In the dimly lit, candlelit room, eight-year-old Lily stood with an accusing glare, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. Her parents, Emily and John, sat on a pair of ornate, high-backed chairs, their faces hidden in the shadows.

Lily's voice was cold and filled with accusation as she hissed, "You both... you took something from me, didn't you?"

A chilling silence hung in the air before Emily's lips curled into a sinister smile, and she replied, "Why, darling, whatever could you mean?"

Lily's voice trembled as she accused, "My precious locket, the one that belonged to Grandma—it's gone. I know you took it!"

John's eyes glinted with an eerie intensity as he added, "You're mistaken, Lily. We would never take something so precious to you."

But Lily was undeterred, her fear mixed with determination. She produced a hidden surveillance camera footage on her tablet, revealing her parents secretly stealing the locket. Her mother's sinister grin faded, replaced with a look of shock, while her father's face twisted with guilt.

Lily whispered, "I knew it. You were trying to keep it from me. Why, parents, why?"

As the truth unraveled, the room felt even more oppressive, as if darkness itself had taken hold of their souls, leaving a young child to confront the sinister betrayal of her own flesh and blood.

Loretta was in love with Tommy. He was her husband’s brother, just come home after serving for Afghanistan. He was noble and loyal, except to his brother. He didn’t hate his brother. Of course he couldn’t hate his own brother, but after he had come back he fell for Loretta. His brother, Kingston, was a psychopath. He clearly needed to be put into a mental hospital. He was pig headed and narcissistic. Kingston was away at a big important business trip when Tommy came back. He went straight to his brothers house to see his niece and nephew, Sara and Jonah, for Jonah’s 7 birthday party. Sara was 10. After the party Loretta invited him to stay, so Tommy helped around the house for 2 weeks while Kingston was away. They only ever kissed once, never anything more, even though the tension was there. The kids started to really like him. They started to think of him as more than just an odd estranged uncle that just moved back in. They started to love him.

Soon Sara would do just about anything to get Tommy to stay. She would beg him and make him food and do random things for him. Tommy appreciated this, but didn’t understand why she was doing it. By the fourth week Kingston was finally home again. Sara hugged her daddy, but knew that he wasn’t the same. He was more distant and detached then before. She knew something had happened when he was away. She even saw her daddy being detached with her mommy. That was weird. He loved her mommy more than anyone in the world. He wouldn’t ignore her like this. He wouldn’t treat her like this. Sara thought that she understood what had happened. At the dinner table one night, when Daddy was being feral towards uncle Tommy about “sleeping with” mommy, Sara had an idea. Mommy did sleep with Tommy sometimes. He would go into the office with her and wouldn’t come out until she had gone to bed. That has to mean that they were sleeping together. “Kingston, you’re being irrational,” Mommy yelled at Daddy. “I would never do that to you! With your own brother too? I can’t believe you’d think that.” “Yeah, King, just calm down,” Uncle Tommy said. “Mommy and Uncle Tommy sleep together all the time. Most weeks. Sometimes on the weekends. Uncle Tommy loves us and Mommy,” Sara said. Everyone, including her little brother turned to Sara. “What did she say!?” Daddy shouted. Mommy glared at Sara. “She’s lying, Kingston. Sara go to your room right now!” Sara didn’t want to go to her room. But she did. She listened to the adults scream at each other after Jonah shot up the stairs to his room. After that night, Daddy was soon gone. He moved to where his business trip was. Uncle Tommy moved in and three days after Sara turned 11, Mommy and Uncle Tommy got married. Sara was the flower girl. Sara’s plan had worked.

“Honey…” said his mom, trying to soothe him, hands raised in a peace gesture. The guilt was readable on her face. In her eyes. But how could she do anything anymore? She had betrayed him. They both had. And for what? Because they didn’t think he could bear to know the truth? Because they didn’t think him man enough to endure that reality? How could they imagine this reversal would go well in the end? Henri gasped in horror as he realised the truth. “You never intended for me to find out. Did you?” He knew his tone might be too accusatory but at that point he didn’t care. He was mad at them. “Well…” started his dad. “We knew how you would react to the news so…” “And you didn’t think I could choose to want to know?” That was the wrong question and his mom pointed it out. “You can’t choose to learn something you know nothing about.” “She is right. We just wanted…” “You wanted to run my life?” He yelled. “Is that it?” “Of course not!” They exclaimed together. “Then what? To protect me? I am fifteen. I deserve the truth. I am almost an adult and you still treat me as a child. Why?” “You are still young and we thought …” He was fuming now and his fists were trembling. If he wasn’t careful… “Calm down, please. Honey…” His mom tried again to soothe him. She was afraid now. Slightly backing up. “Your mother is right. Breathe. Calm yourself down.” “I can’t calm down.” He said, realising suddenly the truth of it. “I … don’t know how. And if you had warned me, I could have learned as my powers came along rather than having to rush into things.” “We honestly thought the power genre has skipped you.” His dad was sincere. Sad even. “Well, now you’ve done it!” He couldn’t calm down. He was shaking. The room too. And soon, he would explode. And then? Well, who knew what could happen?

“Mom, dad, was I adopted from space?”

I look up from my dinner at the same time as my wife. “What?” I almost spit out my drink laughing.

“You adopted me from an alien, didn’t you?”

I look over at my wife to see if she has a clue where this question came from, but she shrugs.

“That’s an oddly strange accusation, Carter. Why do you think we adopted you from space?” I ask.

“Well, for one, my hair is red and none of you guys have red hair. Plus, I’m much shorter than everyone, like an alien.” Carter explains, pointing to his hair and then comparing out height.

“Carter, just because you have red hair doesn’t mean you’re an alien.” My wife finally says something.

“Okay, then what about my eyes? Why are they so big?” He argues.

“Your eyes are normal, what do you mean?” I can’t say stop myself from laughing.

“Are you sure I wasn’t adopted from an alien? It’d be much cooler than human parents.”

Sitting across from my therapist, Kira, I start to tremble when she asks about what happened that night. The night that started it all, the night that caused me sitting in this clinic having to seek professional help. I don’t want to talk about it just yet. I’m still not ready. But I know I can’t keep putting it off, Kira has already let it slide too much, and I don’t want to disappoint her. So I force myself to speak up, my voice cracking, my limbs shaking.

« I was 11 at the time », I begin. « I had just gotten out of my room, with a drawing in my hand that I was running towards my mom to show her. Except I didn’t find her, that night, and neither did I find my dad. I looked around the whole apartment, mind you it wasn’t that big, but I couldn’t find them. I waited an hour, two hours, my anxiety out the roof, trying my best not to cry because I told myself they'd be coming back soon. I stayed up, way past my bedtime, waiting. They still weren’t home when I fell asleep and woke up the next morning. That's when I started crying. »

I take a glance at Kira for a moment before continuing. She's noting some stuff down with a slightly sad look on her face. « I didn’t leave the house until they were back, which was two days later. » I clench my fists at that part. That’s the hard part. Kira gives me an encouraging smile and nods up, signaling me to keep going. I breathe. « The conversation afterwards went somewhat like this »,

‘’Where were you guys?’’ I’d said on the verge of tears, in the tone a parent would use to scold their kid for staying out past their curfew. Not the opposite, which was kind of happening back then.

‘’Cath, sweetie, we’re okay. Nothing happened. Relax,‘’ my dad had said, not an inch of worry in his voice, and every ton of it in mine when I answer.

‘’What do you mean nothing happened? You left me completely alone in the house, no warning left, no goodbye, and I felt like I was hecking abandoned! You abandoned me!’’ I'd waited for them to say something, but when they didn’t, I continued.

‘’I can't believe this. You never left me alone in the house when going out, because you were afraid for my safety. And now you do this? How? You’re the worst parents, you should have at least said something before leaving, but you just-‘’

My speech had been interrupted by a slap delivered right across my mouth by my mom. I looked up at her in disbelief and fright, and all I saw was the stern look of a mother who genuinely did not give a shit about the way her kid was reacting to a situation like this one.

‘’You shut up now. We do not bring up this discussion again. Do you hear me?’’ She'd gritted between her teeth. All I could do was nod, blinking excessfully to push back my tears.

‘’And dare raise your voice at us again like this, and I will make you regret it. You’re not the parent here, we are. You listen and fucking obey.’’ She stormed to the kitchen, my dad looking at me apologetically before following her. And then I broke down.

Driving back home after our session, I’m still shaken up from the 45 minutes spent talking about that night. I explained to my therapist that I found out that, that day, they tried to leave me because my mom just couldn’t handle me anymore. She couldn’t handle my constant puking and refusal to eat, or how I sucked up all her energy.

But truth is, I talk about that day as the defining point of my trauma because from then on, all I could notice was the way she'd been abusing me, my whole life, physically, verbally, and emotionally. She'd stopped hitting me vaguely around when I was 9 or 10 but had always done it before, whether it was because I wasn’t eating, brought back «bad» grades, or wasn’t falling asleep fast enough. She'd still call me names and insult me and mock me after the beatings stopped, and emotionally guilt-trip me and manipulate me for different reasons.

She traumatized my life, which is why I put myself in therapy, and for that, I hate her.

Another Sunday, another afternoon scrolling through the infinite streams of stories, discussions and investigations that flow out of Reddit. Raiden had become quite addicted to this website whenever he got his own personal computer for school work a year ago. This place of curiosity, horror, and anonymity drew him in like sundew to a defenseless fly.

He vaguely wondered if he should stop coming here, because, at the moment, it’s distracting him from his sophomore English essay and his geometry homework. But the thought drifted away in the data stream. His eyes currently rove through a series of threads under r/deepestsecrets. He knew that over half the “people” on here were bots, and he could usually spot their posts based off the username or thread title. After listening to his mother rant about all the fake news that constantly spews from the rancid depths of the internet, he too has grown bored of things he believes to be false, unreal, or fabricated. She works as a secretary in the office of the Mayor of Raiden’s hometown, Sandwich, MA, and fell pretty deep into politics as a result. The additional hormones from her pregnancy have not helped.

A thread finally caught his eye. It’s title reads, “I have a secret family.” He read on. “I’m an American in their late-30s, and I’ve been married to my current spouse going on 10 years. Our anniversary is in a month as of writing this.” Raiden glanced at the post date. It’s about a month old, and he exhaled a laugh, “What are the odds?” His parents’ anniversary happened later this week. His dad already told him about the romantic dinner he has planned. Raiden brushed off the coincidence and continues reading, “However, for the past year or so, I have been cheating on my spouse with my coworker. I know everyone will judge me for this, but that’s what the screen name is for. There was always this magnetism between us ever since I started working there, especially since we started at the same time, and one day, after an inebriated office party, the flood gates opened. If I had any moral fiber in my body, I would’ve ended it there. But this affair continued after that night, and now we’re expecting. The stress of keeping this from my spouse and son has been doing a number on me.”

Raiden heard the front door shut. His father had just arrived home from his therapy session. Although it’s company-mandated and paid-for to maintain good mental health, he seems to have going more often lately. Raiden wasn’t sure why, but was too nervous to ask. It was impossible for him not to notice the distance growing between his parents ever since his mother got pregnant, which happened not too long after the mayor was elected. She spends more and more time at the office even though she should be resting. She’s about ready to pop! He’s asked his online friends about the normality of his situation, but none of them could give him any confidence. He was sure either a divorce or something worse was on the horizon.

With a little more trepidation in his heart, he read on, “I just want to end my marriage. My lover is not yet financially stable, and I know I will not be able to support them along with my other children. I’m at a loss for words. My son told me about Reddit since he surfs it regularly. He assured me the internet always has good answers to tough problems. So, does anyone have any advice?”

At the end of the post, Raiden stopped. He shook his head, refusing to believe the random thought that crossed his mind. “No way! I’m not the only teenage boy on Reddit.” He sighed, and knew looking at the comments would be playing Russian roulette. He took a deep breath and began scrolling further. There were the expected hate comments: “KYS”, “You’re a terrible parent!”, the works. But there were some well-wishers, and one strange response seemingly advertising an oddly specific divorce lawyer. Raiden wracked his brain for this name. Where had he seen it before?! Then it hit him: he saw the ad on the kitchen counter! It was tucked between some newspapers and magazines but the name was unmistakeable. But… just in case it was mistakable, Raiden set his laptop over on his bed, leapt up and headed for the kitchen. He feigned the need for a glass of water as he surreptitiously glanced through the mail splayed across one side of the counter. There it was. He swallowed hard as he felt his stomach bottom out.

At the moment his mother sat on the couch, watching the news, occasionally growling at the “bullshit!” Meanwhile, his dad emerged from the bedroom in his bathrobe and shorts, looking relaxed but not remotely well-rested. He goes to pour himself a cup of coffee even though it’s almost dinner time. Raiden found it difficult to keep a straight face as he clutched the newspaper clipping. He quietly sipped his water for a minute, contemplating his next move. Then he jumped when a hand suddenly waved in front of his face.

“Hey, Raiden! You home, buddy?” His dad said. He turned around to grab a towel because Raiden had accidentally spilled his cup of water all over himself. Raiden moved stiffly to set his glass down and accept the dish towel. Before he could, however, his mother came waddling over to dab him dry, “Oh sweetheart! You’re all wet!”

His dad noticed his other hand, “Whatcha got there?” He snatched the half-soaked paper before Raiden could say anything, and he felt his stomach clench. Is it true? Were all those coincidences just that? Coincidences?

Raiden’s father took one look at it, then crumpled it up, “Just some piece of trash.” He looked up at Raiden with a smile, but Raiden watched as he slipped the wad of paper into his back pocket. “What do you say, bud? Wanna watch a movie tonight? Or the ball game?”

Raiden saw the light dim in his father’s eyes as it took longer… and longer… and longer for him to respond.

I have always tried to be there I give and give and give All I hear is that I am bad I’m driving her in sane

I don’t know where I went wrong I do not feel respected The more I do the worst I feel Appreciated that I am not

Why is it I’m always wrong No matter what I’m doing I give her this I give her that I even pay her bills

I’m always told that I’m the worst That I’m not even a good daddy When she gets mad she does attack She gets right in my face

Is that the way that she should do And treat the man that made her I just know I’ve had enough It’s time that she’s abandoned

I do not want to be around her It’s time she’s on her own It’s sad to say it really hurts I think that I don’t love her

She has treated me so wrong I do not want to see her I hope one day she will grow up Maybe by the time she’s sixty

I just know I won’t be around To see if she does make it She scream and shouts And makes a scene

I try to tone her down She just says that she don’t care I finally have had enough With a smile I walk away There’s nothing more to say

                  Written By; 
                   Ghostrider 
                  07-27-2023

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jazz so incredibly furious with anyone. And it is quite surprising to see him try to confront anyone about anything.

He’s shaking, he’s so angry. Fists clenched in his blazer pockets, bright spots of red forming in his cheeks, eyes alight with unbridled danger… this is not the Jasper I know.

I think Dad’s actually quite worried. Maybe even scared. Of his eleven year old son, who up until now couldn’t even kill a tiny little bug without feeling horribly guilty.

Now, I’m almost convinced he could kill Dad, though I can’t quite think why.

“What is it?” Mum asks, looking almost as confused as I feel.

“I’ve worked it out,” Jasper says slowly, every syllable laden with an inferno of anger — and fear. “There’s nobody else. It has to be you.”

“You’re still on about this detective business?” Dad laughs, moving a hesitant step closer and grabbing Jazz’s shoulder. “I told you to stop, Jasper. I told you you wouldn’t like what you found.”

“I don’t. You’re not even wrong about that, and I hate you for it.”

“What… did you find, Jazz?” I asked, glancing at the half-open door where Charlie and Imogen were blatantly listening in on the conversation.

“I found Tori’s murderer, of course,” he sighed, giving me a strangely exasperated look. “What did you think I was looking for, Evie?”

“Your sister wasn’t murdered.”

“We both know you’re lying.”

“Are you trying to insinuate that I killed Tori?” Dad asked, voice carrying a genuine-sounding surprise.

Jasper didn’t answer.

“I would have had to have a very good reason to kill my own daughter, you know.”

“Since you’re cheating on Mum, and Tori knew full well that you were doing that, I’d say you had a pretty damn good reason for murdering her. And you had the perfect opportunity — you’re the only person who could have done it, unless you really want to tell me that Miss Hart did it.”

“So you admit someone else had the opportunity?”

“Miss Hart? Couldn’t say boo to a goose, and would have no reason to kill Tori. She hardly even knew her. But Tori could have ruined you, couldn’t she?”

It’s surreal.

This just isn’t… it doesn’t make sense.

“Well,” Mum says, snapping out of her brief daze. “Well. Andrew, what on Earth do you have to say for yourself now?”

“He’s insane!”

It was such a pathetic response that I couldn’t help laughing a bit. Jasper was accusing him of murder — and it sounded horribly real — but his big argument was that Jazz was crazy.

“I’m not even the first person to suggest it,” Jasper said quietly. “And I defended you. I told her that there was no way you could have done it, because you loved her. Love us all… I don’t know how I could have been so wrong.”

The smile that crept onto Dad’s face was horrific.

“Do you know how I first wanted to shut Tori up?”

Stop using that nickname.

You don’t get to call her Tori anymore.

Jasper nodded, but I knew he was lying.

“So you know how little I care for you.”

“Naturally. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve got a scar to prove it.”

“You should be the one in that grave,” Dad spat, making Mum gasp and one of the twins scream outside.

“Then you should have just killed me.” The lack of fear in Jasper’s voice was almost as terrifying as what Dad was saying. “And then you could have kept this from crashing down, and you wouldn’t have had to hurt Adrian. Or Tori. I don’t understand why you didn’t take the easy way out, because you’ve lost everything now.”

“Because she would have known he killed you, wouldn’t she?”

I couldn’t help leaping in. Hearing things like that come out of anyone’s mouth, least of all my almost-twin’s… it made me feel ill. Especially in that done-with-it-all sort of voice.

“The motive is the same either way you slice it,” I continued, for lack of anything else to say. “Shut Tori up, because she knows what Dad’s been up to. But then Tori would have to be told that Dad’s willing to go as far as murdering his own kids to keep her quiet. And she’d inevitably turn him in, because we all know you adored each other.”

Dad practically snarled and moved his hand to Jasper’s throat.

And then he began to squeeze.

Halfway through dessert, Mum’s communicator pinged. A few moments later, so did Ma’s. They glanced at each other, as all parents do, that one-millisecond look conveying one-thousand unspoken words.

My stomach dropped, and the warm pudding in my mouth suddenly felt cold. “What?” I mumbled. “Has someone died?”

Mum’s communicator pinged again, the transparent glass flashing red. A glob of chocolate sauce fell, splatting onto her plate, and she put down her spoon. “The creature we discovered last week, hidden beneath the ice, its...” Mum hesitated, but after a nod from Ma, she added, “Meditec says it's alive.”

“It’s awake?” Ma had shown me photivids of the frozen creature, its dark, mangled body preserved in time.

“Not as of yet. Well, not as far as we can tell.”

Ma took my hand from across the table, her’s white and human, mine blue and furry—alien.

I used to hate being different from them, looking ‘wrong’. Every day I would wish to wake up human, try to curse away the horns on my head and the tail flicking from my back. I once shaved the fur on my arms, watched as a blanket of fluff formed on the bathroom floor, and my skin turned yellow and raw. But Ma had caught me. She didn't yell or cry; she only took me in her arms and hugged me.

It took a while, but I now feel comfortable with who I am. Horns and all.

Ma smiled almost apologetically, her dark brows curving in. “We have to go,” she said, a smidge of chocolate gracing her upper lip, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it's your Hatchday, but—”

Keeping hold of Ma’s hand, I stood and walked around the table. My tail twitched, and I leaned back, using my weight to pull her out of her chair. “Go,” I said to them.

Ma eyed me warily. “Seriously?”

“Seriously serious. But one thing...” I glanced between them, trying to hide my smile. “Can I come? I’ll be good. I promise.”

Ten minutes later, I stood in the observation bay, watching as my parents climbed into their hazmat suits—Ma in pink, Mum in green.

The Lab always smelt of chemicals and artificial lemon. And today was no exception. Even safe behind a thick layer of protective glass, my nose prickled, and hot tears stung my eyes.

Inside, the lab itself was like one block of ice: white walls, white floor, and the transparent screens situated around the room reflected the stark lights like a freshly polished ice sculpture.

In the middle of the lab, Ma and Mum leaned over what I could only describe as a large, opaque coffin.

Mum’s suit groaned as she turned her banana-shaped helmet towards me. “Are you watching Squidge?” She said, using my nickname. Her voice sounded muffled through her respirator. “We’ll be the first to set eyes on this creature in over one thousand years; I don't want you to blink and miss it.”

I pressed my nose to the cool glass. “I’m watching.”

Mum gave a gloved thumbs up and then typed something into one of the surrounding screens. Sound like compressed air hissed, and the coffin on the table turned clear before dissipating, revealing the creature lying there.

To compare the creature to an Earth lizard would be wrong. Although it had all the attributes of a scaly reptile (rough, green skin, flat, almost featureless face and a long tail), it—they—was far more magnificent. Far more.

The creature laid on their side, two back legs curling into their stomach. Sharp, white claws—talons?—tipped the end of each of the six toes, and as I craned my neck, I noticed a matching set on their slender fingers.

Their eyes were shut, sleeping.

I took a long sniff through my nose, and beneath the tang of chemicals, I caught a whiff of something... Else.

“Getting the sniffles, sweetheart?” Ma asked.

“No... I think— They smell bad”—I shook my head—“not bad, but sick. Unwell.”

Mum’s helmet glinted as she looked up. “You can smell them? What of?”

The new odours scratched the back of my throat, and I took a sip of water. “Like fermented strawberries and stale week-old Earth milk.”

“Strawberries?”

“Yeah, it's disgusting.”

Ma moved around the sleeping creature. I could hear them talking, but between the suits and the glass, their voices were no more than jumbled mumbles.

“What are you guys saying? What is it?”

My parent's eyes met and their second of a thousand words passed between them. Ma nodded, and without hesitation, Mum pressed something on the screen.

A high trill blared, and the Meditec’s robotic voice croaked through the speakers, “Termination accepted.”

Termination? No, no, no, no.

We were a research lab, a mouthpiece for the past. Everything my parents discovered was sent home to help widen our understanding of Earth's forgotten history. We weren't killers; we were observers. This wasn't right.

I hammered on the window. “You’re going to kill them! Stop!”

“Alexis, quiet.” I don't know which one of them said it.

“No, what you're doing is wrong,” I yelled. “I thought you wanted to help them.” Something wet slipped down my cheek. “Like you did for me.”

I didn't notice Ma leave the lab.

“You’re young, you... You don't understand it yet,” Ma said softly. “It's horrible, of course it is, but...” She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close, but I didn't return the human gesture. I could smell the disinfectant on her. Her hazmat suit was gone, shredded like a second skin, and she rested her chin on the top of my head between my horns. “It's for the greater good, sweetheart—one life for many. It's for the greater good,” she repeated, and I didn't know if she said that for me or more for herself.

A red light flashed from inside the lab. The meditec’s speaker crackled.“Termination complete.”

“You’re a murderer,” I mumbled, but Ma only hugged me closer.

In the end, I understood why they had done what they did. The smell was a sign of Reptoria, a virus that had it gotten out; it could have ended ev—

Stretched backwards on an oversized recliner, I swigged from a gallon of water. There wasn’t much left so I finished it in two gulps. It was another lazy afternoon in which comfort was more important than productivity. With my shoulders pressed against the cushioned back of the chair and my feet still elevated, I reached out to place the empty jug on a nearby end table. I missed and it dropped to the floor.

It wasn’t the first one to have fallen and sure wouldn’t be the last. I heard it bounce off another plastic container before settling into its final resting spot. The next time I stood, the empties would be moved to a recycling barrel in the garage. At least that was the plan. The only thing that was going to get me out of that chair was a trip to the bathroom. Until then, out of sight, out of mind.

Behind me, laying in a similar, near flat position, my dogs relaxed on a double sized mattress devoted to their comfort. Both retired racing greyhounds, Propane and Charcoal enjoyed an identical afternoon of restful laziness. With happy thoughts of procrastination dancing in our heads, each of us drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, I awoke needing to go to the bathroom. I half expected Propane, the dominant of the two, to be sitting upright at my feet. He only sat that way if he wanted attention or needed to go out. He’d stretch himself as tall as possible while still in a seated position and stare at the wall across the room. He never barked or stared directly at me. An innocent look of quiet obedience explained what he was thinking.

“I know you can see me so I’m not even going to look in your direction. You know what I want. I’ll be patient.”

Any time he sat that way, his eyes wandered around the room until he looked in my direction. When our eyes met, he looked away. It was as if he got caught doing something he knew was wrong. A few seconds passed before his gaze returned. The charade continued until I either stroked the top of his head or took him outside.

With my dogs nowhere in sight, I grabbed the side lever to return the recliner to its normal, upright position. The footrest lowered but was unable to recess into the front of the chair.

Assuming an errant water bottle had fallen in its path, I tried to dislodge it using the least amount of effort. After returning the footrest to a reclined position, I brought it down a second time with more force. I envisioned the container popping out of place.

I was wrong. So very wrong. The obstruction was Propane’s head.

Unbeknownst to me, he was laying with his head wedged into the front opening reserved for the footrest. When Propane felt the force applied to his head, he bolted upright and glared at me. He was pissed.

A greyhound’s neck is narrow and fragile. It is why martingale collars are used. They prevent a leashed dog from slipping out of his collar and never tighten past the width of his neck. Even a retired greyhound that sprints away leashed can run thirty miles per hour in just three strides.

Angry, Propane stared at me and said, “Who did that? I did not enjoy that!”

I felt horrible and moved quick to kneel by his side. However, in the two or three seconds it took to reach him, I remembered this was the second time such an event occurred. The same thing happened a few months earlier. The peculiarity of the situation struck me funny. My attempts to console one of my four legged friends was marred with laughter.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.”

With giggles mixed in between every word, the sincerity offered appeared disingenuous. When I tried to hug Propane, he pulled back, unwilling to accept the gesture.

“I don’t think I like you anymore,” he replied. “You’re a big meanie.”

Propane walked across the room to his brother, expecting the warmth of camaraderie to heal his bruised feelings.

“Charcoal, daddy tried to decapitate me. At first, I thought maybe it was Halloween and he was gonna put my head over top of his to go trick or treating. And I guess I.would go with him as the Headless Horseman’s greyhound. But then I remembered it’s Valentine’s Day. Nobody gets dressed up for that.”

Sprawled out on the mattress, Charcoal remained motionless. He made no attempt to acknowledge, much less comfort his older brother.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Propane continued. “Daddy tried to kill me!”

Without lifting this body from the ground, Charcoal raised his head and replied, “Yeah? So?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“According to my math, with you out of the way, I’ll get half the life insurance and twice the treats. So I really don’t care.”

“Y’know what? I don’t think I like you either. You’re a big meanie too!”

Dissatisfied with the lack of empathy, Propane walked away in a huff. He left the room. Laying near the doorway, he positioned himself in order to keep one eye on each of us. Up until his recent passing, he never laid near the recliner again.