I stretch, pulling my arms behind my head and dropping my head to my knees, as I step from my bed. It’s the first thing I do every morning. Have for years. Makes me feel ready for the day. My days are organized, routine. I can already sense something is off this morning. As I walk into the living room, I can see why.

Three objects are on my dining room table: a glass bottle of milk, gone warm; a copy of the Bible, and a bicycle tire. Only one tire, with no other hints as to where the rest of the bike must be. Hmm. I must have done it again last night …

With a sigh, I grab the keys I keep in the back drawer of the fridge. Who would look for them there, right? Smart, I know. They lead to the basement, and that’s the door I unlock next, eyeing the items in the kitchen with suspicion, as if they could come alive at any moment. Momentos are like that, I find. They hold the essence of people.

As soon as the door to the basement opens, I hear scrambling, and know I was up to no good.

“Murray, Murray, Murray,” I whisper, shaking my head to myself as I go down the steps.

The three men before me are silent, their mouths bound in duct tape. One wears a white shirt and black pants: he’d be responsible for the bike tire. I’d have to find the rest of the bike later. One has on a red cap and overalls: he must have been delivering the milk. The final guy wears a cross. Self explanatory.

I almost feel guilt, but then I don’t. These people knocked, and they were welcomed in to a place they shouldn’t be. Now, they might learn their lesson.

I woke up. Sitting next to me was a bible. It was burnt and torn. Runes were written in to it, I assumed, by me. Next to it was the shambles of a bottle that once held milk. Its edges were burnished with flicks of blood, drying. Sitting in front of my was a collection of humans. Their remains were scattered about in the shape of a tire. Everything felt wrong. I satred in horror, my hand lifting to touch my lips. I took a breath and smelled the iron tang of blood. My hand left my mouth stained with red. I licked. It was sticky and stale. Sticking my tongue out I grouped to get it off. Of course, that only made it worse. I stiffened and swollowed. I felt my fangs emerge. I don't think I'd had them before but they seemed right at home. I hated this. I hated every last inch of it but my emotions were begining to fade. I ate them all. Every last one. I burned the book and grabbed the glass, looking for more. I howled to the moon in joy and ecstacy. I couldn't remember feeling this happy. It didn't matter how I got here. All that mattered was that I didn't want to leave. All that mattered was that I was finally free.

I wake up with my head pounding and an ugly feeling in my stomach, as though I’ve just eaten and dared to ride four whole rollercoasters without regurgitating. God, what’s wrong with me?

I’m in my room but everything looks too bright. The soft pink walls and white blinds with cream curtains. My clean, white polished floor and the clothes that I still haven’t reguarded. Why do I feel as though I’m forgetting something? Everything’s here.

My desk next to my bed. My closet and large mirror. The door to my room hasn’t moved — no, that’s stupid. Doors can’t move. Although everything felt as though it were spinning and poking fun at her for forgetting something so important.

She growled in frustration.

_Ugh, what is it! Okay, Catherine. Start with what you remember . . . _

Yesterday was Friday and school just got out. I got home and ate some freshly baked cookies Mom made. Up to my room I went. Then I pulled my laptop out and started scrolling . . .

Oh! After maybe an hour I got a text from June. She told me there was a party at—

My hand smacks against my mouth when I finally figure it out. It was a little too harsh and abrupt of an action, and sends a pounding through my dumb-ass head. I groan—because of the splitting headache and also the fact that I had sneaked off to the party last night! That was it! I had had my first introduction to alcohol. Not a very friendly first meet, evidently.

**• • • ** [ LAST NIGHT AT JILL’S PARTY ]

Catherine’s head pounded as she downed another drink. Everyone was cheering her on, but she was only half aware. Everything was foggy, twisting and turning. She had to admit, she’d never felt this unfeeling in such a long while. It was as though she could do absolutely anything and come out perfectly fine!

She half-climbed-half-fell down from the table she was standing on. The glass milk bottle she had been drinking whine from shattered when it met the hard ground. Firm arms had caught her just before she connected with the floor and pulled her back to her feet, effortlessly. Catherine met cool, blue eyes and a mop of beautiful black hair with striking white tips and a well structured jaw.

“Beautiful” was the first word that came to mind. The boy laughed. She wasn’t sure if it was because she’d almost fallen, or because she accidentally spoken her thoughts aloud.

“That’s a new one,” Jamey Gill said.

Definitely the second one.

Her hands grabbed his black shirt for balance as she tipped forward again. She could feel the warmth of skin through his fabric. Or was she just hot? He felt exactly how she had ever imagined. Lean and muscular and perfect all at once.

“How many did you have?” He asked.

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a loud burp. Jamy blinked and chuckled. He removed a large chip fragment from her blonde hair.

“Hey,” she drew the word out. “That’s mine.”

“How about this. You can have it back if you allow me to take you home,” he offered.

She half heard what he said, though. She was too focused the vibrant blue of his irises and the dark, long lashes circling them. She’d let him take her anywhere as long as she was with him.

Catherine didn’t know if she nodded or not. Either way, she had a feeling he would’ve taken her to wherever he was taking her to no matter what her reply was.

Before she knew it, he was pulling her with him through a crowd of dancing, drunk teens and blasting music. Bright lights of all different colors surrounded them. People shouted and howled and kissed each other all at once. There was so much going on, too much for Catherine to make sense of.

It helped to focus on Jamy. She’d had the biggest crush on him since fourth grade. Her class had been playing dodgeball in the school’s gym and she’d been hit pretty hard in the face. Everything was fine, other than her hitting the ground with an embarrassing thump, and the laughter of her whole class following shortly after. Jamy was the only one that wasn’t laughing. He hadn’t been the one that hit her with the ball, but he ran over just to make sure she was okay.

Ever since, they’d greeted each other walking to their classes and such. Normal stuff that felt like more to Catherine, even though a friendly “hello” was all it was.

But this was more than just a “hello.” He was holding her hand!

“Alright, Catherine, let’s get you home.” They were outside. Jamy’s voice pulled her back to reality. He let go of her to open his car door. It was such a shock that she tripped over the tire of a bicycle left carelessly on the sidewalk, and fell flat on her face.

She grunted and moaned as her stomach hurled at the sudden connection of the pavement. She’d have puked if she hadn’t caught sight of something that distracted her from the thought. It was a piece of ripped paper on the wet concrete that said words she was having a hard time making sense of. She reached out and grabbed it as Jamy grabbed her arm and pulled her back up.

“Geez, what is it with your head, huh?” He touched a tender spot on her chin. She winced. “Yeah, that’s gunna leave a mark.” Catherine felt a chill as his thumb grazed her mouth. But at the contact, a sharp little pain followed and he pulled back once she gasped. “Looks like that milk bottle got you too,” he remarked.

There was a deep cut on her bottom lip. She licked it and tasted the metallic sensation of blood. Then she blinked and they were suddenly in his car, pulling out of Jill’s driveway.

“Can you remember how many drinks you had?” he repeated. “If you can’t speak, then just hold up fingers.”

She looked at her hands as if they were foreign to her. Jamy must’ve noticed and laughed as he took a right onto her street. Her house was the last one all the way down.

Finally she’d figured it out, and held up eight fingers.

He whistled. “That’s impressive—but not good, though. Don’t do that again,” he corrected himself.

She laughed, although she wasn’t completely sure way. A hiccup followed shortly after, and he chuckled at her as he pulled in front of her house and stepped out of the car.

She thought he was leaving her for a moment, but he wasn’t. He appeared on her side, opened the door, and reached over to unbuckle her. Her heart was already beating fast as it was, but him being so close to her made it pound. It was late. All the neighbors were surely asleep by now including her parents.

Everything was still fuzzy, but she seemed to be able to focus on Jamy with some strain. His fingers fumbled with the buckle. He apologized, softly, multiple times and finally got the strap to come undone, but when he looked back to her, he paused. She knew she was staring, but she just couldn’t help it. The moonlight was doing such dangerous things to his already breathtaking portrait.

He chuckled awkwardly. “Uh—”

But before he could say anything more, she grabbed his face and pulled him closer until their lips were pressed together. He tensed at first, but then seemed to welcome it as she felt his hands cup her face gently. Jamy’s lips felt right against hers. His thumb rubbed her cheek tenderly. One of his hands trailed down her side to her waist. Then he pulled away. She’d never seen him embarrassed before, but it was obviously in the way he laughed nervously and ran his fingers through his hair.

Two seventeen year olds kissing at dark in a car. It sounded like a movie. Was this a movie? Is that why she was feeling this way?

She said something, if only she knew what.

“Let’s—uh—get you inside, Clumsy Catherine,” he concluded after a moment of him trying to collect himself. Jamy looked at her as if he wanted to keep kissing her. But she knew he wouldn’t.

He had carried her up to her front door and rang the doorbell. Mom and Dad had answered and he explained to them what happened. They thanked him and then took her inside and upstairs to her room. She’d have imagined them being a whole lot angrier, but they were more concerned. However, a distant part of her knew she would be getting a stern talking to in the morning when she was feeling more like herself.

• • • [ BACK TO THIS MORNING ]

“I** **kissed Jamy Gill!” I shout a whisper through my hand. The hand that had touched his face just last night. What the hell am I supposed to do the next time I see him? It’ll be so awkward!

I kick my legs over the side of my bed and sit up, ignoring the headache that follows. This is what I get for acting like such a dumbass last night. Something falls to the ground—a piece of paper. It’s the thing I picked up when I fell outside Jill’s house when Jamy was taking me home. I bend over to read it:

“Ephesians 5:28 __ And be not drunk with wine . . .”

Then my stomach twirls and I grab my little garbage can and puke until my stomach is clear of the wretched drink.

Alex woke up with a pounding headache and a sense of disorientation. The harsh sunlight streaming through the window didn't help. As they sat up, they noticed three peculiar objects scattered around the room: a glass milk bottle, an old Bible, and a bicycle tyre. Each item seemed out of place, yet somehow crucial to understanding the foggy events of the previous night.

First, Alex picked up the glass milk bottle. The label was worn, and there was a faint residue at the bottom. Snippets of memory flickered—laughing with friends, clinking glasses, and a toast to something important. The milk bottle had been part of a quirky cocktail someone had insisted on making. Alex remembered the challenge: drink it down in one go. The memory made them wince, but it was a start.

Next, Alex turned their attention to the Bible. It lay open on the nightstand, its pages marked with a ribbon at a passage about redemption and forgiveness. A flashback hit them hard—sitting in a circle at the park, a friend reading aloud, talking about second chances. It had been an impromptu late-night gathering, where deep conversations had mixed with the absurdity of drinking from a milk bottle. The Bible had belonged to Dave, the group's resident philosopher. They had passed it around, each reading a verse and reflecting on its meaning. Alex smiled at the memory, despite the throbbing in their head.

Finally, there was the bicycle tyre. Alex stared at it, confused. Then, slowly, fragments of the night began to slot into place. The tyre belonged to Sam, who had insisted on fixing a flat at the most inconvenient time. The group had staggered to Sam's place after the park, and in a fit of drunken bravado, they had all decided to help with the repair. The tyre had rolled away during the chaos, ending up in Alex’s room somehow. Alex recalled the laughter, the struggle to get the tyre back on the rim, and the eventual collapse into a heap of exhaustion and mirth.

Putting it all together, Alex pieced together the night's journey: a spontaneous decision to mix milk cocktails, deep conversations inspired by the Bible, and a chaotic bicycle repair mission. Each object was a breadcrumb leading back to a night of unexpected bonding and hilarity.

Despite the haze, Alex felt a sense of gratitude. The three objects—the glass milk bottle, the Bible, and the bicycle tyre—weren't just clues to a forgotten night; they were symbols of friendship, spontaneity, and the unexpected moments that brought them closer together. With a smile, Alex resolved to check on their friends and maybe piece together even more of the night's adventure.

A glass lays on the counter Half full, half empty Half smashed. Milk stains the shards. Glistening and murky. Pernicious and no one would know Until they try to clean it up And it stays. In every possible way. The smell, the taste, the splinters A part of you forever.

Much like a book Lingering ideas, beliefs, knowledge That follows you Watches you Omniscient, omnipotent, Superior. A couple of words Are worth more than you ever will be. You are simply a propeller To his reign.

Like a wheel Turning and working and Slaving away. Running circles round your head. Distortion and confusion. The light you follow Just brings you round. And round. Invisible is the rider But they are there, yes Or else you wouldn't be spinning

Faithful follower

Chloe blinked. She could barely see through blurry eyes. She blinked again, where was she?

A few more blinks and her vision cleared up slightly, with a tinge of blue she could at least make out she was in a living room.

Her body felt strange and she realised that she was hanging half off the couch. Moving to fix her position and a rush of blood swarmed her head and pain exploded. She grabbed her head, the pain was familiar and the pieces started to fall into place.

She was hungover. Trying to align her thoughts she could only remember pierces of yesterday afternoon. She was with her friends, Alex and her team had joined them. Things had started normally and then, annoyance flashed across her face as the rest of the night blurred to darkness.

Covering her eyes she swung head legs round to place them on the floor. Another rush of blood attacked her head but she tried her best to ignore it. The feeling of nausea sweeping through her stomach wasn’t helping her focus.

Then she heard groaning from across the room. Her eyes lazily dragged over to a beanbag placed between a window and a potted plant. Looking over, through squinted eyes, she saw a body rolling onto the floor. More groaning and Chloe would have laughed if her head wasn’t threatening to exploded.

Ed rolled over and rubbed his temples.

“Where are we?” Chloe asked, her voice raspy. Sounding weird in her own ears, sounding louder than she felt comfortable with.

“Mine.” Another voice said from a doorway, Olly stepped into view. Chloe admiring the view as he walked out in only green baggy trousers with white palm trees on them, his upper body was lean and muscular. Chloe found herself staring but also felt so horrible that she didn’t really care.

“Anyone remember what happened last night?” Chloe asked.

“I only remember meeting at that first place, then the following few get blurry. Did we ever even meet up with Seb and the others?” Ed wondered, still face down on the floor.

“I think so? Didn’t they show up early on?” Olly continued, walking across the room. Tilting his head as he noticed something on the table. Picking up an empty glass milk bottle that was made of green glass. “Anyone remember this? Or why we have it?”

Chloe stared at the object in his hand, she had never seen an actual milk bottle before. Let alone one made of green glass. Moving on the couch to sit against the back she felt something jab her in the spine. Groaning she twisted and found a book spine pushing up against her. Grabbing the book she looked up at olly in surprise.

“I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“That’s because I’m not.” Olly replied, noticing the bible in Chloe’s hand. “That is not mine.”

“Ohhhhh we have unexpected items in bagging areas.” Ed laughed to himself, still face down on the floor.

A knock at the door drew everyone’s attention. It was loud and demanding.

“Where is my wheel?!” A voice called from the other side of the door.

All three cringed in pain at the banging. Olly rushed to the door, took a second to compose himself and the opened it to an equally tall man with a thick moustache.

“I know it was you! I know you have the wheel to my bike somewhere. I need it back right now!”

“You need to stop yelling.” Olly warned, Chloe could see his legs shaking and it gave her solace the hangover was effecting them all equally.

“I have no idea why your bike wheel is missing or why you think it was us okay? But it wasn’t so thank you.” Olly said, shutting the door.

Chloe could hear the man still huffing on the other side of the door as Olly turned, a pale look on his face.

“We need to figure out if we did anything bad last night.” Ed said to the floor, loudly enough for the others to hear.

“Agreed.” Chloe said. “My favourite way to start is camera rolls. See if there are photos or videos of anything.”

Chloe opened her camera roll and locked her phone straight away, clutching it tight to her chest. Her eyes darting to the boys who were both engrossed in their phones.

She was lucky neither of them had seen her reaction. She had to double check, surely she didn’t see what she thought she did.

But it was true. The first photo when she opened her phone was a blurry selfie of her kissing Olly!

What was she going to do???

I woke up on my living room floor Passed out from apparent intoxication An empty bottle of vodka And several crushed up cans of beer Adorned my otherwise spotless apartment

Ok, that wasn’t quite true I hadn’t swept in some time Dishes had piled up on the sink And six glass milk canisters Sat, probably spoiling, on the counter

That’s odd, I thought The milk wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow And why hadn’t I put it away? The air smelled rich and metallic With the scent of rotting dairy

I was lying on something A quite unorthodox pillow A leather bound book that I didn’t recognize Leafing through it only added to my confusion “The Holy Bible” read the first page A book I’ve never owned

I sat up, confused and a bit frightened With no recollection of what happened the night before. To my left, a large bicycle tire is leaned against the television Busted flat as though it had been punctured I don’t own a bike, I muttered

My stomach grumbled loudly Perhaps if I eat, I can think more clearly, I thought I stumble to the freezer to see what I have left Strange, I don’t remember having so much meat Could it have been a gift from somebody?

I shrug and put on a pot of coffee It’s obvious I’m still somewhat inebriated I pick up the beer cans and toss them in the bin As I flip on the radio to the morning news Eager for something normal

“Three members of the community went missing last night, A milkman, a pastor, and a renowned cyclist. If anyone has any knowledge of their whereabouts, Please contact the authorities immediately.” My stomach sank to my feet

The milk upon the counter, The Bible on the floor The tire leaned against the wall I feel my face turning green As horror fills my entire being

The world spins fast around me, Unrelenting and out of control I know what happened to those three missing men The milkman, the pastor, and the cyclist Are safely stored in my freezer

I’m on the ground. I can’t move. What happened? I can’t remember anything. Way in front of me is a bent up bicycle tyre, next to me a smashed glass milk bottle, no, multiple smashed glass milk bottles. There is a bicycle next to me, missing it’s back tyre, so that’s where the tyre came from, but how did it end up all the way over there?

I remember!

I was on my bicycle, delivering the milk as I usually do early on a Sunday and… there was a crash, I was on the ground, I felt pain.

Now I can’t move, I can’t get help. I hope someone finds me, otherwise I’ll be here forever.

Zed wipes her mouth. Wet rubber. Looking down, squinting her eyes she sees black dancing across her fingers. She smells them. Rubber scented. Wiping her saliva stained cheek with her left hand, she feels relief from the itch that work her up.

Blinking a few times, Zed yawns and her eyes glimpse the black circular tube on the floor beside the couch.

‘That’s why my hand is black.’

Surveying the space around her, trying to familiarise herself with where she is, Zed breathes deep. The room smells odd. She inhaled again.

‘Rubber and milk?’

She squints her face, ‘now that is a strange combination.’

Stumbling to her feet, the penny drops as a light bulb goes off on her mind and Zed relaxes.

‘Bob’s house. But how did I get here?’

Pain emanates from her lower abdomen and instinctively Zed unconsciously moves towards the bathroom. She looks left to the kitchen counter, only to notice a single empty glass milk bottle standing directly in the middle of the large grey counter top. All alone and void of contents, except for one drop of milk lingering in the bottom of the bottle.

Zed staggers into the bathroom, light illuminates the room and Zed pauses.

‘What on Earth happened last night?’

Candles dotted around the room, surrounding the bathtub, had long stance burnt out, extinguished at their ends, with no wick in sight. Water fill to the brim, once hot, now a cold shell of its former self, still in its solitude enveloped by the tub. And there, sitting on its on, unencumbered by anything else, placed gently in the middle of the towel stand, the Bible, with a yellow post it note, positioned just under the words on the darken cover, stating,

“Remember the Visitor”

Feeling surreal, Zed timidly moved towards the toilet, eyes fixated on the Bible and it’s note, wondering what it all means and who was the visitor?

Relief washed over her as she emptied her bladder.

A tyre, an empty milk bottle, a bible placed in a romantic setting in a bathroom with a note to remember the visitor.

Her mind searched for a glimpse of memory from the night before. Just black space and one question lingering in the void,

Where is Bob?

What the hell happened?!

As my surroundings came into focus, that was all I could think.

Last I recall I was at the No Exit having a drink and watching the Spurs. I don’t even remember leaving.

Now I’m staring up at giant warehouse lights. I’m flat on my back on a cold grey concrete floor. There are what look like conveyor belts on both sides of me.

On one side, rows and rows of empty milk bottles move along, creating a constant low-level clatter of glass touching glass. On the other side, the same bottles, filled with milk.

I pull myself to my feet and stumble toward the green exit sign hoping not to encounter anyone.

Pushing the heavy metal door open, I’m blinded by the sunshine pouring in. I squint. Outside it’s quiet, except for the humming sounds coming from the factory.

I recognize this place. I’ve ridden by a thousand times on my way home from the pub. It’s Miller’s Dairy. But I’ve never been inside and why did I stop here?

Then I see it, lying next to the tree, and a memory forces it’s way through the mental fog. My bicycle. The front tire bent and flat. I crashed it into the tree. I remember.

But was I really that drunk? Was I being reckless? Did I hit my head when I crashed and lose my memory? Still unsteady, I grabbed up the remains of my bike and started pushing it the mile towards home.

As I walked, I fought to remember. The pub. The beer, no more than my usual amount, I think. The game. My team losing as usual when it matters.

And there it was. The missing piece. The woman I’d never seen before who walked in, turning the heads of every person in the place. She sat down next to me.

We flirted. I bought her a drink. She seemed interested and then asked if I was married. I said I was, unhappily. She kept flirting but her demeanor changed ever so slightly.

I started to feel a strange cloudiness. My words slurred. Her expression changed to one of anger and she pulled out a large leather-bound bible from her purse. She began to read the proverb: “So be happy with your wife and find joy with the woman you married.”

Then just as I felt ready to collapse she told me the drug she’d spiked my beer with would knock me out in a few minutes and when it did she’d call my wife to come pick me up and tell her the story of my betrayal.

I couldn’t let that happen. I crashed through tables getting to the door. I found my bike and let muscle memory propel me forward.

I remember thinking over and over what a fool I was, what a sorry state I’d be in without Suzy. And then I hit the tree.

As I walked the last few steps up to my driveway pushing the bike, our house was quiet. At first I was relieved. But shouldn’t Suzy have been worried when I didn’t come home? Wouldn’t she have sent someone searching? Wouldn’t neighbors be gathered around the yard consoling her?

I leaned my bike against the garage door. I went to the side door and let myself into the kitchen. Suzy was there.

In front o her lay a large, familiar, leather bound Bible. She was choking as he read out the words “so be happy with your wife.” Behind her, with a hand on Suzy’s shoulder, stood the woman from the pub.