I fill the kettle with water and set it on the rusty stove top to boil. When I see the thin strip of steam flow out the top and hear the pops of the boiled water I pour it into her teacup. I picked the one clean cup I have, she deserve perfection after all. I wait till shes not watching to add my special suyrup. It smells sweet like candy, I’ve never had to tatse it though. I sprint out and give the tea to her. “Careful, it’s hot.” I smile as she takes it from my hands. “Thanks mister, I appreciate it.” She thanks softly making my heart flutter. I sit right next to her watching her every sip, enjoying the way her lips curl around the rim when she sips. Her eyelids drop as my secret suyrup kicks in. “I think….I think I need to, hit the hay…” She gets out before falling onto my shoulder. I chuckle and pick her up into my arms. Her skin is baby soft and shes light like a feather. I set her down for only a second to unchain my basement and gently lay her down on the concreate next to the skeletons that line the walls. Then I turn my back, lock up the basement, and leave her to rot like the many girls that came before her.

In the middle of the night, Matthew is disturbed by a stranger looking for help. He invites them into their home as things keep giving him chills, and his gut feelings are telling him things that might get him out of this treacherous bone, chilling feeling that something is not right from the choice that he just made, but he keeps telling himself to ignore it so as he does things turn very gruesome as this stranger pulls out a gun and tells him that he is going to shoot him if he didn’t do certain things this stranger asks him to do

The stairs creaked as I made my way down, and the dark followed me. It was late, and I had just fallen asleep when there was a knock on the door. At first, I ignored it, thinking I was imagining things. Just sleep-deprived. But it was insistent, and I figured I might as well check.

“Hello?” I called out as I opened the door, my voice swallowed by the fog outside. I couldn’t see anyone, just the outline of a figure. Instinct urged me to close the door, but before I could, a hand shot out and stopped it from shutting.

“Hello?” a voice echoed.

I leaned forward, squinting, trying to make out a face but couldn’t. “Is everything alright?” I asked. Before I got a response, lightning split the sky.

“You know what?” I said quickly, too politely. “It looks like it’s going to rain. You’d better come inside.”

The figure didn’t answer, just stepped through the door, bringing the cold with him. My hand fumbled for the light switch. Nothing. Of course, the power was out.

“Let me grab a lantern.” I said and hurried into the kitchen, cursing under my breath.

I found the lantern and flicked it on, then returned to the living room. The man stood there, motionless, like he’d been waiting for me for a long time.

The light revealed him fully now. Buzzed blonde hair, pale skin, and brown eyes that seemed both too young and too old. Something was familiar.

“How’d you end up all the way out here?” I broke the silence. My house wasn’t the kind of place you’d end up at by accident. I was far away from anything and everyone.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, he whispered: “Creator.”

I blinked. “What?”

Then realization hit me. I stepped back, the lantern’s light flickering. He wasn’t a stranger at all. No. He was him. Sāvyər.

“You—” I stammered, but before I could finish, he moved. Fast. A blur of motion, then a sharp pain exploded in my stomach. My hands flew to the wound, blood already seeping through my fingers.

“Fifteen days.” His voice trembled. “Fifteen days you left me. In the middle of a battle, in the middle of fight. Do you know what I’ve had to do?”

I couldn’t speak. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. The pain was spreading, and I could feel the blood pooling around my feet.

“Why did you stop writing?” His anger slipped into desperation. “You left me there. Were you ever coming back?”

“I didn’t know what to do next.” I gasped. “I—didn’t know.”

His face softened, just for a second. His eyes darted to the blood, to the knife in his hand. He looked horrified, like a child who’d knocked over a vase.

“Oh no.” He whispered. “No, no, no…”

He dropped the knife and rushed forward, pressing his hand against mine, trying to undo what was done. “No!” He pleaded. “I didn’t mean—”

I grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer. His eyes met mine. “It’s okay.” I said, “It’s okay.”

He fell into my arms and I held him tightly. Then, without a word, I grabbed the knife from him and stabbed him in his side.

His eyes widened, but there was no anger in them now. Only understanding. He nodded.

“The creator kills the creation.” I whispered into his ear, twisting the blade. “Not the other way around.”

Sāvyər’s body sagged, his face draining of color as the life bled out of him. I eased him to the floor, laying him down gently, then stood there, the knife still in my hand, staring at him.

Maybe I’ll bring him back, I thought. Maybe.

But for now, this was only the beginning. Others would come. They always do.

“A knock at the door at this hour?” Sam mumbles as she slides her feet into her fluffy slippers. She squints toward the clock on her night stand in case it’s too bright. “2:47?” Sam had only gotten to bed almost two hours ago, after spending the day writing her upcoming novel. She seemed to not have time for anything else these days. “I can’t, I’m too busy” replays in her head. It used to be a common phrase that left her lips. Her friends never understood her passion for horror stories. She always thought she could use better friends. Part of her wishes they didn’t give up asking. But the issue stands. Sam is in her house alone, which isn’t new, but is something she can’t prevent from circling around her mind as she makes her way down her oak stairs to see who could be at the door. Sam peers through the little hole. “Damn-it.” she whispers in frustration. She thinks back to the other day. realizing her porch light was out but being too wrapped up in her book to do anything about it. “Of course I did this to myself.” she thinks. “Who is it?” She says shakily. Barely getting the words out. No answer. “Hello?” She asks, this time much clearer, to make sure she’s good to go back to bed. As she begins to walk off, she hears a pathetic voice whimper back to her. “I-I-I need help.” He stutters. He sounds young, like he could be a teenager. Sam isn’t naive. She knows people have claimed they need help just to get in your house and hurt you or take your things. The idea of it happening to her flashes through her mind for a second. “What do you need help with?” She says. This time, not holding back the frustration that has caught up to her since being woken up. “There was a man following me up the street. I tried knocking on a few doors. You’re the only one that came.” Everything starts to feel a little more urgent for Sam. “Do I trust this boy or not?” She asks herself quietly. “Why didn’t you call the police?” She asks through the door, thinking that will fend him off if he has ulterior motives. “I-I-I don’t have my phone” he seemed to stutter with the word I. She took it as some sort of lack of confidence in himself. “I’ll call for you. Just wait outside.” She yells back to him. She hears an I. “I-I-I think he’s trying to find me. I-I-I’m scared.” Sam wishes he was on anyone else’s porch, but she can hear the fear in his voice. Sam opens the door, just a crack. Bracing for the possibility of him pushing it open further, but he doesn’t. Her eyes take a few moments to adjust to the darkness but then she sees him. Wearing all black with a hood on. She can see tears on the parts of his cheeks that are exposed. “Come in.” She says, reluctantly. When the boy walks into her house, his movements are slow and his head is down. “What’s your name?” She says as she walks toward the phone she has hung up in her kitchen. “Owen” he replies with a flatter voice than before. Sam assumes he feels safer in the house. “Can you tell me exactly what happened so I can relay it to the operator?” She says in a motherly tone. Sam never wanted kids of her own. Her books are her babies. But she was never against the idea of being the most loved aunt, although she had no siblings. “I-I-I was outside. I-I-I saw an old man staring at me. From the shadows. He didn’t move.” Owen shifts like visualizing it is making him uncomfortable. “Then he started walking towards me. When the light hit his face he had an evil grin. I-I-I started running and so did he. I-I-I just kept praying I was faster than him.” Sam suddenly feels bad for questioning this boy. But in the back of her mind, she reassures herself by thinking of getting hurt or robbed again. “How far was this?” Sam asks. “A block or two away. Owen replies. Sam didn’t know many people in her neighborhood. She doesn’t like that about herself. If she knew people in the neighborhood maybe she could say “Oh! That’s just Edward, he has dementia, sorry he scared you” In reality, Owen’s story scared her. She imagined how she would have reacted if she was in Owen’s shoes. She probably wouldn’t have been so calm about trying to get out of the street. As Sam is about to dial 9-1-1, she halts as Owen speaks on the subject one more time. “Oh and his eyes were black” “black how?” She asks, hoping he just means the iris. “All black. Even the white parts.” He says back as tears start to form in his eyes again. She thinks of a list of things she could say back, but figure none of them would make Owen feel better. She calls 9-1-1 and tells the operator everything Owen told her. “We can send someone to see if the man is still out there, but other than that, there’s not much we can do.” Sam sighs as she tells the nasally voiced woman “That would be great.” Really, she was hoping to hear more concern about where this boy came from. She guessed it was up to her to find out. “Do you want anything to drink” she asks and gestures him to sit in the arm chair in her living room. “Just water please” Owen says in a sweet tone. He sits in the chair and pushes the hood off of his head. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. With shaggy dark brown hair and brown eyes. “How old are you?” Sam asks. “I-I-I’m thirteen.” “And why were you outside?” Owen began to cry. “I-I-I snuck out.” The only thing more pitiful than his stutter was the crack in his voice as he said it. “I-I-I’m going to get in so much trouble.” Sam reassures him. “I’m sure your parents will just be happy to know you’re okay.” Sam glances at the clock hanging above the doorway. It had only been fifteen minutes. While waiting for a police officer, she ponders what will happen next in her book. A haunted house with a terror in every room. She had gotten to the part where the protagonist checks out the basement. “Maybe it’ll be an old man with black eyes,” she thought. “No, not scary enough.” She argued. _Knock-knock-knock. _The sound brings her back to reality. She walks over to the door and yells through it “Hello?” A man’s voice replies “you said you needed someone to come check the area?” Perfect timing. When she opens the door she’s greeted by an officer. He steps in and greets the boy. “How are you doing?” Owen looks down. “Well I didn’t see anyone out there. I just wanted to let you know the coast is clear.” That’s not what Sam wanted to hear and she knew it couldn’t have made Owen feel any less uneasy. The cop says goodbye and walks out the door. Sam looks over at the boy, who still has his head down. “Oh wait.” She says out loud, meaning to have said it in her head. She opens the door, shutting it behind her. She didn’t want Owen to hear her and feel like a burden. She jogs to the passenger side of the police cruiser. “What about that little boy? I don’t know where he lives. I thought you would take him home.” The officer looks confused. “What little boy?” “Sir, I don’t know that boy. He’s the one that was getting chased, not me.” The officer still looks confused in a way that makes Sam angry. Do they not tell them the details of the call? “Okay, go get him.” As Sam takes a few steps towards the door, she notices it’s open and stops in her tracks. “I could’ve sworn I closed that door.” She whispered to herself, still hoping the officer would catch on to her concern. She slowly makes her way up the stairs and peeps her head through the doorway to her living room. Gone. Owen is nowhere to be seen. Frantically, she speeds back to the police cruiser. “Sir! Sir! He ran out! We have to look for him!” “Shit. “The officer says. Seems like his calm demeanor was boredom, now that there was a real issue going on, he had more passion in his voice. “Get in.” He says sternly. As they start down the road, Sam’s eyes are scanning everything they meet. She feels sick to her stomach. Replaying his tears as he said he snuck out. “Maybe he didn’t want his parents to find out.” She says “that he snuck out I mean. He told me that when we were waiting for you to show up.” “That’s a possibility he says.” “Can you give me a brief description” the cop asks. “Are you kidding me?” Sam thought to herself. “Some cop.” She mumbles under her breath. He has that same look of confusion and Sam tightens her fists. Everything started to catch up to her. It was past 3:30 now. She was woken up to a scared boy and had to wait for authorities to show up. Now she’s outside looking for the boy and the cop can’t even do his job right. She should be asleep so she can work on her novel first thing in the morning. “I SHOULD HAVE JUST DEALT WITH IT MYSELF!” She yells. Partially to the officer, partially to the universe. “Ma’am calm down. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the boy looks like. “YOU JUST SAW HIM. BROWN HAIR BROWN EYES. ITS NOT HARD TO REMEMBER!” “What do you mean I just saw him?” He asks, almost laughing. “I only saw your dad.” “Sir, my dad lives in Florida.” She says in defeat. He pauses to think. “Then who was that old man?” Sam can’t answer. She doesn’t understand what’s going on and it’s hurting her head to think about. After a few minutes they see someone walking on the side of the road. A young woman. The officer pulls over to ask her if she’d seen a boy. She doesn’t respond. Instead, she turns toward the car with a grin. Sam notices this and it makes her freeze. Her eyes make their way up to her eyes. They’re dark. “What the fuck is going on here?” She asks herself over and over as she tries to move. But she’s frozen. “Ma’am are you alright?” The cop asks as if he’s seen something like this before. Sam doubts that he has. “I-I-I’m fine” the woman says. “What. The. Fuck.” Sam says quietly. “DRIVE!” She screams. The woman takes a step toward the car and luckily, right before she got close enough to touch the car, the cop pulls off. Sam wants to tell him why she just yelled. She wants to tell him what’s going on but she can’t even put it into words. Then she thinks about how ironic that is. The cop acknowledges the strangeness of the situation, but Sam doesn’t say anything other than “you can take me home now.” The officer makes her fill out a form detailing what happend. But she didn’t include everything. Just repeated what she said on the 9-1-1 call. Sam was filled with both horror and excitement. She knew what the protagonist would come across in the basement.

I had finally finished wiring the solar panels on the roof of my log cabin and my home was officially 100% self sustainable. I grew vegetables in the garden and fished in the nearby creek for protein. I occasionally ate my own feces just to keep my immune system on its toes. The sun set atop the hills to the east which defied science. I was proud of my work and I celebrated by putting my feet up on my wicker chair and filling my pipe with tobacco before enjoying a few relaxing puffs. I had finally found serenity alone in the woods, miles from the nearest human being. Suddenly there was a bang on my door. Surely it must be a branch blown by the wind, for no one on the planet knew my location. Then a pattern of knocks, you know, the classic doo-doo-da-loo-doo….doo doo. Impossible. I cautiously loaded my shotgun and tip toed to the door. Perhaps they had found me, perhaps the enemies from my past life had tracked me down somehow, using satellites or even a tracker on my jeep. I held my gun to the door at head level and yelled in a stern commanding voice. “There is no one in this house right now !”. The reply was 85 knocks on my door within 4 seconds. Lightning handed forest demon, I feared for my life. “This house doesn’t have an owner it’s just been here empty for ever.” I yelled. I pulled the trigger of my shotgun which was loaded with a slug and disintegrated the top half of my door in sawdust. I quickly kicked the door open to see what I had shot. A Girl Scout roughly 4 feet tall greeted me on my porch covered in camouflage face paint and a couple feet too short to be hit with my kill shot. “Want some mafuckin Girl Scout cookies player?” She said innocently. I noticed a golden tooth in her mouth. “How did you find me?” I asked, baffled and trembling. “We got da vanillas we got da chocolates we got all sorts of mafuckas” replied the young girl in a voice so innocent and sweet that it was terrifying. “No thank you….I’m not interested little girl.” I bellowed in a gruff tone. “You GOTSTA take a lil baby nibble out one o’deez lil mafuckas son, deez cookies so nice you gon wanna eat em twice cuz.” She said, unbothered by my refusal. “You should le-“ I was abruptly interrupted, “ If I was you I’d buy some fuckin cookies playa….otherwise it’s gon be a bad mafuckin day for you aight?!” I was confused, scared, and angry all at once. “I’m going to count to 3….and if your still on my porch I’m going to shoot you little girl.” The thought of shooting a 45 pound young child with a shotgun unsettled me but I was willing to do whatever it took to protect myself. “Then shoot….” She said unblinking and calm as a lakes surface during a sunrise. “But I really really….REALLY hope you don’t miss….cuz if you do…..I would perceive that as a threat….” I felt my hands begin to tremble in fear, it felt like this was some sort of delirious fever dream or hallucinagenic trip gone terribly wrong. “And if I were to perceive you as a threat…..I would be left with no choice but to defend myself…..and you don’t want that mister.” Something was horribly wrong here, although in the surface it was merely a preteen Girl Scout on my porch, it began to feel like truthfully this was some sort of ancient abomination, some sort of otherworldly terror masquerading beneath a freckled mask of flesh. I was frozen in fear and completely unable to speak, she continued, “So be a good boy would you……and buy a box of cookies.” She said as she smiled the grin of a pure hearted, sweet kind little girl. My senses recoiled in a confused horror unable to process the unnatural thing in front of me. What was she? Was she even ….a she? I vomited on my shoes as the feeling of pins and needles consumed my body. I struggled not to faint as my legs grew weak and my knees wobbled. She reached out, grabbed my shotgun by the barrel, rested it between her upper and lower teeth and squeezed the trigger. Although the gun audibly fired she was completely unharmed. No blood….no exit wound….no pained scream….no reaction of any kind….just that sickening smile. It reminded me of the way an alien would emulate a human smile after countless hours of studying humans on film. “I should go now mister….but I’ll be back tomorrow….and the day after….and everyday after until I’m bored of you…..see ya later!” She said as she skipped merilly down my steps and into the woods. I collapsed.

Stuart Townsend suffered from insomnia. Most nights he was lucky to get a few hours of sleep, but on this particular night he decided to try something new. Earlier in the day he read a long-winded article online on holistic remedies for disorders with unknown cures—insomnia happened to be listed at number four. In the article, Dr. Jeffrey Holland, a leading researcher on the affects of all things holistic, explained how the use of five ingredients made for better success when coping with stress, anxiety, depression, sleep disorders, hormonal imbalances and erectile dysfunction. Doing a quick calculation in his head he realized he may be suffering from more than one, but who’s counting? He just wanted sleep. When he got home from work, Stuart searched his cabinets and drawers and found two of the five ingredients. He’d have to go to the store for the rest. No problem though, the local pharmacy was right down the road next to Le Peep, the best bakery in town. Maybe he’d stop and get a donut or two, he thought. Then again, the sugar probably wouldn’t help. Stuart got home at eight o’clock that afternoon. He made a few pit stops on the way back because he was already out. He stopped at MacGruber’s for dog food and a new box of Greenies, treats that guaranteed fresher breath and cleaner teeth. The treats were expensive but his dog, Frito, loved them. He helped Mrs. Doran get the frisbee unstuck from a tree for her grandson, Billy. He used a broomstick handle from her garage to pry it loose. Mrs. Doran offered him a twenty, but after careful consideration, he refused. His final stop was Pauline’s, his ex-girlfriend, but she wasn’t home. No big deal, except she was supposed to be there so he could get his class ring back. The reunion was coming up and he wanted to wear it. He’d been asking about it for a while now—maybe another time. Unloading the car and heading inside, he placed the groceries on the counter and the box of donuts on top of the stove. There was something about the girl behind the register at Le Peep, he thought. She was very convincing. Or maybe it was her elegance and allure; she had a gripping appeal to her. Or maybe it was the fact that she had the tightest tush in town, and like most men who visited, left with more pastries than bills in their wallet. He took a bite of a chocolate glazed donut and continued to unpack.

Toweling off from a shower, Stuart thought about the book he was writing. The novel was a futuristic, psy-fi thriller on what would happen if people found out their President was actually an alien looking to sell their land to other civilizations from distant galaxies. It was a work in progress. After he flossed and brushed his teeth, Stuart decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He went to his kitchen, gathered the ingredients and headed back upstairs. On his nightstand, Stuart set down an 8 ounce glass on top of a digital kitchen scale and put the rest of the accessories on the bed. He took out his phone and scrolled to the instructions, which were bookmarked. Step 1: 5 grams of beet juice Stuart grabs the glass container of Lakewood’s Organic Beet Juice and pops the top. He measures 5 grams without it spilling onto his white bedroom carpet and considers that a win. On to the next. Step 2: Halve a lemon and squeeze juices into mixture. Seems a little much, but Stu continues, no problem. He thinks of how sour this concoction might taste. Step 3: Peel and add 1 gram of lemon zest. Cut into fine pieces. As if there wasn’t enough lemon, he thinks. Stuart peels and finely slices the outer part of freshly squeezed lemon and sprinkles it into the glass. Step 4: Essential Oils - 5 droplets of Eucalyptus, 3 droplets of Ginger and 2 droplets of Rosemary. Stu hesitates, he never knew you could consume essential oils, but he adds the drops anyway and continues. It’s for the best. Step 5: 5 grams of apple cider vinegar. As Stu unscrewed the cap, a pungent odor lifted from the mouth of the bottle. He gagged slightly. Hopefully it’s masked by the other ingredients, he thinks. Then pours in 5 grams and quickly covers the lid by screwing on the cap and tossing it aside. With all the liquids together he got a light brown, unappealing mixture. He lifted the glass to his lamp and gave it a swirl, observing the bits of lemon zest floating near the surface. Holding the lip of the glass below his nose, Stu gave the odd potion a sniff. It smelled better than it looked. He cheers’d to his dog and shotgunned the entire thing in one large gulp. Once settled, Stu found it difficult to get comfortable. The stress that came with agreeing to a hard deadline was mounting. And the book was hardly half finished. As the hours passed he deemed the attempt less and less hopeful. He needed a distraction. At 2 o’clock in the morning it was too late to call anyone to talk to. In moments like these, which for him were every night, Stu would cast ideas for new books. What if the rabbit hole in the backyard was a portal to another dimension? He thought. What if a boy with chicken pox actually turned into a chicken? What if— Stu shut off his brain and sat up in bed. All that ensued was silence, but he swore he heard something downstairs. The dog was fast asleep. Weird because the dog would usually growl at something like that. Stu stayed put, upright for a minute or two and relaxed back to his mattress. Maybe a branch fell on the deck, it was a bit windy outside earlier. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. Then, like water droplets hitting the shower floor, the faint sound of knocking echoed through the foyer, up the stairs and to his ears. This time he was sure he heard something. He sprung from his bed, grabbed his robe, tossed it on as he headed down the stairs and proceeded to the front door. About to unlock and open the door, he hesitated. Who could it be? What did they want? Why so late? A burglar wouldn’t knock, he thought. Maybe it’s the police, or maybe someone has a flat or needs gas. Only one way to find out. Stu slide the lock slowly and twisted the knob, cracking the door just wide enough to poke an eye through the opening. “Who’s there?” he said shakily. All he could make out were the stairs leading up to his front porch and the sidewalk that led to his driveway in the background. No car or bike or sign of any transportation was visible as he cracked the door further and stuck his head out like a turtle from its shell. “Down here.” a loud voice called out. Stu flinched and retracted his head back inside, whacking it against the door with a THUD! Peering back out and glancing downward, Stu made out a tiny, mannish looking dwarf-like creature with large feet and a puffy white beard. A shrunken-down version of Santa Claus, no taller than your average garden gnome. “Uhh, can I help y—“ “Rudy Pennygrove, at your service!” the rosy-cheeked fellow said cheerfully. He held his tiny hand to the brow above his eyes and gave a salute. Stu opened the door all the way and took a step back to get a better view. He rubbed his eyes as if he were imagining things. Maybe he was dreaming. He began looking up, down and to the side, hoping to spot any signs pointing to an alternate universe. But there was none. He stood still, face to face with his odd new reality. The little gnome-like man fished out a tiny white card from his pocket and cleared his throat. “Stu, Jesus, relax. You act like you’ve never seen a small person before. I’m actually kind of offended.“ Rudy joked. “No, it’s not that, I—“ “I’m just busting your chops.” Rudy added. “Say, you got a light?” He produced a thin, long stogie and placed the butt into his mouth. “I don’t smoke.” Stu replied. “Well what good are ya, Stu?” Rudy said bluntly. “I’m sorry, I’m confused, who are you?” Stu’s face became quizzical. “Who the hell do I look like? The Easter Bunny?” Rudy said mildly. “Uhh—“ “I’m the Sleep Fairy, moron! Here’s my card.” Rudy extended his arm and handed Stu the white card. “And wipe that stupid look off your face, I’m here to help.” Rudy took a step through the doorframe and into the foyer. Stu turned on the foyer light and held the card up close to his face. The writing was small, and in big capital letters said: RUDIFORD H. PENNYGROVE and below that were the words: SLEEP FAIRY. The word “FAIRY” was X’d out with what looked to be red ink and the word “GURU” was etched in its place. Rudy observed Stu squinting at the card and offered some advice, “Call me a fairy and I’ll punch you in the nuts so hard your teeth’ll fall out.” “You’re going to help me sleep?” Stu said, ignoring the vicious comment. His eyes were bright with an overwhelming sense of delight. This was the answer, Stu thought. No more long nights of sleepless dread, slowly dragging him down to the pits of insanity. A joyous chorus of euphoric melody played loudly in his head—eureka, finally. “It’s gonna cost ya though.” Rudy said, looking around and noticing Stu’s high-hanging chandelier. “What do you mean?” Stu looked down from the card and his grin disappeared slightly. “Are you asking for money?” “No, not necessarily.” Rudy added. “Although it doesn’t look like you’re hurtin’ for cash.” he said, poking his head into Stu’s dark, mahogany office. Rudy continued, “No I’m more of a give and take sorta guy. I give you something, you give me something in return. Make sense?” “Yeah, but I—“ “I like you, Stu. You seem like a standup guy. Hell of a writer, too. I’ve read some of your work, my wife and I love your stuff.” Rudy said convincingly. “Thanks.” Stu responded. “I’ll make you a deal.” Rudy said. Stu nodded as he listened, intrigued. “You hand over your talent for writing, and in return, I’ll give you the ability to sleep every night for the rest of your life.” Rudy said. At first, Stu was mortified by the inquisition. Who did this fairy think he was? It was a rotten, no-good deal not even worth— Sleep, he thought. It tickled his insides like a tiny feather. His mind was thinking one thing, but his heart was thinking another. You need sleep, Stu—the voice in his mind started to sing. It was angelic, almost poetic. It glimmered and tingled and danced on him until his skin produced goosebumps. But how could he give up writing, it was everything to— “Deal.” Stu blurted out. He stuck out his hand, insinuating a shake. “I can afford it, I’ve got other talents. I can find a way to make it work I guess, right?” Stu was more so talking to himself it seemed, a desperate attempt at feeding one’s own ego. “Pleasure doing business with you, Stubert.” Rudy conjured up a smile so sharp it could cut through glass. “May the victor go the spoils!” Rudy added loudly. And before Stu had time to think, Rudy’s tiny hand swung instantly into Stu’s, generating a deafening clap of thunder. The room started spinning and everything went dark. Stu woke sometime later, feeling nothing.

Once upon a time, in a small town surrounded by thick forests, there lived a reclusive writer named Evelyn. Known for her dark and enthralling tales, Evelyn rarely ventured out of her secluded cabin, preferring the solace and silence to fuel her creativity. One stormy night, a stranger, soaked and disheveled, came knocking on her door, desperately seeking help.

Intrigued and curious, Evelyn cautiously invited the stranger into her home. He introduced himself as Gabriel, a mysterious traveler seeking refuge from the relentless rain and a pursuer he refused to name. As the storm raged outside, Evelyn couldn't help but be captivated by Gabriel's intense eyes and the air of mystery that surrounded him.

As the night wore on, Evelyn noticed the tension and desperation etched on Gabriel's face. Unable to resist the enigma he presented, she offered her assistance, not only as a refuge from the storm but also to aid him in whatever trouble he found himself entangled in. Gabriel, grateful for her trust, began to unfold his dark and dangerous story.

As they huddled together by the warmth of the crackling fireplace, Gabriel revealed that he was being pursued by a powerful secret society. The society believed he carried a precious artifact capable of unlocking unimaginable power. Overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation, Gabriel sought Evelyn's help in keeping the artifact hidden and protecting him from his relentless chasers.

Evelyn found herself pulled into a world she had only previously dreamed of, her writer's imagination ignited by the mysterious stranger and the dangerous path they now treaded together. Amidst this thrilling journey, their relationship deepened, their connection forged through shared secrets, fears, and an ever-growing sense of trust.

One evening, as the moon cast its ethereal glow upon the cabin, Evelyn and Gabriel found themselves swept away by the intensity of their emotions. The crackling fire and raindrops providing a backdrop to their embrace, their lips sought each other in a passionate display of longing. Their bodies moved together in a dance of desires and release, momentarily forgetting the world outside their steamy sanctuary.

Yet, their love affair was not without consequence. Each stolen moment brought them closer to danger, piquing the curiosity and tenacity of their pursuers. Adrenaline rushed through their veins as they sought to outwit those who wished to tear them apart. In the face of adversity, their love grew, binding their souls together tighter than ever before.

As they navigated the treacherous landscape of deception and uncertainty, Evelyn's writer's instincts kicked into high gear, empowering her to outsmart their enemies and protect the priceless artifact. Through their trials and triumphs, their love became not only a source of comfort but a bolstering force guiding them towards victory.

In the heart of the storm, with danger looming overhead, Evelyn and Gabriel discovered a strength within themselves they never knew existed. Together, they stood tall, their bond unbreakable. As they emerged from the tempest, victorious and united, they embarked on a new chapter, forever intertwined as partners in love and adventure.

And so, the reclusive writer and the enigmatic stranger showed the world that love can flourish even in the darkest of times, reminding us that sometimes the most captivating stories are the ones we create in our own lives.

Colette sat at her writing desk dressed in soft pjs and sighed, putting her right hand over her face and dragging it down, then slamming her head on her desk. “What am I going to write about now? I’m all out of ideas!”

    Her two collies, Ozzy and Coco, came up to her side by side. Coco nosed her head under Colette’s dragging left hand and made her pet her.

    Colette lifted her head and stared at Coco fondly. Then she gently started rubbing her head. Ozzy got jealous and shoved Coco out of the way. Colette softly laughed and started petting his head too.

     “I appreciate you two’s comfort. You’re always there for me.” Colette got off her chair and hugged both her dogs at once. They both placed their heads on her shoulders.

     Then the doorbell rang.

     Colette and the dogs looked toward the front door at the same time. Then Colette looked away and at a clock on a wall. It was 11 o’clock.

     She let her dogs go and stood up creakily. She stretched her back and instinctively shouted, “I’ll get it!”

     But her parents and husband were gone now. There was no one else in her house but her and her dogs.

     Colette sighed at herself and walked to the door. She peeked through a small window on the side and saw a person. She stopped looking, unlocked and opened the door.

     The person was holding a small bowl with a towel over it. “I just moved in next door and I just wanted to give my neighbor some apple pie.”

     The kind woman uncovered the bowl and revealed a delicious looking pie. Cinnamon apples oozing out the sides.

     Colette stared at it for a while, drooling a little, then eventually looked up. “Did you make this yourself?” She softly asked the neighbor.

     The woman nodded. “From scratch!” She smiled proudly.

     Colette smiled back and stepped back a little. “Why don’t you come inside?”

     “Really?”

     “Why not? You’re already here.” Colette waved her hand and the woman stepped inside.

    When the woman was in, she closed the door and locked it. Coco and Ozzy cautiously walked up to the woman and sniffed her all over.

     Colette turned around and saw them. “Ozzy, Coco! Stop!” She went over and pulled her overly curious dogs away. The woman took that time to place the pie in the kitchen, then came back.

     “Sorry about that.” Colette apologized, still holding her dogs back.

    “It’s quite alright,” The woman replied. “My husband and I actually have dogs of our own.”

    “Your husband…” Colette turned those words over in her mouth. She had not said that word in years. In her thought, she let the dogs go, who immediately started sniffing the woman again.

   “Yeah, are you okay?” The woman questioned.

   “Yes, I just was reminded of my husband for a second, sorry.” Colette apologized again.

  “You used to have a husband?” The woman asked.

  “Yes. But he got in an accident when he was driving home from work seven years ago, one year after we had gotten married.” Colette started tearing up when she was saying those words.

   The woman gently brought her in for a hug. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered.

   The woman let go and Colette dried her tears.

   “You know,” Colette croaked. “I haven’t really talked to anyone after he died. I was too upset to say anything for a few days. Eventually, though, I found this house being sold and decided to buy it. I’ve been living here ever since.” She explained.

    The woman sighed. “I know how you feel. I lost my son to a plane crash while he was on his way to college.”

    Colette pulled the woman in for a hug this time when she started crying. “If someone went into the past and told me I would be comforting someone with the same grief as me, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

    The woman and Colette stopped hugging. The woman started laughing and Colette soon joined in. They laughed for a while together, then stopped.

    “I guess I better get home.” The woman told Colette.

   Colette nodded. “I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

  “You’re alright. My husband is probably already in bed anyway.”

  Colette remembered and quickly slid to the door to unlock it for the woman.

  “Bye!” She exclaimed to the woman.

  The woman stood in the doorway for a second. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She grinned at Colette.

  Colette was stunned so just said, “Yeah, you too.”

   She waved after the woman and went back inside, locking the door. Then remembered she never got her name, so she unlocked the door again and saw the woman there.

  “Andrea.” The woman held out her hand.

  “Colette.” She put her hand in Andrea’s and they shook.

  Then Andrea turns around again and walked back to her house.

  Colette nods, satisfied, then shuts and locks the front door again. She leans against it and thinks for awhile.

   When she was finished, she finally knew what to write about in her next big story.

I trusted him.

I brought him into my house.

These were the only things running through my head as Beau walked towards me, his face stony.

I was being backed against the window.

Breathe, I had to remember to breathe, breathe, breathe.

In, out, but the out was too shaky and I couldn’t think I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t

“Annalise.”

I felt his warmth, the softness of his voice as he spoke, his breath and

I sucked in a gasp, stealing the air because

I needed to breathe.

He put a hand on the wall behind me, leaning in so close our noses were almost touching.

“Annalise.” He said again, my name like silk.

My name.

“You fascinate me.” He said to me. I smelled him, his wintery freshness and it was suffocating me.

I had to get out.

I tried to duck under his arm, but he caught me around the wrist.

And then he kissed me.

It was so sudden, so unexpected. My lips parted in surprise but as soon as I realized what he was doing I tried to force them shut.

His tongue was prying against mine and I bit it but he didn’t care, he was exploring me like no one had ever done before.

I wanted to cry, to scream, to yell.

But I couldn’t.

And it would kill me.

He stopped, finally, backing away and we both gasped for air.

“Annalise Catherine Valencia.” His words came out in a rasp. “I want you to know something.”

I stood there, my mind screaming but my voice silent.

“I don’t kiss my girls.”

My heart was racing.

I was so, so confused.

“You’re special.” He continued quietly. “You can’t talk. You can’t fight back.”

Beau reached into his suit jacket and pulled out something sleek and metallic.

A gun.

I collapsed on the floor, rushing to get away from him.

I knew my attempts were futile.

“I’ve never shot anyone before.” Beau told me in a matter-of-fact tone. “I usually hang my girls.”

I was hyperventilating at this point, silent tears running down my face.

“But I don’t want to watch you die like that. I want you to have it easy.”

He cocked the gun and pointed it at me.

The sound of death filled my ears.

I was in so much pain.

It was like nothing I had ever felt before and I was waiting just waiting for it to be over because why was I not dead yet and I could see Beau leaving he left the room he left me to soak in my own blood and

The pain

I was gasping and I was on fire and red red red

My vision was blackening at the edges and red in the middle and I was dying and

I closed my eyes and waited for the nothingness to take over me.