Final Goodbye

  

I have not slept since we left. I am already starting to feel the effects of having no sleep. I hope this message gets to you in time. You may hate me when you've finished reading. Or maybe you'll be grateful. Either way at least you'll know and that's all that matters now. Lux didn't agree… He said it would be better for everyone if they didn't know. There would be no feelings of impending doom. No fear, No tears or heart wrenching goodbyes. Everyone would just go on like it was any other day. But that seems so unfair….. 

Why do I deserve to live, when so many others won't? All my friends and family. My teachers. Even Roc. I've had him for as long as I can remember, yet we can't take him. Lux said he wouldn't likely live through the journey, shock of it all I suppose. But Roc. He's the best pet anyone can ask for, and I have to just leave him for death. 

It was so hard. Saying goodbye to everyone without really saying goodbye… They couldn't know you see? I had to pretend all was normal. My parents… that was the worst. And you, of course. You have to know that I begged for you to be allowed to go. I begged. As I did for my parents and baby sister. But Lux said it was impossible. That just getting me on board would be difficult. He's had to sneak supplies on board for us, without raising any suspicion. So far he says we're alright. No one has asked any questions. They trust him. 

At first I refused. I had gone four days after Lux told me that the world was ending, and he would take only me when he left it. I refused and spent four days getting used to the fact that I would die with everyone else. I was almost becoming okay…. 

But Lux called me on the fifth day. He agreed to allow my sister to come. He agreed because Ris is only just an infant. She won't take up much space.  You see why I had to go now, don't you? When it was only my life, I could stay. But now that there is a way for Ris to live… The choice is no longer mine. I said yes. Lux was pleased. I understand this. He has loved me for a while now in secret, but it's always been obvious to me. He doesn't want to be alone on our new home. I dread even saying the name….

He doesn't want to make the journey alone either. It will take us 93 days to reach it. There are others going of course. The higher ups. But according to Lux, there's not many. And only a handful even know about what's happening. There's not enough ships. Lux was lucky. He helped build these ships, and tested every one. He's an expert. He was ordered to fly alone to be able to carry equipment. But Lux assured me that even with the equipment, there's room for Ris and I. 

I'm worried about Ris. Scared she won't make it through the pressure of take off. But Lux has promised that this isn't a ship that I've seen before. It's unlike any that's been shown to the public. It's faster, and much smoother. He basically laughed at me when I mentioned my fears of take off. “We are far more advanced than you realise, Sara.” He said in between laughs.  

He was right. Take off was definitely easier than I thought. And the ship… Asa, if you could have seen it! It was unlike anything I've ever seen, even in my mind. But that isn't important… I wanted to tell you about the night I left. Our last meeting. I wanted so desperately to say goodbye, to tell you I loved you, that I always would. But I couldn't trust myself to say anything real…. If I started I would have told you it all. And I couldn't leave you that way. I couldn't look into your eyes and tell you your life would be ending, and that I was leaving you alone for it. 

When you took me to our spot, and we sat under our tree and you put your head in my lap while you gazed at the sky….. I nearly broke right then. But I had to be strong for Ris! If she was not mine to protect, I would have stayed with you. I'd have stayed in your arms under the our Tree and watched as everything turned to fire around us. But she is my sister. I cannot leave her to take this journey without me. 

Asa. I love you. I know you will understand my decision, and know that a part of me will always be with you. 

We almost didn't make it. Lux had to sneak us on before anyone saw us, but Ris woke up just as we boarded the ship. My heart was in my throat! They would have killed us both if they found us, and likely Lux too. But thankfully there was just one ward on duty, and he was just as oblivious to our presence as he was with his own impending demise. Lux hid us in a very cramped place, where odd looking machines were stored. Thankfully Ris didn't cry out again. She was content with my humming quietly in her ear, and the blinking of the machine's lights. 

Lux retrieved us after what felt like a hours. He was given the go ahead. And it had to be exact. We strapped ourselves in, Ris in a special seat Lux had acquired. I was terrified. Our ship was scheduled last to take off. Each ship had to take off within just moments of one another. I suppose for safety. Only a handful of people knew about this, and mostly everyone of them were going. There would be questions when 39 ships took off. We couldn't give them time to come and ask them, Lux told me. When the ship shot off into the sky my breath was momentarily taken. This was temporary, thankfully. I looked back at Ris but her cries were drowned out by the engines, though I could see her eyes squeezed shut tight, and her mouth open in a silent scream. 

It wasn't long before we were up, away from everything, bathed in darkness. Lux was concentrated on his controls, his eyes constantly moving from one button or panel to another. I asked him if I could check on Ris, but I don't think he heard me despite the engines returning to near silence. I risked it, unbuckled my seat belt, and kissed Ris. She was still crying, but not badly. I gave her a little toy that played music and she was calm again. Lux finally was able to take a break, and we ate and fed Ris too. After, we had to buckle up for hyper speed. 

“You'll get accustomed to it, but at first it's safer to be buckled in” he said. It took quite a while for my legs to be able to move while the ship was going so fast. The stars were no more than a blur passed the windows. 

It's been 3 days since we left. I was worried about sending this. For you may never get it. Lux said the connection is not strong, and the signal may misfire. If it does, who knows where it will go. Lux said there's a high chance in this message getting muddled.  This scared me at first, but he told me my message would most likely be taken as a joke, or fictional story by whoever found it, so we are okay there. But I am hoping it gets to you before…  

I thought about not sending it. I didn't want to give you the knowledge of what was to come. But from what Lux says, it will all happen in the blink of an eye. I pray he's right. Your - Our planet is set to explode in two days. I had to say goodbye. I had to tell you I love you. I couldn't let you believe I would ever leave you, unless it was for Ris. Lux let me see photos of our new home. I stared at it for a long time. I showed Ris as well.  

She smiled when I showed her. I smiled too, for the first time since I left you. It's not as beautiful as ours, but I guess I'm biased.. Still, it looks calm. Unlike our world. Lux said there has been much research on this planet. It's hearty, has lasted a long time. I'm worried about the ones who live here… Aliens used to be just made up stories. Soon we will be among them. Lux showed me pictures of them today. He didn't want to show me before we left. He was worried I would be afraid and change my mind. 

He put the book of pictures collected over a long span, research done in secret. I gasped when I looked at them! The first was a female, going by the description underneath her picture. She was dressed in a garment that flowed at her waist,  but was tight everywhere else. She looked sleepy, side effect of the medicine she was given Lux said. I flipped through the book, gazing at every picture. I was scared until I got to a picture of a baby just a bit older than Ris! It was a male, and like the others in the book, he was ugly, but also...cute. He was sitting in a cage, and looking toward the camera with a curious look on its face. 

I let Ris see the pictures. I had to get her used to seeing these... beings. We couldn't show our fear. We would have to choose one of the beings from the book. Whichever one we chose, that would be the body we would be. I asked what would happen to the beings we chose…. But Lux didn't answer, and I guess that's for the best. 

Lux chose a male of course, tall and thick with odd markings on its arms and chest. I chose a female. The only one that I could look at without feeling sick. She's not as hard to look at as the others. Though she was drugged during the picture, she still had a sort of smile on her face, though my main reason for choosing her was the fact that she had a child. A young female a little older than Ris. I needed for us to be together. Lux made sure to choose a male that was close in distance to me. We would be just a walk away from each other he said. 

I suppose that's good. I'll need his help blending in. We will look like everyone else, and acquire their basic memories and knowledge of the world, but I would need to learn a lot of my new home. I hope we can keep Ris safe. Lux said that there aren't many that believe in life outside of their planet, so there shouldn't be any suspicion. I hope he's right. 

 I look at the photo of the planet often. It's smaller than I expected. I have to go now Asa. I hope this finds you. I will think of you always and speak of you to Ris, and those we left behind. Our new home awaits. Lux has told me it's name. “Earth”.  

----

 

Credits

 

The Terrible Case Of Sadie Cross

To say the scene was gory would have been an understatement.  The entire Cross family, slaughtered while they slept. 

Well, not the entire family. The seven year old daughter was left alive. Mute and likely traumatized for life, but alive.

A neighbor found Sadie at 2am, playing with her doll in the sandbox.  

Blood stained her nightgown, though after a quick glance it was clear the blood wasn't her own. After checking the home, police found the cause.

Both parents, brother and sister were dead. Stabbed to death in their beds. 

I was there to help contain the scene. I stood by the front door, keeping nosey neighbors and determined reporters out. The kid sat on the living room sofa waiting for CPS.

As a new father, my heart hurt at the sight of her. She was so tiny. And now, so alone. I hated to think what her future might hold. 

I watched her rocking herself on the sofa, her bare feet still covered with sand, dangling off the edge. She held her doll tightly to her, staring at nothing, her face dotted with blood, like freckles. Even her doll looked a wreck. I didn't want to imagine what the kid had witnessed. 

She had so far refused to speak to any of the officers who'd tried. She'd only rock back and forth, clutching that one legged doll and staring at the wall. 

"Poor kid." Officer Ridley whispered, shaking his head. "God only knows what she's been through." 

"Hopefully she didn't see too much." I said, doubtful. 

"By the looks of things, she's seen plenty. Got her footprints all over the crime scene." He said, sadly. "I hope she can at least help ID the perp." 

I felt awful for the kid. Had she witnessed the murders? Or just the aftermath? Either way, she likely had years of therapy ahead of her. 

"Cps is here." Ridley said, nodding toward the woman approaching. 

She packed a bag of the kid's clothes and led her away by the hand. I watched them head to the car, and said a silent prayer for her. She'd need it.  I just hoped she had family who'd come to claim her. Foster care would be a sad end to her already tragic tale. 

"Gotta get back at it." Ridley muttered. "Hopefully we'll find the sister." 

"What do you mean?' I asked. 

"The three month old." He said. "She's missing." 

"Kidnapped?" I asked, shocked. 

He shook his head. "No chance that kid's alive." He said, his tone ominous. 

"Why. How do you know?" 

He lowered his voice, leaning in so only I could hear. "Because we found the baby's leg."

I spun around and watched as the CPS agent pulled away from the house. The kid stared at me through her window, a wide grin stretched across her lips. At first I thought she was waving, but as I looked closer, the hand she pressed against the glass was much too tiny to be her own. 

----

 

Credits

 

I Know Better

 

l stare down at my son's face, feeling the first hint of hesitation. My hand shakes, a tiny tremor but it was enough. It saw. There's a momentary flash of recognition in its eyes, and the corners of its mouth turn up just a little. It tried to hide it almost immediately but I saw. I know better. 

I turn away from my son who is not my son, tossing the shovel aside and scooping the dirt onto him with my own hands. 

"Daddy!" The thing who is not my son chokes out, as dirt rains down on him. 

"What are you doing?" It whimpers in my son's voice. "I'm scared" 

Tears sting my eyes, but I keep moving, dragging the dirt as fast as I can. It cakes underneath my fingernails, and I start to bleed as rocks cut my palms but I feel nothing. 

"Daddy - it's hard to breathe" it cries, and for the first time I hear it struggling.

*** 

"Please. I wanna go home!", its words muffled. It thrashes down in the grave I've made for it, but the rope holds. 

"Please " it gasps, "I don't wanna die." It sounds terrified, but I know better. 

 I cry into the dirt, my chest heaving. The mixture of earth and salt from my tears fills my mouth. 

"Daddy?" It calls, and I can almost hear it smile. I grit my teeth and get to my feet, grabbing the shovel and looking down into the hole. 

The thing that's not my son looks up at me with wide eyes, it's face and tops of its sneakers are visible through the dirt.

"Daddy. Help. I wanna go home" it begs, struggling to keep its head above the ground. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, and for a second I think I'll open them and be back in my house, sitting in front of the TV, my mouth tasting of cheap beer instead of dirt. But I know better. 

I begin shoveling the rest of the dirt into the grave. The thing tries to struggle but the weight of the earth on top of it is too much. I hear it whimper as it starts to panic. 

"Daddy!" It screams. 

I give the thing that looks like my son but isn't, one last look. 

"I'm not your daddy." I say. As I toss down the last of the dirt into the grave I see the thing that's not my son grinning up at me. 

I pack the ground hard under my boots and collapse on top of it. After my breathing begins to steady, I listen for any sounds underneath and recoil at the faint giggling I hear. 

I may seem cruel, evil too. But my Tim's been gone 30 years this October and still that thing comes back every autumn, scratching at the door and begging to be let in. It's eyes black as tar and smelling like death. I pray each time that it'll be the last but I know better.

----

 

Credits

 

Suicide Is Never The Answer

 

Suicide is a selfish choice, and never the answer - No matter how bad it gets. 

Life can be cruel at times. Whether due to a lost job, the death of a loved one, a bad break up, or depression that gets so bad you ache for the quiet nothingness of death. But suicide is never the answer. 

Most problems can be fixed with the help of friends and family, a therapist, medication, or just time. In time things will get better. Easier. 

Suicide, you can't take that back. 

Suicide is a selfish choice. 

You may think you're ending the pain, the suffering. But all you're really doing is passing that on to someone else. 

You leave a gaping hole in those you left behind. The questions, the guilt of not seeing the signs. Of not doing more. 

Suicide is selfish. 

I should have seen the signs when Amy stopped wanting to go out to do the things we used to love to do together. Hiking, and sitting on the beach in the winter, bundled up in the same overly large sweater. 

I should have noticed the quiet meals. Her late nights at work that became more frequent. 

I should have noticed how she leaned away from my embrace instead of leaning into it. I should have noticed that she rarely smiled anymore. 

I noticed these things, sure… but I didn't realize the importance. I just summed it up to stress at work. Those long hours taking a heavy toll on her. 

I was blinded by my love for her, my need for her to be fine. 

The day I found out about Amy my world ended. 

Now all I'm left with is constant heartache. Constant questions that will never be answered. Constant overwhelming sadness…..

So please take this piece of advice. 

Suicide is selfish. 

I wish now that I let time heal my wounds. In time I would have gotten over Amy leaving me for her boss. I would have learned to forgive and move on, instead of being left in a pit of despair so deep that it's suffocating. 

Suicide is never the answer to your problems. Trust me. 

I just wish I would have known that before I jumped.

----

 

Credits

 

Another Day

  

Etta lumbered up the path, feeling her age in her bones with every step. She made her way towards the bench where Hattie sat waiting. 

"Hello Hattie. You look pleased. Did your son visit?" Etta asked. 

"No." Hattie said, "But my granddaughter came. She's in college now, can you believe it?" A proud smile etched across her withered face

Etta eased herself down onto the bench, her joints making the act difficult. 

These daily walks were becoming harder and harder. She wished she could have her scooter here. At Heartpine senior care she'd had full access, though she hardly used it then. Her pride had refused to admit she'd needed assistance with something as simple as walking. Seemed silly now.

"That's wonderful." Etta said, a pang of jealousy in her chest.

Her own family hadn't visited in years, and before that it was very seldom. She didn't know when she'd see them next, if ever. But things like that happened all the time. Etta saw it with countless others, and knew her turn was coming. 

Hattie was lucky. She still got visitors, although not often. But at least they still came, which was more than most could say. 

"She's a smart girl." Hattie gushed, but Etta wasn't listening. She'd let her attention wander to the large iron fence that bordered the property. She found herself looking more and more lately, wishing she could see beyond it. If she had known the view would be blocked, she'd have chosen better, like her awful satin dress that's seen better days.  

"Etta, why are you gawking at that fence again?" Hattie said, nudging her. 

"Where else should I look?" Etta snapped, then sighed, and turned away from the fence. 

"My apologies Hattie. I guess I'm a bit tired today." She said, smiling weakly. 

She was. Tired of the same dried up grounds, the same dried up residents, and of course those pathetic plastic flowers. At Heartpine they had a garden that the residents could tend to.  But it wasn't just the garden. At Heartpine, even the workers were warm and friendly. 

Here, at Everlive the workers hardly smiled, and never acknowledged the residents. But she supposed that was expected.

"I know!" Hattie said. "I heard there was a new resident this morning. Shall we go say hello?" She cooed as if Etta were a small child to placate. 

Etta got to her feet, following Hattie along the path. She did enjoy meeting new residents, although not too young. That was never easy. 

Many of the tombstones they passed were crumbling, jutting from the ground like broken teeth. Etta's own was cracked and fading, but at least her name was legible. 

"Hello!" Hattie and Etta called, waving at an elderly man who seemed disoriented, but smiled. Etta smiled too. She was glad they wouldn't have to explain things too much, not like with the younger ones. She strolled toward him, eager to meet the newest resident of Everlive Cemetery. 

 

----

 

Credits 

A Promise to My Kid

 

My daughter was 4 when she got sick, and doctors first used the word "Cancer". 

She was 5 when her hair fell out and stayed out and doctors used the word "inoperable". 

She was one month shy of her 6th birthday when she coughed up blood, and doctors used the words "palliative care". 

It was only three days after that my Megan died. 

Her mother left me two months after Megan's death. Losing Megan was like living in a waking nightmare, day in, day out. I'm sure I didn't make it any easier. I drank a lot. I just wanted to sleep. In my dreams Megan was alive. She could play, dance, and had hair. She never heard of Cancer, and never slept in a hospital. 

I spent my days watching old videos. It was during one of those moments alone with my memories that I first thought of it. An old memory of Megan and I. It was a few months after we found out she had Cancer. She was scared, and so I lay beside her and told her stories to ease her fears. She asked, "Am I gonna die?" 

I had never let that thought enter my mind until she said the words. I fought back tears, and told her no. 

"What if I do?" She asked. 

"Then I'll go to Heaven and have a talk with God." I told her. 

"No, daddy. God doesn't let us die." She said matter of factly. 

"Oh yea? Who does?" I asked. 

"The devil." She said, whispering the word. 

"Well," I said, "then I'll go to hell and storm the gates. I'll have a word with that devil and make him regret it!"

I had only been trying to make her laugh at the time, she was so sick, and didn't need to be thinking about death. 

So that was it. A promise to my kid, made just to make her smile, with no real thought behind it. But Megan believed it. 

I promised my kid I'd storm the gates of hell and fight the devil himself, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do. 

It was two weeks ago since I started. Up until then, I hadn't so much as stolen a piece of gum. 

But now I'm ready. Ready to keep my promise to my kid. This razor in my hand should take me out, and if those bodies I stacked in the corner of my room doesn't get me there then I'm sure what I did to old Mrs Norris sure will. 

I'd say I'm sorry for what I've done, but I won't risk losing my place in hell. I've worked too hard to guarantee my admission. 

I've got to have a word with the devil and I don't plan to say all that much. 

If I make it out afterwards, I'll storm the gates of heaven and see my Megan. 

I smile as I bring the razor to my wrist. It doesn't even hurt.  

----

 

Credits

 

Officer Down

It was 2am when he'd been awaken.

He rubbed his sleepy eyes, hurrying to his cruiser. 

December air stung his cheeks, chasing away the remaining tiredness from his body. 

"What's the problem?" He spoke into his walkie talkie, while the car drifted back down the driveway, crunching over the ice. 

"You're needed at the bridge. Someone's in trouble." The female voice replied. 

He felt his adrenaline pick up, and the car lurched forward, swerving on the ice for a moment before righting itself. He realized he had been gripping the door handle, and let go, embarrassed. 

He wanted to ask what was going on at the bridge, but he could see it's huge silver silhouette in the distance. The car was moving faster now, and he could feel his heart hammering. He wished he could slow down just a bit, but he knew it was his job to help. So he said nothing, gripping the handle. 

Finally the bridge loomed ahead, "I see the bridge. Is someone hurt?" He asked, feeling his excitement growing. 

"You are very brave officer." Was all the female voice offered. He thought he could hear her crying, and wondered why.

  Someone must be in trouble. He thought. 

The cars engine roared as it shot towards the start of the bridge. He cried out when it slammed against the side.

"It's ok. Almost there" The female said. 

Her voice comforted him, but only slightly. The car was moving too fast. He squeezed his badge, struggling to calm himself as the car made it to the top of the bridge. He frowned. No one. No cars, no other police. Just the steel girders coming closer, faster. 

He wanted to scream, but he was brave. He was a police officer. 

He looked up into the mirror, catching the females eyes. She was crying, but smiled too. She wasn't wearing her seat belt, he noticed. He opened his mouth to tell her, to remind her that he too was unbuckled and that it was against the law. But no words came. The sound of crunching metal exploded through the icy night, drowning out the officers screams.

**

The officer made his way down the slippery embankment, already steeling himself for what he would see. The car was little more than pieces, smashed on the rocks.

He could see what remained of the driver, part of her intact, still gripping the wheel. 

The boy was far less easy to behold. His little body, what was left of it, was still curled in the backseat, crushed like the rest of the vehicle. 

The officer shook his head, taking in the grim scene. It was always hard when he got calls that involved children. 

He never understood what made people do the things they did.

 When he saw the tiny plastic police badge bent on the ground a few feet from the wreckage, he nearly cried.

The officer bent his head.

"Officer down." He whispered. 

----

 

Credits

 

Hunting

  

I hadn't always been a hunter. The idea just never appealed to me. That is until my father in law took me along one day during our annual hiking trip. 

I wasn't sold on the idea that day. The long quiet hours just sitting and waiting. The gunshot that nearly blew my eardrum. Or watching the deer die. 

But I guess you could say I caught the itch. I read up on it, bought a bow, and chose the track and find approach rather than sit and wait. I loved it. Nature was beautiful. I know hunting isn't easy for some. But you have to tell yourself that you're helping. Population control. It's important.

My last outing I was tracking a big buck, by the look of the prints, and after a day of hiking off-trail I found fresh prints headed toward a small stream. 

It was getting dark, and usually make camp round that time, but I figured I would check the stream first. 

As I made my way down a steep incline I heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps, coming from somewhere off to my right. 

"Strange" I whispered. 

Like all wooded areas, this one had some stories going around. The usual mutilated campers, axe welding lumberjacks, and of course, Bigfoot. I know these are just bullshit, but these are the thoughts that go through your head while walking through the woods near sundown. 

I heard footsteps again, and by the sound they were failing at an attempt to be silent. My heart rate picked up. 

I tried to tread quietly, picturing a huge hairy beast lumbering by the bank, drinking water like an overgrown dog. 

But as the stream came into view I only saw that gorgeous buck.  

I looked around, and smiled. My favorite part. 

When my arrow hit it's target, the beast screamed. I hustled down to it, watching as the buck ran off in the trees. The hunter had dropped his gun, and was gasping, looking down at the arrow through his chest. 

"You shot...me" he said, shocked. "Call someone" he moaned. 

I pulled another arrow and aimed at his eye, which grew with confusion then fear. 

"Are you nuts!" He yelled, choking on blood. 

"I'm a hunter." I said. I let the arrow go into his skull. I was never one to let things suffer, no matter how despicable they could be.  

The buck he was hunting watched me from the treeline, and I could of sworn it nodded in appreciation. I nodded back, and collected my arrows.

It's funny how just a few short years ago the very idea of taking a life appalled me. If it wasn't for my father in law I wouldn't have ever found my calling. I have him to thank him, and I would, if he were still alive.

I never did see a Bigfoot yet. But I suppose anything could happen. There are some scary creatures out there.  

----

 

Credits

 

Bad Blood

 

It's been one year since my family was murdered. God, it feels as if they were just here yesterday. It's bizarre how fast your life can change. 

My sister.... that's what this is all about. I've been asked to tell my story quite a few times, even offered hefty sums from popular News Networks, and Newspapers. I refused. It's not like I need the money. My parents left me the house, and a large amount of money in the bank, as well as some stocks. 

I never planned to say anything about my family's murders, wanting to just let it go. Try to, anyway. But, (and as cliche as it sounds) my therapist suggested talking about it. Getting it out there, instead of keeping it all buried inside of me.

 It's because of the nightmares, really. That's what's making it so impossible to come to terms with this whole thing. And due to my destroyed memory, I never know if a nightmare is just that, or a memory. For the most part the dreams are rarely identical. But there is one that is always the same, happening every week at least. Much more vivid than the other dreams. And while the others are more terrifying, this one scares me for a very different reason. 

Most of the nightmares are different from one another, but of course the end result is always the same, just happens differently. 

I tried the journal thing, but it just felt fake writing to myself. I want to get it off of my chest, I do. But I don't want to go to the media either. I don't need that kind of attention. I figured Nosleep gets a lot of traffic, while also leaving me the anonymity I need. So, here is the "scoop" that many News Networks, and columnists tried for months to get. Technically they're still calling. I suppose they all want to know what could make a sweet, normal teenage girl do what she did. We always need answers.

There's even a writer who is desperate for an interview. She offered more than the networks, and newspapers combined. She writes true crime novels, but thinks she's a detective, and is damn persistent.  

You guys get to hear it all for free though. Here goes….. God, where do I even start? My brain isn't what it used to be, not after that night. The damage Aria caused was servere, but through a lot of surgeries, and rehab, I've come to be able to resume normal activities. Most of my memory of that night however was erased. I couldn't even recall many of the hours leading up to the "events". But luckily for me, I recently found Aria's diary, and while it won't give me my memory back, it may help answer some questions. The most obvious, and important - why?  

My sister, my little sister, Aria was 14 when she died. The local paper referred to her as a "mentally unstable suburban teen" and they used a picture from her last lacrosse game. You may recall seeing it. Her gray and pink uniform, the words Wolverines across the front, a slight sheen to her cheeks from hours of intense play against their rivals - The Honey Badgers.  

They won. Aria had been named player of the year, and had her picture plastered across the sports section of our local paper. She had been so happy. 

She was also a smart kid.  By every definition she was a good kid too. But that all stopped soon after she was allowed to switch rooms. She used to have a tiny room on the second floor, but after a lot of begging on her part, Aria was allowed to move to the third floor. It was pretty much used as storage for my father's photography hobby, and was essentially just one large room that ran the length of the house. There was a small bathroom, just a toilet and sink. But Aria loved having such space. My father shoved his photography equipment into her old room, and all was right with the world. 

The changes in Aria were subtle at first. Sleeping in and forgetting to set her alarm, so that mom had to drive her to school, making herself late for work as a result. 

Wearing the same outfit two days in a row, either out of forgetting, or choice.

Not wanting to eat much. Wandering the house late at night. All small things, but looking back I see how they were the start of something else. 

When she stopped leaving the house for anything except for school, that's when it became clear to my parents that something was wrong with my sister. 

They tried talking to her, but she would sit quietly, only ever responding by a nod or shake of her head, ending the conversation with a less than believable "nothing's wrong."  

I wanted to talk to her too. But we hadn't been too close since we were younger. We hardly spoke when I was in high school. I was out with my friends and she with hers. Our lives were just different. When I came back from college (I left early to take a year off to explore what I'd truly wanted to do ) she had pretty much grown up. All my friends were gone, at different schools all over the country, and Aria was really busy with high school, and the team. We had just grown too far apart..

When she began skipping school, and quit the lacrosse team, my parents grew really concerned.

They started to suspect she was somehow using drugs, despite her hardly ever leaving the house. 

I'll admit, I didn't believe she was using drugs, although I can see how my parents thought as much. Aria was growing visibly thinner over the months, and even though she spent most of her time in her room, she had dark bags under her eyes. Whatever she was doing in her room, it wasn't sleeping. 

One night I woke up to use the bathroom , and caught my sister standing in the hall just outside my parents bedroom door, pacing and muttering. She was holding something in her hands, tightly against her chest.

It was dark, but I could see a glint of light coming off the object. She turned her head and saw me, and her eyes grew wide. I was about to ask her what she was doing, but she ran up the stairs to her room. I told my mother the next morning, and I could tell she was worried. 

The day they died I came home in the midst of a huge argument between my mother and Aria. She was screaming at my mother, her face red, and streaked with tears. She had screamed "You never listen to me!"

My mother looked stunned, even afraid, but held her ground. She told my sister that she was going to see a professional, and get the help she so clearly needed. I was shocked, but glad that my mother wouldn't be swayed. Aria was clearly lying that something wasn't wrong with her. How could she expect our parents to ignore that?

I stood watching the situation unfold when Aria suddenly looked at me, and grinned. I stared after her in shock as she ran to her room. I heard my father and mother talking that night, they planned to send my sister to a hospital in the coming days. 

I tried to listen at her door a few times in the days before Aria would be sent away, and I even tried peeking underneath it once or twice. But all I ever heard was silence, and all I ever saw was darkness. 

But that night……,when I was pressing my ear to her door, on my way back to my own room, without any warning the door was pulled open with such force I nearly fell inside. Aria stood in the doorway, her jaw tight, and her blue eyes surrounded by dark circles. Her eyes glared at me with such hatred them, that for a moment I was stuck in place, afraid to move. She had one hand on the door, gripping it so hard I could hear the wood flexing under her grasp. 

After staring at one another for a long, terrifying moment, I found my voice, and whispered her name. 

"Aria."  She only glared back, gritting her teeth, it almost looked as if she would growl. 

"What are you doing.?" She hissed, and before I could respond, the door was slammed in my face. I went to bed that night, in a mix of fear and confusion. What had happened to my sister? She had looked at me with such contempt. I lay awake thinking all night on this. 

This is where my memory stops. It was as if I closed my eyes that night, and awoke in the hospital, my head throbbing and bandaged, surrounded by doctors. The look of sympathy on their faces when I asked for my parents, I'll never forget that. 

I was told my parents were killed that night. They were both stabbed repeatedly while they slept. Murdered in their beds. 

My mother had defensive wounds, a sign she must have woke during my fathers murder and tried to stop it.

My sister, I was told, had jumped from her bedroom window, after hastily scrawling a note - "I hate her. She had to die. No one would understand. So I'm doing it myself" the note had her dried bloody fingerprints smeared around it. 

A neighbor heard her screams as she flung herself from the third story window, to the pavement below. The neighbor, Mr. Kyle, ran to my sister, but she was nearly gone, only gurgling a few responses to his coaxing her to hang on. He didn't yet know that inside the house my parents lay cut to pieces in their beds, while I clung to life at the foot of the stairs. My head had been bashed in. Police suspect I was running for the door, to get help. My hands were severely cut up from a possible attempt to shield myself from the knife, though I was not stabbed like my parents. 

I was questioned extensively, but I had very little answers for them. Supposedly during the days leading up to her death, my mother shared her concerns about Aria with my aunt, and with my aunt's testimony, the police shut the case as just another demented teen who killed her parents then herself...

I spent many months in the hospital, and weeks in rehab. The first day home was hard. I missed the funerals of my family, and despite my aunt and cousins cleaning the house of any evidence of that awful night, it still took everything in me not to run from the house. It felt tainted.

It's been three weeks since I've been home. 

Yesterday I found the diary. I couldn't bring myself to read it. Not then. But today, I finally opened the book, getting lost in the pages of my sister's life. The diary went back six years. Aria wasn't an everyday writer. But it was updated often enough. 

It went from a normal, happy girl with dreams of being a professional lacrosse player, and a large animal veterinarian, to a delusional child.

 I read through pages of her first crush, her first big fight with her bff, and little worries all teens have. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Definitely nothing anyone here would want to read. 

But I'll write her final entries. 

 Saturday - 

Mommy and Daddy finally let me have the room upstairs!!!! I'm so excited I can hardly write. Dad's getting all his equipment out now, I can hear him as I write this. He's keeping his things in my old room. It'll be a little cramped, but he was totally fine with it. Surprisingly mom was the one I had to convince. She didn't think I needed all the space or privacy, but I explained that I am going to be 15 soon! And besides, I told her I could use the extra space to bring up the old piano in the basement, the one I never played, and practice! She was all smiles then. It's gonna suck….but a little piano everyday is worth it as long as it's in my new room!!

I can't wait until I can have my first sleepover in it. Chesly and Abby won't believe it! Gotta go. I want to help Dad move his junk so I can speed up the process. Leave him alone to do it and I won't have my room until next week!

PS. It's got a bathroom!!! No more sharing with Kate! 

**

Sunday - 

My first night in my new room. I nearly forgot to write tonight. It's almost 1 am. I'm tired, and achy from carrying my stuff up here. Dad helped with the big stuff like my bed and dressers. And mom insisted on handling the clothes (probably so she could personally fold and hang each item haha) Of course Kate didn't lift a finger. She sat on the sofa on her phone all day. Probably pretending to look for a job. I think she's mad I got the upstairs room. I know she asked for it a few times too. But she should be in a college dorm!

Tired, gotta get some sleep so I can paint tomorrow. Chesly and Abby are helping! 

**

Tuesday -

I love my room. Did I mention that? Haha 

The paint is almost dry. I chose a soft pink for three of the walls, with a lavender for the back wall. We painted the bathroom pink and lavender stripes, Abby's idea. But it looks great. Tomorrow mom's taking me to get some new things to decorate this place. Got practice in the afternoon, but then I'll have all night to decorate!!!

Dad argued with Kate again. I swear for a 19 year old she sure acts like a baby sometimes. 

Dad was mad cuz she keeps sleeping most of the day, and plays on her phone all night. 

Ugh, just another reason dad will never let me have my own phone… 

Gotta go 

**

Thursday - 

Sorry it's been a few days since I wrote. My room is finished. Looks perfect! Abby is staying the night tonight, so that's awesome. I can use the company. Mom and dad cut Kates phone off, and she went nuts. She acts like she's mad at me too. What did I do?! She's such a brat. This wouldn't have happened if she hadn't dropped out of college. I told her so today and she looked like she wanted to hit me. 

Gotta go. Abby's coming soon. 

** 

Saturday - 

It's been awhile, sorry. I am kind of mad. Or scared. Idk. Could be nothing but I think Kate is planning to do something to mom and dad. She sneaked on mom's phone a few days ago, and I heard some of what she was saying. She said she wanted to leave but she couldn't. She didn't have the money yet. She said it would have to look like an accident and then started talking about cars and stuff. I stopped listening because I was afraid she'd hear me. 

She wouldn't hurt them, right? 

**

Monday - 

Something's wrong with her. I know it. I stayed up all Thursday night listening to her on her phone. Dad gave it back after she promised to get a job within the month. (Yeah right) 

Kate was on the phone for hours with someone. She was saying awful things about our parents. And how they have a lot of money. She said she was thinking of ways to "do it" and laughed. I think she is taking drugs. She sometimes goes out saying it's to look for work, but when she comes home she looks sleepy. I don't think mom and dad have noticed. Or they just think she's staying up too late. I do hear her at night when they are asleep. She laughs and talks about how she hopes she can cry when the time comes….

She wants to hurt them, I feel it. I was so tired from staying up, I didn't hear my alarm today. Mom had to take me to school, but we weren't too late.

**

Thursday - 

I have been staying up late listening to Kate. She's acting so different around mom and dad now. Like she's all nice and helps clean up. She never uses her phone during the day though. Dad said he was proud of her "change"

Mom seems happy too. I didn't tell them yet. I wanted to get more evidence. 

But this staying up all night has made me sleep right through my alarm! 

Mom's had to take me to school a couple times now and is upset cuz she's been late to work. I feel bad. But I have to know what Kate's planning!

**

Saturday - 

Mom and dad sat me down to talk. They looked worried. At first I thought they knew about Kate and I was almost relieved, but then they started to ask if I was okay. If I needed to talk about anything. I almost said it right then, but Kate was there, watching. So instead I shook my head, and lied. I Told them nothing was wrong. They didn't look like they believed me though. 

**

Tuesday -

I started guarding my parents room at night. I watch them during the day too, so I had to stop going to practice. I quit the team until this is taken care of…. Though I don't know how. 

I carry a knife at night, just in case.

Last night Kate saw me. She was sneaking down the hall, and I could tell she was heading to mom and dad's room. When we saw one another, we just stared. Neither one of us saying a word. I finally ran to my room. I couldn't take being alone with her! I guess I never really thought she could hurt them. But she may be serious after all…

** 

Wednesday-

I waited til Kate went to fill out some job applications, and then I told Mom what I knew, what I'd heard. 

She had this expression like she wanted to cry. But it wasn't because of Kate. She was sad for me! She said she was scared I was using drugs! She said I looked awful, and lost too much weight. That I stopped going out, and quit the team  She started to cry...I wanted to cry too. To tell her I didn't want to quit the team. I didn't want to be tired all the time. I didn't want to have no appetite! But what else could I do? I couldn't just let Kate hurt our family. I

 tried to tell her everything, but Kate came home early

**

Friday- 

I told Mom about Kate again. I'm so mad!!! She wouldn't even listen! She never listens! She said I need help! They're sending me to a hospital in a few days. How can I protect them from there??!

Kate came home during my argument with mom. She stood there listening as always. I ran to my room and cried. I had dinner in my room tonight but I didn't eat much. I was waiting until my parents fell asleep, and right before I was about to go down to guard their room I heard the floor creaking outside my door. When I opened it, Kate was there… how long had she been listening out there?  I was more angry than scared. I asked her what she was doing, and she didn't answer but looked kind of nervous. She knows I know. I think I saw her smile when she said my name but I can't be sure. When I looked at her then, I knew what I had to do. I would have to end it myself. I would have to stop her. She wanted everyone to believe I was crazy. And now no one will believe me. 

 But I know what she is. And I'm going to stop her.

I can't wait too long though or it'll be too late. I'll be gone at some hospital leaving Kate to go through with her plan. It's now or never. I don't know what to do ……...yet…..

They're dead!!! Mom and dad! 

Kate killed them. I fell asleep by mistake! I've just been so tired! I woke to the sound of my mother screaming. I ran down to help her, but it was too late. Kate had a knife and was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Her hands were bleeding but she didn't look like she cared about the cuts.

I grabbed the marble tray from the table in the hall, and when she ran at me, smiling and full of rage, I brought it down on her head. The sound of her skull cracking should have made me sick but I was glad. I wanted her to die for what she did to them. I hit her a few times, then ran back up to my room. I can hear her now. She is hurt but still coming for me, dragging herself to the steps. I could of sworn I heard her laughing.... I won't let her win. I hate her. She had to die. No one would understand. So I'm doing it myself.  

**

The last page had blood on it. I don't know how it was missed during the investigation. I found it in Aria's room, on the floor under the carpet by her desk. Maybe I hid it? No one could really know for sure. 

I know what you are all probably thinking… that I am a killer who killed her family and deserves at the very least life in prison, likely death.  I have no memory of that night. But I do remember some of the days Aria wrote about in her diary. I remember the argument with Dad about the phone. I was mad, I'll admit. I remember the constant fights about college. I just wanted to take off one damn year after pushing myself all through high school to please them! I remember being angry about Aria getting the room on the third floor. It was unfair to say the least. I'm older. I had asked many times before her, and was always turned down… it was for dad's photography equipment, even though he rarely used it. But she asks and gets her way like always….. sure I was pissed. What daughter wouldn't be? 

I remember my sister looking at me with a strange look in her eyes, was it fear? 

But I don't remember the in-between. I don't have any recollection of the late night phone calls or of that night. 

The nightmares though…. They are very vivid and in the worst, most recurring nightmare, I am standing at my parents bedside, watching them sleep, my hand gripping something, something I don't want to see. The nightmare ends with my father opening his eyes, locking onto mine. Then to the object in my hands and they grow wide with fear, understanding and betrayal. I wake up then, always soaked in sweat and tears. 

My life has changed since that horrible night. And now I don't know what to believe. Could my sister have been just a scared, innocent kid trying to protect her parents the only way she knew how? Or is she the deranged, paranoid killer the world believes her to be? 

And if she isn't…. What does that make me? 

----

 

Credits

I Hate My Growths

  

I wanted to put my story out there, in hopes of possibly helping someone else. I'm sure there's at least a few people out there like me.

It all started when I was a kid. My mother died in childbirth, and my father raised my brother and I. We lived in a small town, but lived a good distance away, so we pretty much stayed close to home. My brother and the other neighborhood kids played in the woods and creek by our house. I thought life would always be happy and carefree.....

I first noticed them when I was 9. I was getting ready for school that morning and I happened to see it in the mirrors reflection. I was confused, but I wasn't scared, yet.. 

I just kept thinking it would go away. Probably a bug bite or something like it, and it would heal on its own. It wasn't big enough to be seen through my clothing, so I didn't bother mentioning it to dad. 

I tried to push it from my mind, and being 9, it wasn't too hard to get lost in school work, and after school play. It wasn't as if I had forgotten about it. But I didn't constantly worry about it either. 

It wasn't until a few weeks after my 11th birthday that panic really set in. 

I was playing with my brother in the creek, when I happened to notice a slight feeling…  as if something was moving on my skin. I looked down, pulling my shirt out a bit, thinking a bug or some animal had gotten in there somehow, when I saw them.  I nearly screamed. Instead of just a tiny one, now there were two. And they were larger. Much larger than before, as if they had grown overnight. My brother must have noticed my reaction, and came over to check on me. I quickly covered my growths - that's what I'd begun to think of them as - and we went home, me trying to hide my secret the entire way. 

For the next month I avoided wearing tight fitting clothes, and stayed to myself as much as possible.

But I knew the problem wasn't going to get better, not on its own. I would have to tell my father. I planned to tell him one night after dinner. But the words were stuck in my throat. 

I helped him clear the table, waiting for the right moment. I waited until my brother took the dogs outside, and then as my father washed and I dried, I told him. I still remember the look on his face. He had been washing the salad bowl, and at the moment I said the words he nearly dropped it. My fear suddenly became overwhelming. Fathers weren't supposed to be scared. He  must have seen my reaction and set the bowl in the sink, and knelt in front of me. 

"It's ok. Don't worry about anything." He said, and he smiled but it wasn't like his normal smiles. It was the same smile he had when he told my brother and I our dog, champ died and would be in heaven with Mom. 

"But .. they got bigger. What if they keep growing?" I asked in a scared voice. "Am I gonna die?" 

Tears started falling then. He hugged me tight, and after a moment he said, "Of course not. We'll take you to see the doctor. Maybe tomorrow if he's able. Don't worry." 

I felt better that night. It was finally out in the open. It wasn't my secret to hide anymore. We did go see doctor Hadley. He was about 100 in my 11 year old mind, but was probably more like 65. He had gray hair and gray eyebrows that always reminded me of the caterpillars I used to find in our garden. He smelled like peppermint toothpaste, and the stinging smell of alcohol, that reminded me of the shots he gave. My father left the room when it was time to show the doctor my growths. It was like he was embarrassed by them, or afraid he'd catch them….. 

The doctor only looked for a second. Then quickly looked up at me, his eyes worried like my fathers had been. Had they grown? My panicked mind raced. I couldn't be sure. The doctor tried to smile, but even at 11 I knew when someone was pretending. 

"What's wrong?" I had asked him. My blood pounded in my ears. He cleared his throat, and went into a long speech mainly consisting of medical jargon that I didn't fully comprehend. When he finished and asked if I understood I nodded, but I really only understood one thing. 

Untreatable. No cure. No way to stop it. And according to doctor Hadley, the growths would most likely continue to grow. I ran from his office, tears staining my face, my father running after me. I didn't eat that night. Or the next morning. My father tried to talk to me, but I heard nothing. I was going to be a freak. Forever. 

I begged my father to let me stay home, but he refused. I rarely left the house except for school, and always wore loose fitting clothes.

The kids didn't seem to notice, at least until one day during break. Mr Bolger let us go outside to play kickball after Math, and I was completely into the game, forgetting my growths, when Franky ran into me knocking me down on my back. It knocked the wind right out of me, and I lay there on the grass trying to force air into my lungs. When I finally began to breathe normally I opened my eyes to see Franky and the others standing over me, their eyes like saucers. I looked down at myself and felt the air sucked from my lungs for the second time. My shirt was ripped and a growth was clearly visible. 

I struggled to cover it, and get to my feet. "Holy shit" Franky said, his voice low so Mr Bolger didn't hear. The others joined in, some laughing, some just staring at me with open mouths. I guess I can't blame them, looking back. But at the time I was furious. I ran as fast as I could, their hollering, and laughter following me. I didn't stop even when Mr Bolger called after me. I didn't stop until I was too far away to hear the laughter. 

The years went by with me keeping to myself. I rarely went anywhere except school, and when I left the house I was well covered, even in summer. I got used to the staring, laughing, pointing. 

I just pretended I couldn't hear them. 

When I moved away for college I hadn't been happier. I didn't have to share a room with anyone, thankfully. I still avoided friends, opting to keep to myself. 

I had access to computers at the school library, and spent all my free time searching for cures or treatments, and talking to people like me in support groups. Some had their growths in other places, growths that looked much different than mine. Those people became my true friends. They also helped me find a doctor who could remove the growths. 

I met the doctor one morning, and was so excited I barely slept the night before. 

But unfortunately he looked at the growths - which had grown considerably since I was 11 - and said he wouldn't be able to perform the surgery unless they were causing health problems. He gave me a useless referral to see another doctor, and sent me on my way. I never went to see the other doctor. I came to realize that no one could help me. 

If I wanted to be normal and growth free, I'd have to help myself. 

And that brings me to now. I locked myself in my room with a few supplies. One of my friends from the support groups sent me instructions on how to remove the growths myself. He did it a few years prior and said it worked wonderfully. He warned me about the possible dangers, and of course, the pain. But I wouldn't be swayed. 

I got all the supplies listed, and locked the door in case I screamed too loud. 

I put a few trash bags  on the floor to stand on to catch any blood, and pressed the sharpened knife to the growth, sawing through it. I'll admit, it took a good while to get started, but it didn't take long to realize how much pressure I'd need. 

I bit down on a washcloth, but despite the warnings of pain, all I really felt was relief. Relief and excitement. 

There was some pain, and more blood than I imagined. But when that hideous growth fell to the floor all I felt was pure joy. 

I'm still bleeding pretty bad, and nearly loss consciousness twice so I had to stop before starting the other one.

But I wanted to write this while I wait, for anyone out there like me who thought they were doomed to live life with their growths, their dark secret.

It's possible to find a cure. You just need to want it bad enough, and a sharp knife. You'll also need a lot of towels to stop the blood. I'm already on my sixth one.

I have to go now. I may need to take a nap before I start the last one.. I feel dizzy, but it's all worth it. Remember, you're not alone. And despite what doctors say, the growths can be stopped. I smile when I think back to Dr Hadley telling me I'd have the growths forever. He even tried to tell me my growths were normal. Except he used medical terminology, and called them "breasts" 

But whatever the term, my growths are nearly gone. I just pray they won't grow back...

----

 

Credits

Black Market Bait

  

They’re out there, somewhere.

The big fish.

Peering into the calm surface water, you might not see them in our midst. Though deep down, swimming and lurking, they wear the face of a common vertebrate, blending easily into the shoal like a bloodthirsty speck of sand in an ignorant bag of flour.

As I dragged my dinghy along the white sand toward the edge of the water in the searing low-hanging sun, it was easy to believe I was in a fever dream.

The swallowing, gurgling water that ebbed and flowed at my feet, the welcoming blue void that curved away at the horizon - fishing was like reminiscing with an old friend; it was like a warm kiss on a Sunday afternoon.

A greeting beckoned me from somewhere down the beach, a voice that yelled with a slurred mouthful of rotten seaweed. That, or the voice was cracking under smoking two packs a day of vocal fry.

The man came jogging up to me which left great boot prints upon wet sand in his wake. As we shook hands, his flesh was slippery and feverish like brushing the belly of seeping roadkill.

“Name’s Trevor, finest fisherman along the southeastern coast, if ya don’t mind myself saying so.” His eyes were tight lines under his sage bucket hat. “Conqueror of the floridian basins, furthest surfcast out here.”

I flicked him the nervous, tightly pulled line for a smile - the same smile I would have given a hooded passer-by. “Hi there, uh,” I resisted wiping away the gooey slop from his hand out of politeness. “George.”

The falling sun painted the man’s face a blotchy, tanned pink. He had a glint in his wrinkled eyes as he said: “Look over there, chap.”

I followed his finger to the distant skyline over the cliffs. Graphite clouds were beginning to roll in over the horizon like an avalanche of wet boulders.

“Say, I knew a lad like you, George.” He cleared his thick throat. “Name of Rod, real city boy. The last day I done saw him was a day like any other, we were meant to launch off the ramp together. But see, I was a little late. And so, the guy gets restless. He goes out on his own to catch a few,”

I watched Trevor for a while as his eyes became fixed on the crashing peach waves, watching things that were never there.

“The storm came, and took him from me, George-O. Mother sea dragged him down by his limbs, bubbled his lungs until his lips drew blue.”

“He drowned?”

The man shimmied his bucket hat down to the brow with two hands. “You bet. And that’s my vow after that day, I spose’. If I ever caught a city boy fishin’, heading into rough waters, I'd snatch em."

He flicked a thumb over to the metal boat that was floating in the water a hundred paces away.

"Oh, no, I'm quite okay." I said.

"Oh come now, humor a weathered old man. You can darn bet I'll teach ya' some things. My boat is a sure thing studier than a dinghy."

His lonely old eyes yanked me by the wrist all the way across the beach to his rustic metal vessel that floated on the shallow water. When we boarded I was immediately greeted by blunt groans and bubbles beneath us I wasn’t accustomed to.

Before long we were motoring toward the great red lamp in the sky with nothing but a whisper spoken - all thanks to the boat which whirred and splashed beneath us as we thumped along into blue nothingness. I was grateful for the quiet, but as I caught the man's face it was clear he had a growing restlessness I lacked, a yearning for derailing chatter that only came from a finely aged loneliness.

When he stopped the boat and dropped the anchor, I knew I was right when he immediately started:

“You ever seen a big fish, George?”

I gave him an awkward nod. “A few, yeah. Never caught one though. Brother pulled up a sturgeon.”

Trevor was shaking his head as he untangled his line from his rod. “No, I’m talking about the big fish. The ones that don’t have no name.” His hands were passionate and animated as he spoke.

He swiftly snapped up my cracking smile before I could laugh: “They’re smarter than us, you know. The ones below.”

Oh, so it’s even worse. I thought. He’s crazy-crazy. I should have never got on this bo-

“Take these.” He muttered, hurried as he reached into his jacket’s many pouches.

He slipped a few gelatinous cubes the size of a die into my palm. Most were the colour of red-splashed peaches, though some were a deep purple-grey - blocky grapes from an ashen willow.

“You probably won’t believe me yet George-O, but you will soon enough.” He cleared his throat.

The jelly was sweating in my hand, but perhaps it was my nerves - I was breathing quickly, something about the guy simply made my skin crawl.

“What are… these?” I asked him.

He slid one of my hooks through a cube. “Bait for the bigguns’. Now give her a cast.”

I let my line sparkle and soar through the pumpkin-tinged sky before it breached the water with a distant plonk.

We sat there for a while entranced by the sea, but the old man never threw out his line. He was coaching me, at least I should have hoped.

“A bite be coming soon enough, boy.” He nodded toward the ocean. “Keep a firm grip on it.”

I wiped a layer of sweat from my forehead. From my periphery I saw him extend one wrinkled palm, holding some bait. “Try one, tastes like sweet heaven.”

“What?”

Still clutching my fishing rod I turned my neck to give him a raised eyebrow and a shake of the head. “What are they made from?”

“It’s candy, George-O. The big fish love the stuff.” Trevor said before throwing a few into his mouth. “Melts like butter.”

He ushered me to try the bait, and so I reluctantly did. The pieces hit my tongue and slid down my tract.

Maladherence is to spit in the face of the deranged. And so I chewed them. Slowly. Bits of revolting snails that rolled down my throat in lumps, almost coming up as chunks. It was disgusting; it stung with the stench of decay. At first it tasted like chicken, as everything does so of sorts, but after swallowing it might as well have been mouldy crème brûlée the way it settled.

“Bliss, right lad?” He said after I was done chewing.

Two thumbs up.

I was lucky to find peace for a while after that. Just watch the sea and breathe, George. Watch the sea and breathe.

“Shame Rod ain’t here to see this city boy eat these here jellies. What a way to go: struck by lightning no less. A champion ya were, Rodney... Zeus!” He screamed.

Without warning, I was running into a jog across the boat following my line. Something was hooked. Something big.

“Ey, fish on lad!” Trevor called.

Reeling and pulling, reeling and pulling. I threw my spine forward, then backward.

Before long, the fish and I were in rhythm, tugging in waves, pulling and leaning in harmonious turns.

“Trevor,” I huffed.

Pull, release, pull, release.

“I thought you told me that Rod drowned?”

“Whoa-hoa-hoa! She’s a big one, boy! Keep reeling” He boomed, his head hanging overboard.

“Ya see, if you want to catch the big fish, George-O,” He was in my face then, stabbing one lesson-giving finger at me as he spoke each word in short breaths. “You gotta have the special bait. And that, boy, you do.”

The low sun on the horizon felt warm against my skin, but it couldn’t calm my heart which felt like it was going to pop.

“Trevor, you told me that Rod drowned.”

“Keep reeling, George-O!”

My yell cut the sound of the ripples in the water like a hot knife. “Trevor!”

There was silence for a while. Words from me were quiet, unwilling. All that could be heard on the settling boat was my reel spinning and my catch surfacing the water. I hadn’t seen what I had fished up - I was too busy staring at Trevor.

“What’s so special,” My voice faintly trickled from my mouth. “About the bait?”

He held up a handful of the peach cubes, and began talking through rubbery, fishy lips. “Oh, these fine cuts?”

His pocket knife sparkled in the hot sun as he absent-mindedly twirled it; his face occupied by old memories.

“Take a look.” He nodded his head at me to peer at the water.

I slowly strode towards the wall of the boat. When touching the edges I was reluctant to peer over as if he had asked me to touch a hot stove.

My face turned cold as I looked into the blue abyss below. Dozens of pale rocks floated in the deep azure sea which stretched as far as my eye could see. But as I stared longer, if I squinted enough, I could no longer convince myself that they were stones. They were pale, bloated corpses. Holed. So many cubed holes scattered into their bellies, thousands, all etched into their flesh.

“Seems you caught the big fish, boy-o.” The voice tickling my neck was rasp, a tongue never made for speech.

By the time I turned around its flesh began to bloom iridescent scales; what remained of Trevor’s curly grey hair shed away snowflake clumps of hairy scalp. Clothes that no longer fit around his neck slid easily from his wet mucous-dipped gills.

I wanted to scream, in fact I might have.

“No dollary-doos could buy me this bait from nobody. For them to hand these over…”

His bulbous, orange eyes met mine before his mouth contorted into a wide, toothless grin.

“I gotta take em’ out fishing.”

...........................................................

And so,

I am but a warning for future fishermen,

For they might not be as lucky as I to dive and swim to shore.

They're out there somewhere.

The ones you might not see in our midst.

The big fish. 

---

Credits

 

Breastfeeding is for Babies

  

You could always smell my wife before you could see her, her umbilical cord leaving the smell of iron upon our couches it had stained, the rotting fleshy rope sour with decay, her feverish body stale with the sweat from constant hysteria.

They called it a medical abnormality. When our son Vincent was born and the umbilical cord cut, it grew out of her bellybutton like a pinkish beanstalk, always twisting, looking for a fencepost to cling on. According to my wife, it did find something to hang on. Our second child we never had.

The nights that I spent lullabying Vince and tucking him in were the nights that she would stay awake, feeding it. Madness took my wife Cherelle, and I lived with it. A maternal hiccup, I would say, nothing more.

My wife and I had been twisting and turning under our duvet on one humid summer evening.

“Darling,” She sat up upon the headboard. “I know I’ve gone off the rails a bit lately.”

I turned to look at her, catching the moonlight that beamed through our window and reflected upon sweaty shoulders and the strands of hair that stuck to her forehead.

“How so?” I asked, careful with my words.

The couch springs hurt your back, Michael. Let’s not get sent there again tonight. I thought.

She giggled. “You know what I mean.” Two raised eyebrows met her stomach.

Cherelle took my hand and placed it on her belly. The worm from her navel wriggled revoltingly under the thin fabric of her nightie. The umbilical was cold and mushy like the reanimated tail from seeping roadkill.

“It’s strange, but don’t you love it honey? I thank God for giving us this blessing to feed our twin boys.” Her eyes were bright yet vacant.

I pulled my hand away slowly as to not upset her. I caught a waft of air from my fingertips that had touched it, a smell of rotting vegetables and mulch.

“Y- Yes sweetheart, it’s wonderful.” I gave a smile before a concealed gag.

Breastfeeding is for babies; that rotten appendage was not. Spooning my wife wasn’t an option anymore – I couldn’t bear to get close to it anymore, let alone let our skin touch. Nights were colder in bed than on the sofa.

For most of the following week, I wore a warm smile on my face around the office. Freeing my head from the peculiar life at home was good for me.

“How’s the wife doing?” They would ask.

I kept my head up and smiled back: “You know how it is. Little bit clingy around the new one. She’s a great mom, though.”

On Thursday when I was back home, I swiftly plummeted back down to paternal reality. Vince was already screaming in his crib and Cherelle must have dozed off - God knows how. Though, ‘how’ probably were her sleeping pills and a cup of wine. She deserved the rest.

Unbuttoning and stashing my suit away didn’t take long. Down the hall I went, cries echoing and getting louder as I approached his room. A diaper change or maybe a lullaby ought to put him to sleep.

“Vince?” I whispered.

My hands curled around the edge of his crib; nothing sounded but that of quiet breathing. He was fast asleep.

I sighed and pushed my hair back. Should really start getting some proper sleep, maybe a cup of red was the way to go. I thought.

Turning and smiling at my son, I flipped the switch.

That’s when my stomach sunk. A baby was crying.

My ears pricked and heart thumped in my chest.

Without knowing why, I flipped the lights back on, and curiously the screaming abruptly stopped.

I slowly brought myself to shuffle towards the spare unrenovated room at the end of the hall one step at a time. Inside, I noticed the light had been left on and, in the center, another black wooden crib.

Cherelle must have purchased it when I was at work. The very sight of it sent shivers up my spine.

Lights: off.

And the crying started again.

When the lights were on again, I felt dizzy and like I was going to throw up. Yet, I couldn’t look away.

I made it dark for the last time. Every step closer to the crib made my stomach throw acidic tickles at my throat. Staring into the void of the baby’s crib, it grabbed my finger with its tiny, frigid hand.

Screaming and screaming, I bolted out of the room, leaving the switch on like it was before I had come home. I slunk into bed and for the longest time stared unblinkingly at the silhouette of trees that wavered against my ceiling. Sleep didn’t come cheap that night.

The morning set a cold, tense atmosphere upon our small home. Before work, it was usually my turn to feed and tend to Vince as I usually let my wife sleep in. Though, things weren’t usual. Cherelle wasn’t in bed.

From the hall, I caught the back of her messy black hair as she stood by the front door’s mail slot.

“Good-early morning, honey.” I said, before groggily heading off to Vince’s room.

My breathing turned sharp - his crib was empty. Horror had followed me from the night before and come for me just like I knew it would. I darted out of the room and braced against a wall to turn at the unfinished room to the left to see another empty crib.

“Honey?” I called.

Cherelle didn’t turn, nor speak. She stared unblinkingly forward and downward by the front door, crying.

“Where’s Vincent?”

No reply.

I almost didn’t want to get closer. At that moment, I didn’t want to know where he was. I kept walking on.

She was a trembling, sobbing mess - I was close enough to see over her shoulder.

Between her hands shuffled bereavement flyers, letters of support from friends and family. Tears flowed down her cheeks and stained paper with dark blotchy circles.

Remembering why the cribs were empty, I cried, too.

I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tightly from behind. Her stomach beneath my hand was smooth, and the horrifying umbilical worm had gone away.

 

---

Credits

The Collector

  

The mint condition and properly sleeved Isaac Bradley baseball card that I needed for my collection turned out to be listed from a seller in an absolute eyesore of a town. Sure, I’m legally obligated to wear my prescription glasses when driving, but in Gary, Indiana, I’ve never ripped them off my head faster than when I was driving round that shithole.

It was an utterly haunting hellscape filled with abandoned ruins of houses and lost hope left, right and center – if I was breaking the law or not, I simply didn’t care anymore. My eyeballs couldn’t goddamn breathe.

My GPS ended its journey with a ping. Gravel crunched and popped under my tires as I rolled into the driveway around half-past five.

The place was downright decrepit. Cut brown fencing had fallen away from around the property, leaving sharp posts that could have been fit for Vlad the Impaler. Mossy fingers and growth climbed the dilapidated building, covering its wooden boarded walls in splashes of sage.

My years of searching for the end to my collection with no avail had brought me here: Staring into the abyss of an abandoned house’s open screen door. God help me.

“Hey man, here to pick up the Isaac Bradley card.” I closed the car door behind me as I planted two shoes onto gravel.

The seller was a sickly pale and plump man with two sunken eyes. Bloated slimy flesh held up his baggy shirt and slicked hair greased his round face. Bodies pulled from the river never looked far off from how this creep did. I should have turned around and left when he didn’t reply and only stared at me unblinkingly in the shadow of the doorframe. Yet, my collection beckoned me to step forward. Isaac Bradley beckoned me.

“From eBay?” I prodded him with more details, hoping for both a response to my question and an ease to my nervousness. This guy is exactly the guy you would have expected to be listing auctions from an abandoned house.

Intuition is a powerful thing. With every stride closer to the mute man, my subconscious zapped with me with a jolt as if to say: Hey, you’re risking it all for a piece of cardboard, man. Not just any cardboard, brain, it was the cardboard. If you’re ever at an unfortunate and unlikely turning fork in your life where you feel the need to burn your money with addiction by either collecting cards or starting to smoke crack, make sure to choose crack – it’s cheaper that way.

Looking ahead as I approached, I saw his eyes that were vacant, glossy globes. They had sunk ghoulishly into his cheekbones, making my heart race as I closed in for a handshake.

I was a couple meters away from him when he abruptly reanimated and extended one arm, inviting me with a wide, artificial grin.

“Name’s Earnie. Card is right inside; did you bring cash?”

My hand almost slid out of his grip; it was as greasy as his face. The smile said earnest Earnie, the eye’s said Jack Torrance from The Shining.

“Yep. All here.” I patted my pocket, leaving some sort of white gooey paint from his hand upon my jeans.

Inside we went. The place reeked of dust that littered unkempt furniture; broken floorboards creaked with the raspy gasps of a building never meant to be stepped through again.

“Take a seat while I grab it for you.” He gestured to one dull, grimy couch. I hadn’t really put much thought into it before, but his face was rather deformed – the bridge of his nose was almost non-existent, skin from his face met the immediate snub holding two nostrils. He quite frankly looked like a gruesome boar, and when he spoke his voice was high pitched like the strange artificial whine of a farmer trying to draw in a group of livestock.

I sat down and pillows collapsed inward, flicking years of dust into the air. If I wasn’t entirely convinced it was a crack den, I was by the time I itched my arms as a cockroach scurried under a broken television cabinet.

Floorboards soon creaked above me, too. He was searching around for Isaac Bradley with his two meaty legs. As least, I hoped he was.

For a while, I waited and stared out through one of the shattered windows and ripped curtains as I contemplated my life choices that had brought me to this moment. Light streamed through – dust sparkled and looked like small mosquitos in the setting sun. That’s when I saw something quite peculiar and rectangular shine.

I lifted myself out of the seat and adjusted the cushion. Underneath was a handful of sleeved cards sprawled out across the springy bones of the sofa in between balls of lint. I swooped my hand across the bumpy springs and collected them in a pile before drumming the dust away from my fingers.

When I stared at the cards, my lunch lurched at my throat from my stomach. On the card was a polaroid portrait painting of a poor, decomposing soul that rested one protruding cheekbone upon a stiff, contorted fist. He had two open eyes that still screamed. Above: LAZY BONES.

My heart rang in my ears and pounded my head, I couldn’t hear him upstairs anymore. I swallowed a lump of sour that tickled my throat.

I almost couldn’t bring myself to look at more. My fingers shuffled the next card to the front. The polaroid in the middle of the card was a shoddy, blurry camera shot that depicted a woman sprinting towards a door outside of a house, one hand clutching the gaping knife-holes in her back, the other stretching out, begging to be let inside before it was too late. I was shaking the card as I read it: HOME RUN.

Launching to my feet, I nearly tripped over bits of perked up rotten floorboard. One of nails that came out of the wood shot through my rubber shoe and into my flesh like a hot iron, sending a stabbing pain up through into my ankle.

I made it to the front door. I twisted the knob and pushed, but it didn’t budge. Back to the living room I went, leaving a long line of blood that gushed out of my shoe like the oil from a leaky truck on a long highway.

My elbow snaked around the metal borders of the smashed window, one hand feeling around for what I couldn’t see. My hand touched metal. Barred in.

From the creaking staircase, a bright camera flash lit up the dim room. And again.

He was coming, and I had nowhere to run – my foot ached, yet I clutched my tight chest as I limped towards the kitchen.

Click, snap. More flashes of his camera followed behind as I held one limping leg in the kitchen doorframe.

On the kitchen counter: Photos of me, my wife. Eyes closed, in our bed. Beside his rusty hammer, I caught sight of a card and what was untidily scrawled at the top: SLEEPING BEAUTY.

Click, snap.

Thoughts stuck with me about grabbing the hammer, but it was already too late. I was limping forward.

I circled back to the hallway next to the stairs that he had come down from. It was strange, sure, but in that moment, I couldn’t help but still think about the collector’s item I had come to pick up. I would grab Isaac Bradley and we would both make it out of here, alive.

Without warning, one arm reached around and pulled mine. Turning, I saw the hammer in his other hand. I wormed and twisted to free myself as white flesh came away from his bloated hands from where he grabbed me, just like when I had shaken his hand earlier.

He glared up at me with vacant white eyes over a revolting bloated body that must have been filled with vile, decomposing goo. I kicked and kicked before he tumbled down the stairs.

I climbed the staircase swiftly, spotting polaroid’s and bits of cardboard he had been stitching together moments before. Photos of my thin trail of blood upon the moldy wooden floor, photos of the back of my head turning and limping away.

I kept hobbling forward in the hallway, and the camera behind me kept snapping, snapping. Webs got caught around my arm as I sluggishly shuffled into the bedroom.

My heart that had been pounding in my chest soothed quickly as I caught sight of him, and a warmth of relief spread through me. There he was, upon one disintegrated bedside table. Isaac Bradley.

He was so beautifully unique, nothing I had ever seen before. I took the card with two shaky hands, but deep down I knew I would be needing more. More cards for my next perfect collection.

Steps sounded beyond the bedroom door I had shut behind myself; a thin black line bloomed in the space beneath it. He was outside.

Through the window I tumbled, sliding off roofing and hitting the lawn with a thud.

Still wincing and struggling from my slip and fall, I almost dropped Isaac on my way to the car when I fumbled my keys. I flung myself into my vehicle and roared off into the setting sun, the man watching me unblinkingly from the screen door through gravel and dust that kicked up behind my trail.

Taking a long route home was my best bet in case he gave chase. Though, reflecting on the cards of me and my wife sleeping meant he already knew where my apartment was, and my stomach turned.

The drive was long and when I was home, my wife was already sound asleep. I cleaned my wound thoroughly with alcohol and sat on my couch, trying my best to recompose. I pulled the six cards out of my pockets, slipping the top one into my leatherback folder in the last space between all the dated faces of baseball royalty. Bradley was the perfect fit after all these years.

My excitement had passed, however. There was something else plaguing me now. I found something more important than Bradley and baseball: The other cards I had found in Indiana. I slipped them into my hands.

THE PITCHER was one of them. The face of the person in the polaroid wasn't recognizable, however the card’s beauty certainly was. Her features had been distorted to a sickening mush by the impact of the rusty hammer. Beside her head was a large punchbowl filled with a maroon drip that had flowed from her scalp like a tap. Filled halfway, and to the right of the polaroid, was a tall glass pitcher.

My baseball card collection was incredible, but my new collection was turning out to be perfect.

Many weeks had passed living in my apartment north of Indiana. I surfed eBay for cards occasionally – yet there were none as rare and as beautiful as the pieces Earnie had blessed me with.

I loved my wife, but he turned her screaming mug into the rarest card in my collection. I didn't entirely mean for her to die, but her death wasn't in vain. The seller was slowly but surely helping me build my bigger, better collection - baseball cards were just a memory, common junk out of the garage to sell at a pawnshop or a thrift store.

If you ever order anything from Gary, Indiana, always opt for postage. But most importantly, don’t open your eyes when you wake up and hear the high-pitched whistle coming from the snub where you think a nose should be.

I usually pretend to be fast asleep on the nights that I wake up finding him standing over my bed painting or taking photos of me. Those make the rarest cards, he tells me, so I leave the door unlocked so he can come in and work. He needs to work on my new collection. My rarest collection.

Though, just as my wife had done, there are times I open my eyes when he’s at the foot of my bed. The times he brings the hammer. Those are the times I scream. 

---

Credits