They say black cats are bad luck If they cross your path

I don’t believe that I met my baby 4 years ago

She was my everything I was so lucky

She guided me through those years Until her time was up

Blacks cats aren’t bad luck There a gift god gave and we took for granted

Bye my baby

A young girl of seven years, perched on her knees upon the sidewalk in front of her childhood home, had a thought. Not a very important thought, but a thought nonetheless. One that left her bewildered. and when she was confused, well, there was only one thing she could do.

She asked her sister.

“Maddie?” Maya Rose prompted quietly, absently rolling a toy car between her hands. not wanting to startle her older sister of two years, from the chalk drawing she had been focusing on intently for the last 10 minutes.

Maddie ignored her.

Fidgeting, a hand going up to absently tug at her braid, Maya tried again.

“Maddie.”

Still focused on her drawing, the older girls side.

“What?”

Again, Maya fidgeted, shifting on her knees, as she set the toy car aside. Classping her hands together in her lap, she wiggled nervouslyOnce more. after which, wanting her sister’s full attention, she tried to be a bit firmer.

“Maddie, I have a question.”

Seeming to realize that she wouldn’t be able to focus solely on her latest masterpiece, without first answering her sister‘s question. Maddie set down her chock with a dramatic flourish, making a point to exaggerate a long suffering sigh as she met her younger sisters eyes.

“ OK, Maya. What’s your question?”

With a grin, the younger sister scooted forward on her knees, mindful of her older sisters art.

“You know how they say if you step on a crack you’ll break your mama’s back?”

Maddie shot her an incredulous look before answering.

”yes…?”

Maya squirmed a bit more, eager to finally get her question answered.

“ What if you have two dads like we do? does that mean it doesn’t affect us? are daddy and Papa safe?”

Maddie’s brain stalled.

Out of all the questions, she thought her sister might ask, she hadn’t been prepared for that one.

Staring at her younger sister blankly, the older one finally spoke with a thoughtful air.

“I’m not entirely sure…”

Maya frowned, then perked up after a moment.

“I’ll just ask daddy!”

And, with the spring to her step, Maya Rose got to her feet and trotted into their house.

If Maddie didn’t know, her dads definitely would

Salem, my beloved, my furry feline. I’ll have no worries as long as he’s mine. Everyone knows to approach me with care, Otherwise, they’ll end up with burdens to bear.

Miss Crawford, for example, who lived down the way, Grew balls and decided to cuss me one day. But little did poor little Miss Crawford know, Salem was there to witness the show.

A screech of terror came from her house later that night, And the police entered to find a dreadful site. Lying face down in a dark pool of red Miss Crawford had fallen and busted her head.

Then there was that one old guy, a total stranger, Who pulled out in front of me in a red Ford Ranger. He flipped me the finger as he drove away, But Salem was with me, so that guy had to pay.

later that night, I turned the news on TV, That old man’s face was staring back at me. He fell asleep at the wheel and veered off into the wrong lane, His red Ranger flipped and burst right into flames.

‘’What an awful tragedy’’, most folks would say, ‘’It was their time to go’’, or ‘’it just wasn’t their day.’’ But I know the truth, it was my beloved feline. Cross me, and you’ll face Salem‘s wrath… EVERY TIME.

We walked three blocks to school and back And skipped around the sidewalk cracks The older children knew this hack And taught us so matter-of-fact If you happen to step on a crack You’ll surely break your mother’s back

And so I tread with careful feet One two three-stop, and then repeat Precarious on every street My mother’s life in every beat Made sure my brother did repeat The every movement of my feet

Until the day he wriggled free And ran ahead, face filled with glee Smashing cracks mercilessly Killing our mom purposefully While every stomp brought him more glee I cried, feeling more trapped than free

Yet when we got home we found Our mother waiting, safe and sound There was no point in walking round The sidewalk cracks along the ground Or policing the every sound Of feet avoiding dents they found

Though that should have quelled my fears The next day brought similar tears My brother revving up his gears To step on cracks, then laugh and sneer The thought of mom hurting brings tears And is something I’ll always fear

The population is 109. Nobody knows when it'll go down or who the next victim will be. Your fate has been decided for you and you can only sit in fear, praying to live one more day.

I can’t say when this started, who's controlling it, or just why it’s happening. All I know is that your name determines the way you'll die – and you do your best to avoid it.

My name is Petir, meaning, “Thunder and Lightning", and I've been alive for seventeen years. It’s been easier because you don’t see lightning as much as you do water or fire.

There’s nothing easy about watching your family die one by one, having the unfortunate luck of surviving. There's only me and Mavis left. His name means "Song", one of the unpredictable ones. You hear songs every day so he's lucky he even made it to nine.

Right before mom died, I promised that I would protect Mavis. I don't break promises, that's the only thing I'll keep forever.

"Mavis?" I call as I walk into his small and cluttered room. Books are stacked from the floor to the roof and posters cover the walls. He's sitting on his bed, reading a book, and wearing his sound-proof headphones.

He sees me and removes them. "Yes?"

"It's time to see Zira. She says you’re coloring today. Excited?"

Mavis yawns and hops out of bed. "Hardly." He puts on his jacket and his shoes. "I think I would rather… die."

"Didn't I tell you to stop saying that?" I scold but he ignores me, leaving the room. I follow close behind and the two of us make our way out to the damaged and destroyed streets of Ulcupa.

The buildings are covered in posters from “The Doubters”, a group of people that think there’s a way to stop the declining population. "Take a stand! We won't cower any longer, we will not die! Join us and fight back!" The poster reads.

They’re just a stuck on the first stage of grief, pretending to not be afraid, but when their time comes, they cry like the rest of us. We're all the same here. it's impossible to be different when there's only 109 people alive.

After a while, we make it to the PTC (protect the children) building. All of the schools, hospitals, and churches closed about five years ago. There was no longer any reason for anything.

However, some people thought that children deserved some sort of functioning society, so PTC was created a year ago. They have one person for a group of kids. Mavis sees Zira. She helps him a lot, even if he thinks otherwise.

"Come here, Bug." I grab Mavis' hand and take his headphones off. "You'll be good, right? I'll see you in an hour."

"I'll be good." He whispers. "And, I'll see you if I don't die."

"Don't say that." My voice holds a mild amount of anger. He knows how harmful the things he says are. He doesn't understand the full concept of death and since I'm unwilling to tell him he provokes me. I’m only trying to protect him.

"I'm sorry, Petir." He hugs me. "I will see you."

“Good, Bug. And, remember if you get a bad feeling, put your headphones on, okay?" I say.

As soon as he's gone, that feeling is back. It follows me as I walk back home and whispers in my ear. "Hello, Petir. Did you miss me?"

Loneliness has been with me my entire life. It's always followed me. It's everything I see, every word I speak, and every breath I breathe. It's harder to escape than death.

“You look lonely.” Clouds form words. “Are you ready?” It asks. “We're ready for you.” I take a deep breath and count the amount of steps I take.

100, 101, 102, 103,104, 105, 106, 107— I'm stopped by someone, a woman. She grabs me by my shoulders and exclaims, "You have to run! There isn't much time!" And, before I get the chance to react, I hear thunder and rain starts pouring.

“We're all going to die!" She cries. “Save us!" Then, she disappears down an alleyway.

Gray clouds appear effortlessly and send bold streaks across the sky. The sound rings in my ears and fear consumes me. This is how I die.

I start to run, lightning guiding me. I make it to the PTC building and run inside.

"Mavis!" I yell. "Where are you!?" I search every room, making it to the last room and finally seeing him.

He's sitting in a chair and staring blankly at the wall. Zira is on the floor. Her time came.

"Mavis!" I hug him tightly. "Are you okay?" I ask. He doesn't respond, he doesn't look at me or hug me back. I notice that his brown eyes are dull and lifeless.

Slowly, I remove his headphones and blood begins to seep from his ears. "No.." I can hear the loud song that plays from his headphones. He falls out of the chair and hits the floor. It takes everything in me to not lay down beside him and cry.

I run out of the room as he bleeds out. I run out of the building and then down the street. I can still hear the thunder, but for some reason, I'm not dead. Mavis is.

I run until my legs give up on me and I collapse. I'm unable to tell whether it's tears or rain dripping down my face.

"No.." I whisper into the ground. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to die. "Just take me already!" I shout, and as if the universe is responding, a bolt of lightning strikes me.

Everything is black and I can feel my heart stop. But, somehow, I'm still breathing and I’m still alive.

"We've been waiting for you, Petir." There’s a familiar voice but I can't see anyone. "Finally, you decided to show.".

Population 1̶0̶9̶. 107

October 31st is the day Skull Face emerges from his coffin. Nobody knows who he is—or what he is. The only thing we know is that he's dead, a zombie basically, and terrifying.

He wears an all black suit that blends in with the dark street and sky. He has long, raven hair that reaches his shoulders. And, then his face… his face is a skull.

Yes, an actual skull, not a painted skull or a costume skull.

He's been showing up on people's doorsteps for six years straight now. He's never said a single word. All he does is stare. People say that when he looks at you, you turn to stone, or die instantly.

I don't believe this. I don't believe that Skull Face even exists and if he does, I don't believe that he's as terrifying as people make him out to be. I think he's just some deranged kid that gets satisfaction from messing with gullible people.

That's why I plan on putting this sick act to rest. That's why I plan on going outside with the costume I made for a year straight. I made it as realistic as possible. If Skull Face were to stand beside me, we'd be identical.

7:08 PM …

I walk down the crowded street of a rich neighborhood. Kids are running from door to door with their Halloween bags and singing that one annoying song.

"Trick Or Treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat! If you don't, I won't be sad, I'll just make you wish you had!"

7:14 PM …

It seems that people are yet to notice me and lock their doors in trepidation.

Maybe, I made my costume so well that I actually blend in with my surroundings and they just haven't seen me yet. Whatever the reason is, I continue walking down the road in silence, searching for my first victim.

It has to be the most idiotic and gullible person ever. Then, I'll move onto the unbelievers. The children, I'll spare them.

7:18 PM …

This is the time I reach the Myers house. The Myers are the town nutjobs, they believe in everything occult. They were even the first people to have "seen" Skull Face. They say that he took the life of their oldest son, Roger.

But, Roger is a bad kid. He runs away every other day and never goes to school. I think that they just used that excuse to protect him.

I walk up their driveway which is decorated with skulls, ghost inflatables, fog, and halloween lights. Just as I begin to knock on their door, I see something out of the corner of my eye.

I ignore it, it's probably just some kid Trick Or Treating.

I ring the doorbell once. They replaced the normal tone with a recording of a witch laughing. I wait a few minutes before I go to ring the doorbell again, but then I hear someone and see a shadow.

This time, I look to see who it is. That's when I see him. I imagined him perfectly, and his costume is even more realistic in person.

"Skull Face? Oh wow, I'm a huge fan." I mess with him a bit. "Could I have an auto–"

I'm cut off by him aggressively holding his hand up and silencing me. I freeze, I can't even breathe.

"Thank you, you imbecile."

Imbecile? Wait?! Did he just talk??

"I have been waiting six years to be released from this evil, egregious curse. Six years I was forced to wear this hideous costume and suffer in silence, terrorizing innocent people."

So, it is a costume?

"But, you.. You have freed me by being just as stupid as I once was. I, too, believed that Skull Face was a dupe. I did the same as you, I copied his outfit just to prove how fake he was. Little did I know.. That was his plan."

At this point, not breathing is killing me and so are all the questions I have.

"I can tell that you are confused. However, it is your own fault. Since you have freed me, the curse has been transferred onto you. I do wish you well, friend. And, I pity you."

Then, he takes off the skull, revealing his actual face. It's Roger Myers. Roger was Skull Face this entire time.. and.. And he tricked me. I fell for it. I was more gullible than the entire town itself!

"In order to be freed from the curse, you must deceive, intimidate, and steal the souls of others until you meet an impersonator. It may take weeks, months, or years. Until then, you are immortal. There are three rules: Do not speak to anyone, ever. Do not remove the skull until you are freed from the curse. And, finally, never fall for an act like this again."

I stand, still frozen, and questioning my original intentions.

Roger hands me the skull and then walks away into the night. And, suddenly, I hate halloween.

Sebastian has always been odd. From the day his mother attempted to exorcize him in his uncles basement, he has been fascinated in what can’t be seen. And curiosity got the best of him. But in this case curiosity got the cat killed, and no satisfaction could bring it back.

                              ***

The floors stained with blood, the smell of the rotting cat on his floor drenching the room. Flies swarm it, feasting on it’s still warm body. Their buzz fills the silence. Sebastian shudders.

He didn’t want to kill it. The smell, the sight, the touch of her warm fur makes his skin crawl with disgust. But there’s not really a market for the tails of a black female cat, is there?

Covering his nose with a rag, he grabs the tail by its tip. He steps over the body of the cat and the box knife, making his way towards the fire place. The flames flicker and grow, taunting him with every crack. If the fire could speak, it would tell him to stop. For when you search to far into the dark, you are bound to find something far worse than what you were looking for.

But what could he do? Twenty years of research, traveling, studying, all to find the demons that haunt the world. That whisper in his ear. And if this is the way to see them, then he will taint his eyes black.

Sebastian throws the tail in the fire, watching it grow and slowly burn away. He watches until the furred tip joins the pile of ashes. Until the fire calms, and goes out.

The need to forget all he knows falls upon him, but he shoves that feeling deep down. Once you learn, he believes, you can never unlearn. Only go further.

He scoops the ashes with a rusted medal spatula. The ashes pile in a thick dark clump, the odorless smell far worse than the smell of decay. Maybe some putrid smell would be enough to drive him away. Or maybe nothing can, at this point.

Sebastian dips his burned and wrinkled hand into the ashes, whirling his fingers around. His hand is a reminder of what he did to get here. What his mother did to oppose this.

He closes his eyes, biting the tip of his tongue to stop any whimpers, any cries. There is no denying he is scared. He doesn’t want to deny it. Once you open your eyes to the demons in the world, there is no closing them. But fear never stopped him before.

Eyes still shut tight, he spreads the ash of the devil over his eyes, digging deep into his skin. He rubs, and rubs, and rubs, until the ashes cover his lips, eyes, nose.

With trembling hands, he gets up from the ground and opens his eyes. Ones he will never close again.

Looking around his house once empty, he sees them. The demons that have whispered in his ear since he was a child. And when Sebastian looks at the demon, it’s eyes lock on his. The demon can see him too. And he’s not happy.

Sometimes, it’s better to keep your eyes closed.

On Friday the 13th of all days, she found herself in many ways disoriented and afraid. She did everything she could to avoid the sinister power, she avoided cracks and waking underneath ladders, but all went to heck when the devil’s number came into view and everything thus forth was thrown quite askew.

A rabbit foot around her neck or a lucky four-leaf clover could not counterbalance the bad luck of which had already befell her.

Yesterday as she left she opened her umbrella inside and when she returned she placed her boots on the table. When she tripped and nearly hit the mirror she sighed with relief, but here’s the grief, she’d not checked the one in her purse.

Her hand mirror was shattered, whilst she danced about unaware and it wasn’t until today on Friday the 13th that she dared to check it.

For seven years she’d suffer, but there was some relief, as she left her house the morning after she found a penny; picked it up, all day had good luck until midnight came.

That’s when an old dump truck crashed through her window pane. It tore down her house leaving nothing but herself in the clothes that she’d been wearing and as she stepped back, she stepped on a crack and dreaded the coming years.

The black cat walked under the ladder! Fuck! Fuck what? We’re dead! Who’s we? Us. No. Then who if not us. You - only. Why? It is not my meaning be. Confused. What is true to you is not mine to carry. Ok.

Sandwiched between a pair of pawn shop, Fritzi O’Doul was the kind of place you would walk by in the daytime and never notice. Fritzi O’Doul’s was the kind of place you would cross the street to avoid at night. But to the regulars it was the third place, a solid no frills bar smelling of cigarettes and spilt beer. The jukebox only played the Rat Pack, the nicotine stained walls were pockmarked by darts, and the tables decorated in water rings and elbow rubbed smooth. At Fritzi O’Doul’s the place where everybody knows your name but never mentioned it because they minded their business. “What’s his story?” Marco asked. Dutch looked up from her casino app and shrugged. Dutch was the owner and looked like she had been born behind a bar, which considering her grandfather was the original owner and her parents ran the place after him was close to the truth. Leather-clad, she had cherubic cheeks and faux hawk of Snow White hair. Leaning on a thick tattooed arm, Dutch watched the oranges, lemons, and cherries whirl down her screen. She didn’t think she needed help behind the bar but after her third heart attack the girls had instead. Marco poured a pair of Guinnesses for a pair of pickpockets and refilled the popcorn bowls. He kept glancing at the sad souse slumped in the corner throwing trick dice. Dutch sighed. “That’s Thirteen. He used to be known as Silverfish Simon because he was a terrific wheelman. Fast, level-headed, and an expert on making hairpin turns,” Dutch said without looking up from her phone. “But not no more.”

Marco nodded. For Dutch that was practically a soliloquy. A classic pretty boy, Marco was muscular but no meathead. Fritzi O’Doul was a true dive, an old school den for grifters and thieves. Thousands of cons and heists, petty larceny and flimflam scams had been hatched over beers and wings under this roofs. If these walls could talk someone would have belted it with a fist full of nickels.

“Hey Dutch, you minding your p’s and q’s. How’s the trouble? Face, I’ll have a sloe gin fizz, a tonic, and a vodka martini with a lemon twist and no belly wash.” “She’s fine, Roper, and Freida’s a Junior if you can believe it.” The patron and the old barkeep bantered while Marco made the drinks. With a face carved from granite Roper surveyed the bar. “Oh and give my pal Simon another round.” The drunk perked up at the sound of his Christian name. Marco poured Thirteen a neat Scotch. “Thank you for remembering an old man,” Thirteen said. Walking away with his drinks, Roper chatted with the older man warmly. Thirteen patted Roper’s shoulder thanking him again. Roper gave Thirteen a grateful grin. Marco froze with confusion. “Close your pie hole before you draw flies. You know criminals are superstitious especially thieves. Thirteen was good, in demand back in the day. Then one day something happened. Some say he walked backwards under a ladder or jumped over a black cat. Hell maybe a fell into a mound of four leaf clover but after that he was lucky. He overslept and missed the Kohl heist where half the gang got ventilated by the cops. His car conked out and he missed the PNC robbery where the whole crew got arrested. Remember the Bank of Scotland blood bath, Thirteen had the chicken pox!” Dutch said. She wiped down the bar top.
“This can’t be real,” Marco said. “Soon people caught on. The bosses stopped inviting to him to their reindeer games. But his luck grew. He won on the ponies and the dogs and the fights. No bookies would take his calls. Every day he was golden. Thirteen has won seven lotteries but he can’t do the one thing he loves, steal. When one of the oldtimers stops by and pays their respect to the old thief they believe a little of Thirteen’s luck rubs off. They get luck; he gets a taste of the game.” “For reals,” Marco said stroking his handsome chin. Dutch climbed off her stool, shaking her head. “Nah I’m pulling your leg kid.” Clinking the sound of coins played on her phone as she walked to the storeroom.