You find inside the worn brown suitcase a single slip of paper, folded messily. You check the pockets for anything else but find nothing. You are temped to open the paper. It could be love letter, or a letter from a loved one. Or maybe it’s just blank. You unfold the tattered parchment to find three words written in sloppy red ink.

He Is Dead

You flip the paper over and look for anything else, a clue. Who was dead? You stare back at the suitcase. Some hidden force tempts you to shake the suitcase. You shake it carefully and instead of hearing nothing, for there was nothing in the case, you hear the distant jingle of coins, as if they were so close to you, yet so far away. You are shaken. There was nothing in the case. But three new words appeared on the paper in near clean paper.

So Are You

The force causes you to shake the suitcase again and this time, there was nothing. No noise, no coins. Nothing.

But you look yo your hands now covered in green ink. The paper bleeds through.

To a king, a penny is a penny, a worthless piece of metal. But to a young merchant, he knows how to turn pennies into dollars. He knows how to trick the mind into believing that there is more to a penny than metal.

The words stopped writing now. A king, a merchant. This was no village, or even a small town. It was a riddle. And you were great with riddles. And that meant that you were going to solve whatever mystery you were up against.

The tag on the blue suitcase said it belonged to “Shelly Sinister”. Daniel eyed the bag that resembled his own from wheel to handle. A piece of lost luggage wasn’t going to ruin his vacation. He’d been saving for months. He never got to go to the beach. He unzipped it with a zurp sound.

Inside laid what seemed to be a radio control drone with wings and helicopter blades, complete with a tablet as a remote control.

“Let’s take this baby for a spin,” he said.

In the hotel parking lot, he found a stretch to use as a runway. He found a switch on the side, flipped it, and turned on the tablet. A set of buttons appeared on the screen. One said, “Let it rip”, and he hit it with a smile.

The drone flew up into the clouds, and Daniel could see it’s camera on the tablet. He felt like a child as he prompted it to do flips and near crash drops only to pull up the nose at the last possible second.

As the drone neared a neighborhood from above, a new command appeared in the buttons. “Complete Objective.” Daniel hit it without a second thought.

The drone found a mansion with a long clear pool on top of a hill. Upon seeing a hairy man in a speedo, the drone set a red target on his head. It opened guns from the wings. The man saw the drone and ran into his mansion through a glass sliding door.

The drone fired bullets through the mansion windows that shattered the glass into a million pieces.

Daniel tried to stop the drone, but the machine took on a mind of its own as it pursued the man through the kitchen, dining room, and cornered him in the living room. He tried to stop the drone with the buttons, but the drone pumped the guy so full of led that he’d register as a number 2 pencil. Blood hit the camera.

The drone started back automatically. Daniel smashed the tablet on the ground, jumped on it a few times for good measure, checked out of the hotel, and caught the first flight home.

Upon arriving home to his trailer in tall grass, he checked his mailbox the next morning. He found a package addressed to “Laural Livid”. He pulled a pen from his pocket, labeled it “RETURN TO SENDER”, and waited until the mailman picked it up before he left his home again.

We were going to be late for my sister Alexis's Christmas Eve dinner and it was all because of Glenn.

“Dude. My sister doesn’t care what you buy her. She doesn’t even really drink anymore.”

Glenn shook his head. “Naw dude I need to impress her.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jesus. For the last time. She’s not going to leave Becca for you. Come on dude get your head out of your ass.”

“Found it.” Glenn said, pulling an overpriced bottle of Glenlivet off the rack. "Also, come on dude she's your sister. Who walks into a dinner party with no liquor?"

“Are you getting Glenlivet, because it has your name in it?” My eyes narrowed at how desperate and stupid this was.

Glenn nodded with enthusiasm. “Bingo.”

“You’re so stupid. Hurry up we still need to get to baggage claim. Watch, we’re going to be late, and you know how she is with tardiness. Alexis is a fucking lunatic."

Alexis got her strictness for being on time from our Mom. But she was ten times worse, which was insane. If she set dinner at seven, she wanted you to be there by 6:30 at the latest. It was currently 6:15 and we hadn't even grabbed our luggage. On top of that, we needed to catch a Taxi and the drive to her house was at least thirty minutes. We were cutting it close.

I could see Alexis now, checking her watch, double-checking the clock on the wall, maybe triple-checking the clock on the stove to see if her watch was off. Smashing our Dad's recipe for mashed potatoes with extra ferocity because she was wondering where the hell we were. Her temper shortening with Becca, as Becca did her best to look busy and avoid a freakout on the level of the Atomic Bomb.

God. We were so fucked. Thanks, Glenn.

Glenn paid for the bottle, and I could hear him questioning the price of an already expensive bottle…at the airport liquor store. He took his time, attempting to flirt with the cashier who was way out of his league. He flashed a smirk at me from over his shoulder, but I knew he was failing miserably with her.

Let’s fucking go. I mouthed to him.

"Come on dude. It's Christmas Eve, how can Becca even be in a bad mood?" Glenn said as he met back up with me, stashing the Glenlivet into his carry-on backpack.

I shrugged. "Bro, that's true for most but not Alexis. She's probably on the verge of blowing a gasket because we're not there."

We fast-walked toward baggage claim, keeping an eye out for our luggage. I spotted mine in an instant. A large, dark red Swiss suitcase, with a bright green rope on the right handle and a bright orange rope on the top handle. The thing stood out like a sore thumb. But there was no sign of Glenn's.

"Did you put a rope on it?" I asked.

Glenn nodded his head. "I thought I did..."

I rolled my eyes.

"There it is!" Glenn made his way towards his black suitcase and pulled it off the turnstile.

"Great. Let's get out of here. We might be able to make it on time."

The taxi pulled up to Alexis and Becca's house at 7:15.

"Ahh! Our beautiful hotel for the week!" Glenn exclaimed.

"Totally blaming you for the fact that we’re late." I muttered.

The taxi driver popped open the trunk and I retrieved Glenn's suitcase.

"Jesus dude, this thing is heavy as shit. What did you pack?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "You're just weak as fuck, Adrian."

I retrieved my luggage, paid the taxi driver and we both headed towards the front door.

Alexis opened the door before I could even knock.

"You're fucking late."

"Alexis. I know...I'm sorry." I struggled to think of a viable excuse. Why the hell didn't I think of this on the car ride here? "Airports?"

"Bullshit. Your flight landed an hour ago. I hope you guys like cold food." She held the door open for us. Standing in the entryway with that leaned-over stance, one hand on her hip, the other on the door, her head at a tilt that signified pure disdain at our delayed arrival.

We entered to the savory smell of a delicious home-cooked meal. The scent of egg nog flirted with my nostrils, and Christmas music played joyously in my ears. The decorations for their house were on point as they always were. Everything was perfect...besides Alexis and her horrible attitude.

"Hey Glenn." Alexis muttered.

"Merry Christmas Alexis! I bought you something!" He swung his backpack to one shoulder, opened it, and retrieved his gift. "I bought you a bottle of Glenn...livet

Alexis took it from his hands, examined it, and said: "I don't drink."

Glenn stood there like a deer in the headlights unsure of what to say. I couldn't tell if he was stunned at the fact that she rejected his bottle or that the joke involving his name flew over her head and out the open door.

"Merry Christmas guys!" Becca said as she approached us from the kitchen. She embraced both of us with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Come on let's eat." Alexis snapped.

Becca smiled and gave me a reassuring shake of the head. "She'll be fine." She mouthed.

And she was. Dinner was fantastic. Alexis may have gotten her quarrels with tardiness from my Mom, but she got my Dad's cooking skills. She always said she'd surpass his expertise and she proved it with this meal. We had a few drinks, and before I knew it it was deep into the night and we were all pretty drunk. Alexis included.

"I'm going to change." Glenn said.

"Oh, your room. Let me show you to your room." Becca said.

"Ummm...you do that baby. I think I'm going to go take a shower." Alexis said. She got up from the dinner table, kissed Becca, and headed toward the bathroom.

Becca showed us the spare room. A small room with two beds, a bathroom, and a few basic pieces of furniture. A very comfortable spot for the week.

"Night's still young. See you two in the living room." Becca said, she gave us a smile and a wink and let us be.

"Looking to drink more?" I asked Glenn.

"You fucking know it." He said as he placed his suitcase on his mattress and unzipped it.

"Holy shit." Glenn said from under his breath.

"What?" I questioned as I unpacked my luggage.

Glenn didn't reply.

"What's up dude?"

Glenn looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open as if he'd lost the ability to close it.

I frowned and walked over to his suitcase.

My jaw fell open. In his "suitcase" was what appeared to be a dismantled rifle. Beneath that was a silenced 9mm, and beneath that was a full manilla folder.

"Dude...what the fuck?" I whispered.

"This isn't my luggage." Hissed Glenn.

"Well, no shit it's not your luggage. Who's is it?"

I searched the luggage but couldn't find a tag. How was that even possible? Wasn't each suitcase given a tag? Beyond that how the hell did this thing pass customs? I was also shocked that a dismantled rifle could fit in a suitcase. I felt like my head was going to explode.

Glenn carefully fished out the manilla folder and opened it.

"You think that's a good idea?" I questioned.

Glenn ignored me and opened up the file. In the folder were countless pictures of random people, each paperclipped to a couple of documents. The documents appeared to have timestamps.

"Dude...I think this belongs to an assassin." Glenn whispered.

It sounded ridiculous. But he may have been right. There were ten files for ten different people. Each with documents that detailed what appeared to be their day-to-day routines. There were random photos, each of them taken without the person knowing.

"We need to get this back to the air..."

I was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. In the distance, I could hear Becca turn off the Christmas music and make her way through the house towards the front door. I checked the time.

11:54

A bit too late for a random ring of the doorbell.

I fast-walked out of the room and silently stopped Becca from even looking out of the peephole. She frowned at the door, and then back to me. I signaled for her to wait as I made my way to the front door and peered out the peephole.

Standing on the front porch was a very well-dressed man. He wore a pitch-black suit that reflected the light of the moon. A Rolex watch glimmered on his left wrist. He wore a blood-red tie that made his whole demeanor that much more intimidating. His brown hair was parted and combed with perfection to the left. He stared into the peephole as if knowing I was on the other side.

"Mr. Nelson. I know you're in there and I believe you have something that belongs to me." The man said through the door.

My body tensed up. I peered over my shoulder and looked at Glenn who stood there in a stupor. I looked at Becca, a look of pure confusion on her face. I placed my hand on the knob and from behind me, I could hear Glenn whispering for me to not open the door.

"I know you and Mr. Sanchez are in there with his sister and her wife." The man proclaimed. "Please. Open the door."

I opened the door.

The man stood there, hands clasped in front of him. His eyes never left mine, not to take in the house behind me, not to look at Becca or Glenn.

"May I come in Mr. Sanchez?" The man asked.

I struggled to find the words, but I couldn't speak. His eyebrows arched, demanding his answer. I nodded my head and let the man in, closing the door behind him.

"How...how can I help you?" I asked through a hoarse voice.

"I believe you gentlemen retrieved my luggage from the airport this evening. Am I correct?" The man asked.

I nodded my head. "Um. Sir. I'm sorry but who are you?"

There was no reaction in the man's face or his demeanor. He simply stared at me and I suddenly felt stupid. I felt small.

"The less you know of me. The better." The man said flatly. "Now please if you could answer my question. Do you have my suitcase?" He demanded.

"Yes." Glenn said from off to my side.

The man's attention shot to Glenn like that of a predator marking its prey. Glenn stepped back a few steps, his legs trembling.

"Where is it?" Questioned the man.

Glenn pointed to the guest room. "In there. On one of the beds."

The man looked at me, then to Becca, and back to Glenn.

"Did you see the contents of my suitcase?"

The silence hung in the air, pressing down on Glenn and myself, I felt like I was on the verge of suffocation. I became very aware and very regretful, at that moment I realized that opening that suitcase was a big mistake.

"I'm not the kind of man that either of you should lie to. Especially today." He gave a quick scan of the decorations in the house, but it felt as though he was taunting us.

"We didn't look inside the suitcase." Glenn blurted out.

I tried to hide my frustration with Glenn's lie, but the man caught me. I'm not sure what he caught, but he knew that Glenn was lying just by looking at me.

"Once again. I don't like being lied to. Did you or did you not see the contents of my suitcase?" The man challenged.

"Adrian, what's going on?" Whispered Becca.

The man ignored her. He kept his attention on me and Glenn. "I'll be frank. If you gentlemen saw the contents of the suitcase, then we're going to have a problem. That includes you too Becca."

"We didn't open the suitcase!" Glenn snapped. There was panic in his voice. And I wished from the bottom of my heart that he would have just kept his mouth shut.

For the first time the man smiled, he gave a small chuckle that made me want to scream out in fear. He reached for something under his waistband "I'll make this..."

BLAM!!!

BLAM!!

BLAM!

Three gunshots erupted throughout Alexis and Becca's house. The first shot struck the man's shoulder, the second hit the man's chest. The third detached his jaw.

He stood there, his eyes wide with shock as his jaw hung lazily from his face, dangling to the right. A 9mm slipped from his hand and clanked to the floor. His tongue fell out and landed with a soft plop on the entryway tiles. His blood cascaded across the front door, turning the green Christmas wreath that hung above into a bloody mess. He fell to his knees, then fell forward.

My eyes moved to Alexis who stood in the kitchen. She lowered the smoking handgun to her side. A look of pure terror on her face.

"Who the hell was that?"

I shook my head. I was at a loss for words. I couldn't move, I was paralyzed. My eyes fell to the man on the floor and I fought back the urge to vomit. Becca ran crying into Alexis's arms, Glenn slowly moved to my side. His eyes locked onto the body.

Glenn carefully stepped around the pool of blood that was rapidly forming around the man's body. He reached forward and picked up the man's right arm, examining his inner forearm.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" I shouted.

Glenn looked up at me. A look of sheer terror on his face. "Guys. This was a Bloodshed."

"A what?" Becca asked.

A whole new level of fear consumed my body. I felt my legs grow weak beneath me, I fought the urge to collapse to the floor.

"The Bloodsheds." Glenn repeated. He showed us a tattoo, a small "B" that had blood drops dripping from the bottom.

"The most notorious gang in the city." I replied.

"Guys. We need to get the fuck out of here." Glenn said.

“Ugh. Finally.” I huff, as I slam my ever aching body down on the hotel bed. “Six hours of travel is never fun.” I place my phone, keys, and wallet on the night table, and grab my luggage, lifelessly attempting to pull the shiny silver zipper around the large suitcase.

I swear my gut told me something was wrong. But I was so tired I just ignored it.

As I whip it open i notice immediately… These aren’t my things… “Where is my stuff?!” The thing was empty. I mean, EMPTY! “How?! It didn’t feel empty?!”

I tried calling the airport but for some reason the phone wouldn’t work. I started making my way down to the lobby, wearing my best “please help me” face I could make, when I noticed something else. It was quiet, oddly quiet. I didn’t hear the feint rumbles emit off anyone’s tv’s, no conversation, no elevators dinging through the halls.
“Well, this is definitely strange…” I mumble to myself. I got upset when I tried the elevator button. It didn’t light up, and of course, I didn’t hear it move. “Oh great, stairs it is.”

The door opened with a loud echoing creak. I even let out a “hello” to see if anyone else could have been in there, no response. As I walk down the flights of endless stairs, listening to nothing but my own noises, I eventually made it to the bottom. “Well the lobby is just around the corner.” Finally showing a bit of positivity in my voice.

I saw the man at the counter and ran up to him at full speed. “Sir please help me, my suitcase is empty, it’s not mine! The phone is dead in my room and I can’t call the airport!”

He just stared at me with cold dead eyes. Ignoring every word. He hadn’t been like this before… the way he looked at me sent chills up and down my back, so much so I actually shivered in front of him. He was wearing clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in years, tethered from wear. Dust was formed on the top of his black uniform hat, his teeth were rotting and covered in what looked like moss, I was frozen. At this point my mind is racing, my blood runs cold, and all of the hair I have on my body stood to a point.

Suddenly he opens his mouth and lets out this awful scream. It sounded like a fox, mixed with a banshee. It was so loud I thought my ear drums were going to explode. I collapsed to the floor holding my ears begging out loud for this all to end, closing my eyes so tightly they could have ripped through the flesh.

When I opened them I was in my room. Laid out just like I was when I arrived. I sat up, wet, like I had been showering. Trembling I pull myself together, and run over to my suitcase… everything is there. “Dream, it was a dream. Thank god”

On my way out of the room I did one last look over to make sure I grabbed all of my belongings. When I saw something in the corner of my eye,

The hat… the dusty black hat belonging to the man, at the front desk.

My best friend, Abigail, and I landed in the Bahamas for my 18th birthday get away. She was 19 already, but we wanted to wait to travel until I was 18. We grabbed our bags from baggage check, and headed out to our hotel.

Unpacking was a bit more interesting though. When I unzipped my suitcase, instead of my bathing suits and flowy dresses, it was packed full of stacks of $100 bills. Abigail and I were dumbfounded, with such a unique suitcase, it should have been impossible to mix up with someone else’s. Apparently they thought so too.

We didn’t know what to do, my clothes were who knows where, and the money in the unmarked suitcase was probably meant to be used for illegal activities. There was no name or number on the case, so there was no way to contact its owner. My only hope was that the owner would see my contact information on my bag and let me know when we could trade back.

Soon enough, they texted my phone, and told me to sit in the airport lobby at 3 that afternoon with the suitcase at my feet, sunglasses on my head, and a book in hand. It was such an odd request, but I figured I would do as they said, but bring Abigail along just in case he was a creep who wanted to kidnap me.

By 2:30, we were in our positions, ready to get my clothes back and hit the beaches. 3 o’clock on the dot, a man in a suit, with a hat pulled low over his brim, and sunglasses covering his eyes, picked the suitcase off the the ground and placed mine where it was, his movements barely noticeable.

After he passed by, I let out the sigh of relief I didn’t know I was holding, and I opened my suitcase to make sure he didn’t go through my personal belongings.

Everything was perfectly in place, save a scrap piece of paper placed on top. I unfolded it and read, “you followed the instructions to a t. If you are ever interested in the spy business, contact me through the number in your phone.”

It was between floors 7 and 8 that my trunk began to howl.

A moment before I was chewing on my lip, shifting from one foot to the next, while imagining a dozen starts to a conversation with the only other person in the elevator—a handsome young businessman with a heavily dimpled smile.

But when the screeching wail from my luggage let loose, I skipped past the pleasantries and jumped into his arms.

Unfortunately, he chose to do the same and we collided like a train-wreck, careening into the wall then landing in a tangled heap on the floor.

“What was that?! Do you have a DOG in your luggage?” His adorable features weren’t nearly as cute arranged in an accusatory scowl.

“No! I don’t even own a dog!”

It began to howl again—the sound unmuffled, oddly clear and echoing between my antique trunk’s thick leather straps. I stared at the old box as though I’d never seen it before, though in truth I’ve had it for as long as I could remember. I was discarded as a child, and my case worker claimed it was the only belonging they found with me.

A faint sparkle on the trunk caught my eye. A coin-sized emblem flashed through the grime in a corner—a tiny, black ornate crown wrapped in a thin halo of thorns. A small diamond winked at me from its tall center spire. How could I have missed that?

The gentleman stood shakily and offered me a hand. It was large and warm, and a trembling mess like mine, so we slipped and struggled in our task. As I stood, the elevator jerked and tossed us together in an awkward hug.

“Well, go on,” he nodded toward my luggage, “let the poor thing out.”

We were still traveling upwards, me to my hotel room on level 15, and him to who knows where, confined in this small space. I wasn’t sure opening the luggage here was so wise.

“W-what if it’s mad it was trapped? When I get off in a moment—,” I looked up at the floor counter above the door and gasped. 21, the highest floor possible, lit up bright green, but the elevator continued to speedily climb beyond.

Another howl issued from my trunk, a lone wolf serenading a full moon. The elevator lurched to a hard stop. The lights above popped loudly, cutting out and plunging us into a tangible pitch black.

I’m not sure if it was him or I who tugged the other close, but we clung tight. His minty breath uttered something incoherent above me, and I nodded mindlessly.

The doors parted slowly, a hazy violet light and curling mist flooded in.

Then those arms cradling me began to shake with laughter. He chuckled—a low, self-satisfied sound. His laughter grew louder.

My arms dropped away and I stepped back, confused, eying him suspiciously.

He grinned lopsidedly, those dimples peeking through, and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry—I couldn’t resist to give you hard time when I had the chance. Call it payback. Do you know how long I’ve searched for you? Only Tails could sniff you out.”

He nodded toward my forgotten trunk, snapped his fingers, and out of it emerged a wraith-like figure which morphed into a werewolf. I bit back a scream and shrunk into a corner of the elevator, but the mannish dog just strode past me, uninterested and yawning.

The werewolf bowed briefly to me before exiting and mumbled, “Pleased you’ve returned to us safe and sound, your grace. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a kink in my tail I must work out.”

Too frightened and shocked to respond, I watched him go, frozen against the elevator wall.

The handsome young businessman stepped through the door as well and turned back toward me, haloed in that eerie light. He bowed slightly at the waist, putting me in mind of a butler. He held a hand out again.

Wisps of fog dissipated beyond him, revealing the dark, glossy walls of an obsidian palace. Dazzling black stone arches and carved alcoves flickered and shone from dangling candled chandeliers. A marble floor stretched every which way, laced with fine veins of shifting sparkling silver.

“Welcome back, my queen. It’s been far too long and you were extraordinarily difficult to find, be it lost in the human world as you were. I can only hope your memories will return soon,” he said with a heavy sigh. “After all, the centaurs and trolls are nearly at war again, and no one but you could ever stop them.”

His hand hung there expectantly still, waiting—

“Go on, take it,” he beckoned with a warm, knowing smile. “You’ll remember all this soon.”

This isn’t mine, I thought with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Now I had a stranger’s suitcase with who knows what. Things couldn’t be worse! So I rifled through it, for kicks. Couldn’t hurt. I was surprised, however, when I saw a bunch of IDs and a few disguises. What gives? I looked at the tag: maybe that was the real ID of the owner of this duffel. It read a name that seemed made up. But wait- a phone number in case it got lost! Without hesitation, I called. I got some automated computer response with a menu. “Press 1 if you want customer service. Press 2 if you want to speak to a representative- I pressed 2. “Your call will be answered in the order it was received. “ I hung up. Then I called the airport about reporting loss of luggage. I had insurance on my bag; maybe I could make this right.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I sighed, while opening the suitcase I thought was mine. I just got back from my trip to Texas, and ended up grabbing someone else’s pastel yellow suitcase. Somebody just had to have the exact same luggage set as me. The only visible difference was that their zipper was broken, and mine was not.

I examined the case, hoping to find a phone number or name, but was unsuccessful. The content inside consisted of an odd assortment of strange and exotic pieces of fabric. This probably belongs to a tourist. But as I continued checking for a phone number, something shiny caught my eye. Curiosity got to me, and I picked up the object. It was a freaking gun.

I shrieked and dropped the lethal weapon into the hardwood floor, and stared at the case in shock. There. Was. A. Gun. In. The. Bag. Sense I found a gun, I knew there must be more to this suitcase than just the gun. I gently set the gun aside and pointed away from me, then headed for the case again. As my shaky hands felt underneath the clothes, I found another cold and hard object. And it was flipping machete. After that, my hand discovered a dark, thick rope that looked to be as old as my grandpa.

“Oh shit.” I whispered. “They’re a serial killer.”

“Well this is just great!” I’m standing in my childhood bedroom (more like a shrine to my childhood), and looking down at what I thought was my case. I didn’t even get a good look at the case just the mammoth sticker on the top and instantly grabbed it and ran outside for my Uber.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” I look around the room hoping that if I stare at something long enough my case will magically appear and problem solved. “Well let’s look inside it for any contact info and see and maybe the other person grabbed my case too.” As I am digging into the carry on black suitcase my sister Noi (no-ee) walks in to see about dinner and if I made plans. She plops down on the bed and says “hey bud, whatcha doin?” I look at her annoyed while begrudgingly admitting, “I grabbed the wrong case by accident at the airport.” That’s when my beautiful, smart, wonderfully annoying little sister begins to laugh as she pulls out some see through purple panties. “Why Luke! What wonderful attire you have chosen for dinner” I snatch them quickly and toss them back into the bag; “this isn’t funny Noe, my work stuff is in my case and looks like this suitcase was owned by a petite women whose only packed like three days worth of clothes.” Which in female packing is probably a one night pack with multiple changes. From the look of it it’s mostly two business blouses and trousers with scandalous undies. Under normal circumstance it would make for a nice image in my head for hot boss scenarios, but as for this week all I have now is my old clothes my mom just so happens to keep preserved in the museum which is my old room.

“This is wonderful” I think to myself I’m going to have face off with my family all week in clothes that are three sizes to big for me now. In high school and part of college I was a bit overweight. I lost all the weight junior year when the girl of my dreams turned me down. In my head she did it because I was fat, but in reality it was because she probably just wasn’t interested, but tell my ego that. So, naturally I started a cycle of self loathing and mental grueling while losing a lot of weight and picking up some new hobbies along the ways such as: hiking, cycling, swimming, rock climbing and basically anything to keep me moving.

Noey gives me a mischievous grin, pats me on the back and hops off the bed. As she is walking out she says “I’m sure mom kept some of grandpas clothes around the house. You will look great in corduroy and flannel.” Laughs and book it down the hall. I’m two years out of college and noey is just hitting 16. Mom and Dad always said she was their 2nd honeymoon baby and now she is a pain in my ass. Dad was going to retire, but now he has to stick out at his job for a few more years because of the late bloomer of a kid that she is. Mom and her are the bestest of friends. They do everything together nails, hair, clothes shopping and even made a pact to get matching Gilmore girl inspired tattoos when Noey turns 18; it’s all quite quaint if you ask me. My mother would have killed me if I got a tattoo at that age. She isn’t all that bad. My sister is top of her class every year on her way to a full ride scholarship to any school she applies to and even does some copywriting business on the side to save cash up for a car that my parents will only buy her anyways. All in all she’s a good kid even if she secretly sabotages me on every genius prank she can get away with. My last visit I ended up with pink hair when she switched out my shampoo for some new wash in color dye stuff she found on the internet from China.

Back to the problem at hand. I have to call the airline and see if maybe the woman grabbed my bag and is attempting to turn it into the airline to get hers back as well. I can’t wear my dead grandpas old clothes for this important week. Too much is at stake.

Bad. This was very very bad. All my stuff..... gone, all my precious items...lost. My notebooks with all my story ideas, my laptop. Everything, my entire carrier as an author in that bag. Breath, just breath. My hand goes to the unopened luggage and i tug the zipper open, maybe there’s something I can use to track down the owner, maybe they made a mistake too and grabbed my bag. The rooms freezing as I finish unzipping it, I was supposed to be here for a family Christmas get together, I was going to show my little sister all my notes and my story’s. Not anymore though. I flip over the lid of the suitcase. And a wooden board is there. Nothing on top of it, just a board that sections off the top from the bottom of the suitcase. Maybe there’s something under it, I think, wrapping my hands around the side and pulling up. I set the board down and peer into the suitcase. A scream rips its way out of my throat as I see what’s laying at the bottom of that suitcase, the one that I mistaken for my own. I stumbled back blindly and realize I’m shaking. For in that suitcase, lying at the bottom, limp and dried with blood were.....fingers. Severed fingers, lying in a pile, and as I trip and fall backwards, I vomit all over the floor, clutching my phone as I dial 911. If only I had had grabbed the right bag.