Fantasy and Vampire Book Club discussion

Please submit stories in this folder ONLY, and please no chatting or dialogue, use the other November Topic information folder for that. Thank you!

1625 words
Dead Jealous
7/11/12


His apartment is as it always had been during our time together, a mess. Pizza boxes and various other forms of fast food cartons and containers. I didn't have my key any more, I'd given it back to him.

Correction.

I'd thrown in in his face when I found him with one of the many other lovers. I'd had my suspicions which were more than confirmed when I found them both in our bed together.

I found the spare under the fake stone, attached to the magnet. A casual burglar wouldn't have found it, the stone looks real enough but screws in half at a join hidden by the fake moss. The key is magnetised to the top half in a recess.

I let myself in, I knew Alex wouldn't be home.

10.15AM - Yoga.

He never missed it, through a mutual friend I discovered after we broke up he'd only gone there to pick up other partners. Just for sex, no emotional involvement.

I spent the next 45 minutes wandering around the placed I'd call a home for almost three years.

The living room, home to the 42 inch TV Alex spent his waking moments glued to.

The office, home to the computer terminal where Alex spent the largest percentage of his spare time.

The bathroom, the one place Alex spent almost no time at all. He rarely showered at home and never brushed his teeth.

The bedroom, home to all of Alex's conquests.

The ghosts of lovers past.
I assume after I left I became another virtual notch on that bedpost.

The kitchen, the only place we spent more time together than the bedroom. I'd cooked most of the time with Alex hovering over my shoulder, always ready to pass me salt, pepper or a snide comment.

Nothing but the ghosts of bad memories here for me.

I wasn't surprised to find the place a complete tip, I'd always been the one who tidied up and threw garbage away weekly. Left to Alex, trash bags would have never left the house.

I checked my watch. A few more minutes and he'd be back. And probably not alone either.

I was glad that I'd gone the way I had. My condition was easily disguised and I didn't really get The Hunger. I enjoyed hiding what I've become. There are more like me but I don't associate with them or move in their circles. And yes, they do have circles. No tea parties or coffee mornings but they do get together for a group meal now and then.

The one that turned me seemed ordinary enough. I didn't realise what he was until it was too late. A friendly nibble is something most lovers can get away with.

A bite, however, is a different case of affairs.

We'd gone to a lovely up-scale loft on the expensive side of town, wood panelling everywhere and a huge luxurious bed big enough for ten people easily.

I didn't find out until much later that it wasn't his home. Or anyone elses home either. It was a social bolt-hole, someone told me. One of the many of their places that I tried (and sometimes failed due to a weak will) to avoid.

"Undead?" I asked him afterwards.

He grinned. I noticed the teeth then, sharper than they should be normally.
"Not a term I like. Or that our people like either. We prefer the term 'differently alive' to be honest."

I asked the question he was almost certainly expecting. "What will I become?"
"You'll find out in due course. It won't take long. A week at most. The timeline varies from victim to victim but no-one goes longer than seven days. You'll know in a weeks time."

"And what happens if I make it past that seventh day?" I asked him.
"You won't. Trust me. No-one does."
"But what if I do?"
"You'll wish you hadn't. No way out after that. No way out before either but many try. I'm sure you will."

He left me in a pool of my own blood in that enormous bed with my life and the warmth of my flesh slowly seeping away little by little.

Dying didn't hurt at all. It was just like going to sleep. Even with the waking up afterwards.

Apart from the small bite, I looked the same. At first.

After I woke up on the first day of my new life, correction, different aliveness, I took a shower, got dressed and bought some antiseptic cream and some gauze dressing and tape.

As I paid, the clerk made a comment that will stay with me forever, or as long as I exist. "You look like death, pal! Get a good meal & some sleep!"

I cleaned up the bite and covered it over.

It healed.

Oh yes. We heal. I was just as surprised to discover that.

I thought only living flesh healed itself. Apparently something in our genetic make-up heals us too. However it works, it works.

A decent foundation covered the changing skin colour, I didn't have much contact with other people but my cold hands were easily explained away with a well researched piece on low blood pressure and bad circulation.

I can still eat and drink regular food. I don't need to though, without it there's no wastage. I'm no longer burning fuel.

You know that saying "A ghost of your former self"? It's pretty accurate.

And what's really frustrating is that your memory remains perfect. Total recall. Every detail. So I was haunted by every second I'd spent with Alex.

Every time he'd dropped his clothes on the floor.
Every time he slammed the door.
Every time he missed the toilet and pissed on the floor.
Every time he was simply him.

No matter how he behaved, I tolerated him.
Until I caught him cheating.

But now I'm a different person.
A differently alive person.

I spent the remaining days alone, constantly checking my body in the mirror.

Reflection? Check. Not a vampire then. Or not a vampire yet, perhaps.
Skin colour? Pale and getting paler. Acquiring a pallor, even.
Appetite? None. Well, not at first anyway. Regular food is palatable but doesn't fill you up. I discovered we refer to it as "The Hunger".

Our sort are easy enough to spot when you are one.

There's that line by The Cranberries. "What's in your head, in your head?"
I'll tell you what Dolores. Everything you've ever done up to the point where you were turned, in perfect clarity, better than HD quality. Way above 1080p and perfect 3D too.

I check my watch again. I'm not really sure why I still wear it. It's not as though it's counting down on me any more.

Alex will be here any minute now.

I walk into the bedroom. I've decided I'll take my revenge where Alex destroyed my life. I sit on the unmade bed. How can he bear to bring people back here?

Simple logic and greed is the answer.

He's always been too cheap to spring for a hotel room and too self conscious to screw his latest conquests in the gym shower. I'd suggested trying that once as a piece of sexual experimentation, he told me he didn't want to get banned from there for lewd behaviour.

I hear the key in the lock, it takes several minutes so they've been for a drink first. Alex almost certainly isn't alone then. That's a shame.

I only want to hurt him. No innocents will be harmed today. At least not by my hand or teeth.

Eventually I hear the front door open. Eleven minutes, according to my wristwatch. That has got to be a new record, even by Alex's standards. I dread to think how obscenely drunk he will be when he comes into the bedroom.

"This is my pit." I hear Alex slur. An accurate description at least, the man has no shame. "Shut the door, let's go and shag." Subtle as ever I see, Alex?

No wooing, no compliments from him. Not now, not ever. Straight to the point as soon as possible, it'd always been Alex's style.

I hear the odd footstep here and there, the hardwood flooring echoes terribly as much now as it did when I put it down. I bet no-one tap dances on it any more though. I'd enjoyed one more Footloose session for old time as I'd waited. It was a good way to kill time before killing something else.

Dead can't dance? My arse!

As always, the bedroom door is slammed wide open in one rapid motion. Another of Alex's little foibles that the neighbours constantly complained about. Soon that won't be a problem any more.

You're welcome, neighbours.

He's too drunk to really notice me there but his latest conquest clocks me as soon as he follows in behind Alex.

"Oh, you've already got company." The interloper seems surprised but aroused.
"Who are you?" He asks me.

"Just a ghost from the past, visiting an old memory. You should leave. You seem far too nice to have this shithead hurt you like he hurts everyone else he picks up." I say, oozing calmness through hostility.

The interloper gets it and gets gone, moments later I hear the front door slam closed behind him.

"Hello Alex," I say. "Remember Japan?"

Just when I think I'm winning
When I've broken every door
The ghosts of my life
Blow wilder than before
Just when I thought I could not be stopped
When my chance came to be king
The ghosts of my life
Blew wilder than the wind.

"Here comes the storm. Time to die." He wasn't coming back from this trip.

I made sure.

THE END.

The Closet

I twisted over in bed and whispered into Sissy's ear, "There's a monster in the closet."

Sissy was a good older sister. She didn't groan, or make fun of me. She just turned over, so we were almost nose to nose. "How do you know, Kelly?" she said.

"I keep hearing it," I said. "It waits until you're asleep. Then it scratches at the door."

She lifted up on one elbow and stared at it with me. The door was white, the paint faded and peeling. A huge metal knob perched over a large keyhole, the kind made to fit one of those big old iron keys. It was a heavy, thick door, not flimsy and hollow like the closet door at our old apartment. If you were to somehow get trapped on the other side, you could kick on it all day and never break out.

"I don't hear anything," Sissy said.

That upset me. " I heard it!" I whispered fiercely.

"I believe you." She tilted her head, listening with her good ear, the one that hadn't gotten smashed bad in the Accident. "But I think it's done for the night. Now go to sleep. You start school next week, and you're going to have to start getting up earlier." She rolled over, pulling half the covers with her. I jerked them back, then pulled them over my head before squeezing my eyes shut. Much later, I fell asleep.

The closet had scared me since I first saw it. We'd just moved here, after the Accident. I ran upstairs where Mommy had told I would find my room, and there it was. I cracked the door and looked inside. It was ginormous, and very deep, so deep that shadows hid its back wall. There were huge shelves and cubbyholes and a light bulb high in the ceiling with a chain I couldn't reach, even standing on my tippy toes. And as I stood there, just inside the sill, the door swung shut.

I couldn't breath, couldn't move. I stood in place in the silence, listening. Then I heard something. Not breathing, not 'zackly. More like a rushing, like you hear when you hold a seashell to your ear. And as I stood there, I felt my heart hammering in my chest, like it was frightened of something I couldn't see. The floorboards creaked and I felt the air move, as though something was moving towards me. I was so scared I couldn't move, could not make a sound. It came closer, closer still.

Then a burst of light flooded the space, and I could move again. I spun around to see Sissy standing at the open door and looking at me.

"You shouldn't be in there by yourself," she said, looking past me. "No telling what might be hiding in these rooms."

#

Nothing was said to our parents, but Sissy and I shared a clear understanding, neither of us was to enter that closet alone if we could help it. If there was no choice, then the door must be propped open. Not with something flimsy, but with an object of great weight.

I often wondered if our parents sensed something too. Because of its size, the closet got turned into a junk room, with one half set aside as a wardrobe. Sissy would laugh at me and call me a clothes horse. She didn't care about that stuff, always wearing the same thing, faded jeans and a t-shirt. Always in style, she told me once.

I can't explain why, but the closet never really bothered Sissy, no matter how much it terrified me. I would lie in bed, listening. Sometimes there was nothing to hear. And when there was, usually it was something quiet, almost unnoticeable. A light scratching or a low creak of the floorboards, just enough to make me nervous, but not enough to prompt a scream for Daddy or Mommy. Instead I would reach over and take Sissy's hand, squeezing it tight. She never minded, and would squeeze back. Eventually, I would fall asleep.

Of course I told our parents about the closet. And of course they would check it, searching behind the boxes, checking the shelves, never finding anything. Which did not surprise me, because somehow I knew that whatever lived in the closet, it was only interested in one thing. Me. So it always hid. Very, very well.

Until that one night.

We'd spent the evening watching horror movies on cable television. Daddy frowned, but Mommy pooh-poohed him. "There are real horrors in this world," she'd say. "Better to prepare for them now, rather than later."

I can't say how I knew, but I could tell she was talking about the Accident. When she got like this, you could never tell how she'd get, so I excused myself and went up to bed, Sissy on my heels.

We got into bed, and lay next to one another. This time Sissy reached out to me first. She seemed upset, though I could not tell why. She curled up against me, her arms and legs as cold as ice. "What's wrong?" I asked.

Then something slammed against the closet door.

I opened my mouth to scream, and as I did, Sissy covered it with her hand. A second bang, even louder than the first, and in the pale grey light from the curtain less window I saw the door shudder under the impact from the other side.

I twisted, desperately trying to free myself so I could cry out for our parents. Sissy kept holding me close while shaking her head no.

"It's upset," she whispered. "It's angry."

"Whuff?" I said behind her hand. Why?

She released my mouth and pulled me to her chest, burying my face to keep me quiet.

"I don't know."

#

"I don't think it would have hurt us," Sissy said the next day when I confronted her. "But it might have hurt Mom or Dad, if they'd come upstairs."

I looked over at our mother, lying on the sofa as she slept, an open pill bottle on the coffee table. Outside I heard the sound of a weed whacker buzzing. The Landlord. Daddy told Mommy shortly after we moved in that the old guy was too cheap to hire a lawn care service, and that one day the man was going to collapse from heat stroke doing all the work by himself.

"Is she okay?" I asked Sissy. This wasn't the first time Mommy had fallen asleep on the couch after taking her medicine.

Sissy looked as though she was going to start crying. Both of them had done that a lot of that, ever since the Accident. "She'll be okay. Eventually." Then she shook her head and went upstairs.

I sat next to Mommy and picked up the remote for the television. There were always cartoons on this time of day. I didn't even have to turn the volume down, since nothing would wake her up after she'd taken her medicine.

I got settled with SpongeBob Squarepants, then there was a knock at the screen door. It was hot, so the front door itself was open. I looked through the screen and saw the landlord standing there, wiping his face with a bright red bandana.

"Out like a light again, eh?" he said. "Poor woman." He looked down at me. "Your dad told me about the accident. Puts me in mind of the folks who used to live here before you. There was an 'accident' then too. Never found the father, though." He leaned against the door frame, as though he could barely stand. "Sweetheart, could you do me a favor? I'm burning up out there. Rain's been heavy, and that fescue grows like crabgrass. Would you fetch me a glass of water?"

I looked over at my mother, then nodded yes and walked back to the kitchen. When I got back with the glass, a plastic tumbler, the landlord was standing next to the sofa, looking at the television.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said as he took the glass out of my hand. "They broadcast the commercials a lot louder these days than the programs." He emptied the tumbler in one long draught. "To get the viewer's attention, my son-in-law says." He looked down at my mother. "And she can sleep through all that? Fuck, then she'll sleep through anything. Won't she?"

He set the tumbler down on the coffee table. "Yep, gotta be careful. That's why I put that fence around the pool out back. Course, the gate's only got a simple latch. Gotta watch the kids like a hawk, or else next thing you know, you'll find one of 'em floating face-up, and no idea at all what might have happened." He reached down to stroke my hair. "Kelly, what time is your Dad getting home? It is Kelly, right?"

"Hey!"

I turned. Sissy was standing halfway down the stairs, smiling. She was using her index finger to curl a strand of that yellow gold hair I was so jealous of. (Mine was the color of dirt.)

The landlord looked up at her. "Well, hello Missy. And who might you be?" As so often happened when my sister entered a room, everyone's attention shifted to her, like metal filings to a magnet.

Sissy smiled and bent over the rail. "I've got a secret," she whispered.

"Say you do, eh?" The old man left me and strode to the bottom of the stairs. He sounded even more out of breath than he had before. "And what might that be?"

As he took a step up, so did Sissy. "It's a big secret," she said, "But nobody else can know."

"I can keep a secret," he said. And as he smiled, so did my sister.

Then she turned and ran.

The landlord looked confused. He looked down at me, then up the stairs, as though trying to make up his mind about something.

"Better hurry!" I heard Sissy call out.

Whatever it was he couldn't decide on, he must have, cuz he turned around and followed after Sissy.

I stood there, confused. Then I followed after them.

I saw the landlord enter our bedroom, and I said, "Excuse me!" But either he didn't hear me, or else he just ignored me. So I went in after him.

Then I froze where I stood.

It was fully open, the closet door. And in the rear, her back to the wall, stood Sissy, with the landlord just inside.

"You're going to have to shut the door," Sissy said, still playing with her hair. "Can't show you the secret with the door open where everybody can see."

The old man turned around and saw me, standing in the middle of the room. "I don't know," he said, as though waking up from a deep sleep. "I don't think. . . . "

Sissy looked from him to me. Then she stepped forward, quickly.

I've thought about that moment many times over the years since. Something lit up in the landlord's face, and I think he might have understood what was happening, because he stirred and reached out. "Wait!"

Then Sissy grabbed the doorknob.

I have a memory, which I keep hidden deep and never take out after the sun goes down. A memory of a shadow, rising up from the back wall of the closet and moving forward like the wind, engulfing them both.

Then the door slammed shut.

I heard a scream from the old man that cut off, like someone had killed the power to a radio. Then, nothing.

#

Several days later the police came by to ask some questions about the Landlord. And when they were done, I asked the police if they wouldn't mind looking for Sissy too.

The one officer, he looked at me, puzzled, then turned back to my parents. My father took him by the arm and led him to the side.

"We lost our oldest daughter in a car accident about a year ago," he said. "Some high school kid, texting on her phone while driving."

I folded my arms. They did not believe, no matter how many times I told them, that Sissy was here.

Or had been here.

Mommy sent me upstairs, and as I left I heard the police talking about some evidence they'd found in the Landlord's house, and that maybe the family of the previous tenants hadn't been killed by the father, who still had yet to be found.

I went into my room and stared at the closet. There hadn't been any more strange noises at night from behind its thick wooden door, and I could feel the absence of whatever had been hiding in there. Though there were times, late at night, when I would get out of bed and sit next to the jamb while listening to the faint voice of my sister from the far side, the words too soft and low to understand.

Then years later, as I grew older, not even that.

Title: Haunted Truth
WC: 1,899

I watch as rain runs in little streams down my window. The yard filling with puddles. I find it funny that the sky is expressing my sorrows inside.

"Immie, did you hear what I said?" I turn to my younger sister Lena, who’s standing in her uptight Queen B stance with a scowl on her face and her hands crossed over her chest. Lena is the type of person that will nag you until she gets what she wants or you punch her in the face.

I roll my eyes, "Yes I heard what you said."

She moves her hands to her hips and narrows her eyes. "Then why are you just standing there?"

"Because I don't care, Lena. So what if mom wants us to meet her new boy toy. I could care less about how kind he is or the promises he will make. I just want to be left alone."

"Fine! Wait until I tell mom, she's going to be all over you." Lena walks out of the room, slamming it in the process. I don't know why she cares so much, it's not like this is her boyfriend. I remember a time when my thirteen year old sister was just like me, uncaring.

Then when dad died, she changed. She became more sensitive to mom’s feelings and taking care of our family. It's not that I didn't care about our mom. I just don't like being put on the spot, pretending that I like a man I know nothing about. A man that's trying to take my father’s place.

I groan when my phone chirps, letting me know I have a new text message. Sure enough, it’s Bly. Bly is my best friend and has been keeping me on my toes for twelve years. In kindergarten, we became instant friends and stayed by each other’s side through the good and the bad. “Hey girl you coming tonight?”

Unfortunately, Bly is starting to smash all my toes and my patience to deal with her. All week long it she has done nothing but try to push me into going to some party with her. I had refused time after time again but she keeps riding me. With a simple no reply, I close my phone and ignore any more text from her.

As I turn back to my window a slight chill shimmers over my skin. This chill has overtaken my life ever since the accident, followed by a weird message. This time the message is clear on my window pane. Be nice. Be nice, what does that mean?

My question is answered when a soft knock comes at my door. "Hey honey, how are you doing?" My mom enters the room with sympathy all over her face.

"How do you think I'm doing mom?"

"Honey I know things have been hard on you, what with the death of your father only a year ago and then Pete. But honey I'm worried about you. All you do is lock yourself up, keeping everyone out."

The mention of Pete's name brings pain to my chest. Pete was one of my best friends, I could tell him anything. We never tried dating or fooling around but deep down I did have an attraction to him that was so drawing it hurt at times.

About a month ago, Pete and his buddy Ray went camping up at NorthPoint Ridge but Pete never returned. Ray had survived and said that he and Pete went hiking on Saturday but had got lost in the woods. He remembers them finding shelter for the night but everything after that is fuzzy. All Ray could remember was waking up with Pete nowhere around.

Luckily, Ray was found by some hikers and they immediately called 911 once they reached a service area. The forest ranger conducted an immediate search party. Three hours into it, they found Pete by the river, completely drained of blood. Medical examiners had suspected a bear had mauled him. The lesions on his body easily explained his blood loss.

Soon after his funeral, I started having dreams about Pete. They were always about his camping trip, never about anything else. The thing that terrifies me the most about these dreams, they are always the same.
The dream starts off with Pete and Ray under the shelter of a few boulders. They both become startled when a voice rings out through the night, drawing them out from under their shelter. Ray and Pete become separated when they Ray goes left and Pete goes right into the woods. Then all of a sudden, Pete is grabbed from behind. He tries fighting whoever has him in a death lock, thrashing from side to side to get free. He finally gets the upper hand, shoving his opponent against a tall hardwood tree. Pete spins around ready to keep the fight going, hoping to knock this idiot out so he can report him. But when he looks at the person who has attacked him, he goes slack. His body slips until he lands on his knees before a young man. The boy’s image is unclear but I can identify him well enough. He has black hair and his build is toned. His eyes are a deep brown and as he opens his mouth, sweet enrapturing sounds paralyze you with a amazement. After that the dream always becomes distorted, like I'm being blocked from seeing what is happening. The last thing I always hear is Pete yelling my name.

The chills and messages started happening a few days after the dreams. Sometimes I swear I could see Pete standing in my room, smiling. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me but it felt so real. It was as if Pete was still here with me, guiding me through life.

I focus back in on my mom and push images of Pete aside. "Mom, I know this is important to you but I don't think I'm ready for this."

My mom places her hand over her mouth as tears start to fill her eyes. "Oh honey, I didn't know. I'm so sorry. I'll just call Brick and tell him we are going to wait. I'm not going to put you through anything you’re not ready for." I'm about to protest but she doesn't give me the chance. She's out the door, wiping tears from her face, before I can utter a false reply.

As expected, Lena bursts through my door. "How could you? You know how much mom has been suffering ever since dad died. I'm happy that she's coming back around, that's she's getting back out there, why can't you?"

I want to lash out and yell at my sister. Tell her to leave me alone. But instead I shake my head, grab an umbrella, and head out the door. Mom yells out for me to be careful in a raspy voice as I make my way down the stairs. I can tell she was still crying. Lena tries chasing me out the door but I slam the door in her face, cutting off her protests.

I never meant to hurt my mom or anyone for that matter. I just wanted to get over my funk before meeting some eligible bachelor that would be great for my mom. I didn't want to scare him away with all my quiet remarks and sad eyes. Why would he want to stick around with a woman who had a damaged kid?

I walk around the neighborhood, thinking about how I need to come around. My grades were slipping, my mom was suffering, and I was just tired of being unhappy. Determination sets in as I come to this realization. No more will I be the cause of anyone's pain or the impending doom of my own life.
The chill encompasses me as words of encouragement lap through the wind. "You can do this Immie. I’m here." My determination spikes at hearing Pete’s voice ring through my mind, encouraging me to move forward. I didn’t want to be this girl. I wanted to be the girl I once was. The girl that always had a smile on her face, the one that would listen and care what others thought. I had my dad and Pete in my heart to help carry me. If that's all I could have then so be it.

After walking a few blocks around the neighborhood, I turn back to my own block. I was ready to go inside and tell my mother I was sorry and to let my sister have it for being such a wench to me before pulling her in a hug to thank her for sticking by mom when I couldn't.

But when I open the door to my house, the chill spreads across my body and seems to be laced with a warning. I hear my mom speaking in low a low voice in the living room but this doesn’t bring me any comfort to me. Slipping off my rain coat and placing my umbrella upside down on the porch, I shut the door. As I walk in the living room, I can hear a male voice reassuring my mother. I can still hear her crying, saying that she had no idea this would be so hard on me.

I bound in there ready to tell her I'm sorry, ready to meet the man that my mom so eagerly wants us to meet. But I come up short once in the living room. A knot grows in my stomach that makes me want to run off in the bathroom to vomit it out.

The man consulting my mother looks nice and charming. He's wearing a blue blazer over a black shirt, jeans, and boots. He has square glasses that are black, which adds to his features. He seems alright but he’s not the one that has my stomach in a knot. It’s the boy sitting next to him that has me clutching my stomach and my feet rooted in place.

The boy is handsome, with dark black hair, hazel eyes, and a body that would make any girl quiver. He has a small smile turning up his lips, revealing dimples. I would be delighted to sit with this boy and have a conversation just to talk to him, if it wasn't for the fact that he haunts my dreams.
This boy was the one in my dreams that had pinned Pete. Was Pete sending me those dreams? How could I have been having those dreams, with this boy right here in them, never having met him before?

My stomach draws up tighter when I see Pete appear. Is that really him or am I dreaming again? Pete shakes his head and points at the boy. A flutter of words whispers in my mind when I look at Pete. "Stay away, Immie. He is not what he appears to be."

My body starts to tremble and my throat is so dry I can't utter a word. My heart begins to dance with fear as the boy stands up and makes his way toward me. I stand there and watch, like this is all another dream, except I knew this was real.

Then I watch as Pete's murderer extends his hand and says, "Hello, I'm Reed. You must be Immie."

The Mirror
1731 words

The whole world looked muffled. If you’ve ever lived within a University dormitory and had to put your head under your pillow to try and get sleep or if you’ve ever heard a conversation through a wall you would know what I meant if I wrote that something sounded muffled. However, as Devlin blinked hard at the hazy surroundings he noted that the world did not sound muffled, it looked muffled.

Devlin was perplexed. He was standing in the middle of an open space, a foreign and unknown open space. Yet not a moment ago he had known exactly where he had been. He had been in his hotel room getting ready for the last leg of what had already been an overlong journey home. It had been brightly sunny and warm outside, too warm, as Arizona often is, but now he found himself in a cold mist that raised goosebumps along his skin. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, but the gesture yielded very little comfort from the chill.

Slowly, it seemed his eyes were adjusting. The fog that was either filling this space or filling his head seemed to dissipate, and yet he remained motionless; frozen to the spot in which he was standing. It was as if he had woken up only to realize he was still dreaming. Had he been sleeping? No, he had been awake he thought to himself.

“You’re not dreaming you know.”

A quiet voice filled Devlin’s head, startling him into motion. That had not been his voice. Nor had it been the voice he often heard within his own mind. He whirled around on the spot where he had been planted. There, not five feet behind him, stood another man. The other man had his hands behind his back and stood there calmly, looking very relaxed. His gaze, however, was fierce. It seemed to awaken something within Devlin. It was as if those flashing gray eyes were the only real things in this place. It suddenly seemed that this was indeed no dream.

Devlin spoke hoarsely. “Wh-What is going on? What happened to the hotel?”

The man stood there.

“Did I fall?” Devlin ventured, rather unnerved at the lack of response. “Did I pass out or something? Why can’t I… I mean what is this place? I MUST be dreaming? Are you a dream?”

The man smiled, though it held no comfort for Devlin. Finally the man stepped forward and held out his hand. “I am called Olecksander. If that is too long, you may call me Oleck. Indeed, our time is too short for lengthy formalities.”

None of this making any sense, Devlin tried again. “Well I am Devlin. Devlin Dukart. I’m wondering if perhaps you can tell me what’s going on here. I mean to say, what’s really going on.”

“I will tell you,” Oleck said firmly. “But you must not ask any questions or interrupt me in any way for as I have said, our time is too short for this to take any longer than it must.”

Devlin blinked. “Whatever, just tell me,” he said quickly in a voice that only thinly masked his growing tension over the oddness of his situation.

“You stepped through the glass. You are no longer here. You are no longer you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Silence! There is no time!” Oleck did not look like one who would suffer another interruption. Devlin bit his tongue.

“As I said, you stepped through the glass. In the world you knew, there are so many of these glasses. They are everywhere and everyday just about every person steps through one for a period of time. You know these glasses as mirrors.”

Devlin, who so wanted to slap himself awake, stood motionless, staring open mouthed. He’s crazy.

“Tell me something Devlin, simply, have you ever looked in the mirror and not recognized the person you saw? Or have you ever, upon occasion, had someone, perhaps someone close to you, tell you that you didn’t seem quite yourself?”

Devlin, still speechlessly confused, only managed a slow weak nod. He had. Of course he had, everyone had a moment like that at some point or another.

“Those were all instances of your spirit stepping through the glass. However, it is usually only a fleeting experience. Usually the spirit finds its way back to its owner in a short amount of time. So short an amount of time that the experience of being in this world is so fleeting as to be hardly even noticed. Sort of like being in the gray of life.”

Oleck paused, thought for a moment and then continued, “You, however, stepped through a very rare glass. You stepped through the glass of the Vescoranimus. Now this is very serious. For this means that when you walked away from that mirror you became the reflection, you became the shadow. Your physical self is still out there, interacting with the “real” world; however, it does so as a mere spiritless reflection of who you truly are. Have you ever wondered what happens to your reflection when you walk away from the mirror? Did you think that its world simply goes black? Wonder no more, for now you know. Now you have become the reflection and when you walked away from that glass it was your world that went black.”

Devlin coughed violently to hide his laughter. “So you’re telling me I’m in some kind of a realm of the soul or something?”

“No,” said Oleck emphatically. “You are not. This is not a world of soul but of spirit. But listen carefully, for it is most assuredly your soul that is at stake. This is the land of shadows, the land within your world. This is the land from whence all the ghost stories come. What very few understand is this: the realm of the soul, say heaven and hell in your world’s eyes, is of a truer nature than your physical realm. But this world is a step down from yours. To put it simply, our world is to yours what your world is to Heaven.”

“What are you supposed to be then?” Devlin’s interjection seemed to irritate Oleck less this time. “You keep calling it ‘your’ world like it’s not yours.”

“It matters not,” Oleck said in a measured tone. “First, I must convey to you what is most singularly important: your very great and urgent need to find yourself. You see, you are not here on accident. The Vescoranimus have lured you here for one purpose and that is to destroy you. Before you ask,” Oleck said acknowledging the questioning look Devlin was giving, “the Vescoranimus are quite simply the devourers of the soul. They are spirits themselves, spirits without form of their own, and they covet forms of every kind, but they covet the forms of humans most of all. For this reason they lure the spirit, the happiness, the courage, and the heart, indeed the very essence of man into this world; for here it is but a simple task for them to steal the spirit. And if the spirit of a man is stolen, the man himself may be more easily found and his body hijacked. You’ve heard of vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and the like? Know that each one was a human whose body had been stolen by the Vescoranimus. I know this is all very quick. But I must go fast for, and don’t be alarmed, they are already hunting for you and we must find you first.”

Devlin fell to his knees. His head was spinning. Why could he not wake up? This was the most bizarre dream he had ever had. Then Oleck grabbed him by the arm and suddenly the fog was gone. The whole world came into color in a rush and the ice-cold grip on Devlin’s arm might as well have been a bath in the arctic sea. No, he was not dreaming. The world of shadow now looked to him a reality so sure that it could not be denied. It would have seemed like the real world he knew if not for the extremely odd nature of what surrounded him.

“How do I get out of here?” Devlin’s voice was so weak it hardly could have reached Oleck’s ears.

“Follow me, and do not look deeply into the mist!”

Oleck bounded off like a gazelle and Devlin stumbled after him his head spinning. He ran as fast as he could, his heart, if he still had a heart, pounding in his ears and his breath coming in gasps. The mist made it hard to breathe, and he found himself wanting to pause and stare into its depths to assure himself that nothing malicious lurked there. But Oleck’s warning resounded inside his head and he had all he could do to keep up with the strang man.

“Here,” Oleck halted. “Now you must go on alone.”

They stood before a wall of mist so thick it almost seemed like a silent waterfall. Devlin looked at Oleck, not understanding.

“You must pass through the mist. I cannot come with you, my body does not wait for me on the other side any longer.”

Devlin started to speak, then he heard a sound that would have made his blood freeze, if he had any. It was like the howl of a wolf and the scream of a terrified child and the cry of a bird as it descends on its prey all rolled into one.

“Hurry!” Oleck urged him.

Devlin stepped into the mist and began to walk. After no more than a step or two he felt the horrible pain begin. The mist tore at him, and he felt as though he was dying in bits and pieces. He turned back and saw Oleck standing where he had left him, and was horrified to recognize the gleeful look of victory in the man’s penetrating gray eyes. Slowly, he realized he had been tricked.

“Your body is mine!” the Vescoranimus cried triumphantly. “Your life is mine! I am free!”

“NO!” Devlin started back towards the man but the curtain of mist trapped him and held him back even as it began to dissolve his spirit. His last thoughts were of his wife and of how strangely this dream had turned out.

RIPLEY by Denna Holm
2,000+ words

Jada leapt clear of the ledge, flying outward a few feet before she fell. She landed hard, her chin pressed up tight against a piece of shale, the edge a sharp blade against her tender skin. Shale could be dangerous for hikers. One misplaced step could send a person skiing down a slope, every bit as treacherous as a sheet of ice.

Out of the four seasons, Jada loved to hike in the spring best. The snow melted, the buds on trees and plants swelled, green grass sprouted through mud. Animals came out of their burrows, chattering with excitement. Birds chirped, eagles and hawks soared, searched for mates and nested.

Jada always brought Ripley with her when she hiked, though it saddened her to know this would probably be his last year exploring the newly awakened land. Her faithful German shepherd had grown old, his joints stiff, his muzzle almost pure white. She couldn’t imagine life without his comforting presence by her side.

The taste of blood, strong in her mouth, dribbled through torn lips. She groaned and tried to push up with her hands, tried to push away from the sharp rocks cutting into her chin. A tacky wetness covered the side of her face. She guessed blood, though it could be tears. Did it matter? Jada knew she needed to get up, try to find help. The mountains were still cold at night this time of year; she’d die if she didn’t find a way out. Ripley must still be up above. Odd that he hadn’t found another way down.

Unless he’d also gone over the cliff.

She struggled to open her eyes under the brightness of the sun, worried for her old dog. An odd grunting sound was moving closer, a wet, snuffling noise, reminding her of a nose and throat full of mucus. Jada’s stomach clinched. A nasty odor came next, a mixture of rotten meat, shit, and decayed fruit. Intense fear accompanied the smell, the kind that weakened her bladder and made frozen popsicles out of her arms and legs.

God in Heaven, help me, she prayed, remembering the reason she’d gone flying over the edge of that cliff. An adult black bear, hungry and irritable after a winter’s sleep, had attacked. Black bears weren’t like grizzlies. A grizzly, though larger than a black bear, typically only killed to protect their young. A black bear killed to eat. She’d read the horror stories about bears eating their victims, sometimes while they were still alive.

Jada was not a novice hiker. She’d spent her whole life hiking in these mountains and only a very few times been seriously scared. The few times she'd run into bear they’d always run. Funnily enough, the biggest threat she'd ever faced had come from two cow elk. Ripley, younger then, had been running ahead on a game trail, out of her line of sight. She’d known when something got after him by his high-pitched bark, worried at the time that it might be a cougar. Two cow elk, probably protecting young, had been hot on Ripley's trail as he mindlessly led them straight for her. The only cover had been a young pine tree, Jada's hips wider than the trunk she tried to hide behind. Luckily for her the elk had been more interested in Ripley, though it sure had given her a fright.

Still nothing like the terror she felt now.

The snuffling sound was only a few feet away, the foul odor strong enough to make her gag. Should she try to move, or play dead? Playing dead probably wouldn’t work with a black bear. What if the damned thing started to eat her? Where was Ripley? Why wasn’t he barking? Did he run off? She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.

As Ripley aged he’d begun to spend less and less time running ahead to sniff around the bushes. He tended to stay much closer to her. He’d been hugged up tight against her knees when they first ran into trouble. If Jada had been paying better attention she would’ve realized sooner there was something wrong. Her dog did what he could to warn her, walking underfoot, softly whining, tripping her up.

If Jada could go back and do it over again she would’ve cocked the nozzle on the can of pepper spray and held it, not leave it hooked to her belt, useless when she so desperately needed it. But then again, it might not have mattered. She never saw the big bastard coming. One second she’d been watching a woodpecker high in a pine tree and the next was flat on her back, ten feet away, a rippling black fury crashing down on top of her.

Ripley had barked furiously when the enraged bear exploded out of the brush. Jada rolled to her stomach when the heavy weight lifted, trying to protect her neck and head with her hands. Even so, sharp fangs easily cut through her forearm and shoulder, then shook her hard. Helpless to defend herself, she felt little more than a child’s toy in the black bear’s massive jaws.

Ripley’s bark changed to deep growls, like he sounded when playing tug-of-war with an old sock. He’d locked his jaws on the bear’s haunch and pulled, forcing the furious animal to release her and attack him. While Ripley held its attention Jada braced against the nearest tree and pushed herself up, one of her arms swinging uselessly at her side. She gasped, sucking for air, grateful adrenalin worked to mask her pain. She searched for an escape, but blood trickled freely down the left side of her face, blinding her in one eye. She couldn’t remember the bear biting her head, though she knew it must have. She choked when her fingers found a flap of scalp resting above her eye, fighting off the need to vomit.

Ripley gave one high-pitched yelp, followed by silence. Though worried sick about her old dog, Jada knew she had to run, her hand slapping at the can of pepper spray bouncing uselessly against her thigh. Her right foot hit the patch of shale first and she started to slide, barely able to keep her balance. Not that it mattered. The bear, close behind, also slid when it hit the shale, but it had the advantage of four legs to balance on and recovered faster. The enraged animal stood up on its hind legs and swiped at the air in front of her. With nowhere to go, Jada screamed with frustration.

Face the bear, or face the twenty foot drop behind her.

Jada chose the drop, flinging herself out into empty space just as the bear lunged.

Part of her had hoped for a quick death, maybe land wrong and snap her neck. Another part still hoped for a miracle, maybe survive the fall with minor injuries and hope the bear gave up trying to get at her.

She survived the fall, but her injuries were bad. The bones gave in her legs and hips, and also in her right shoulder. One loud pop left both her arms useless. There wasn’t a lot of pain yet, but she knew it would come. The snuffling sounds of the determined bear sent another jolt of adrenalin racing through her blood. The fucking thing wasn’t going to give up its meal. It swatted at her booted foot a couple times, an almost playful action. Jada laughed, an insane sound that quickly dwindled to hacking sobs.

Just fucking do it! she thought, wishing she had enough energy to scream again. Just get this freaking nightmare the hell over!

Fangs tore into her calf and jerked, pulling her away from the cutting edge of shale. Jada tried to prepare for the worst. It would eat on her legs first and she’d have to sit there helpless and endure. How could such a beautiful spring day turn so ugly? It wasn’t fair.

Barking again, a high-pitched sound filled with fury, and it was close, loud enough to mask the grunting of the bear.

Ripley!

He’d made it after all. Jada’s heart soared. It took him awhile to find another way down the cliff. The bear growled as it released her leg, then whirled to face the threat. Too broken to move, Jada could only watch. Ripley lunged, biting the bear’s hind leg, then breaking free before those lethal claws could reach him. Over and over he attacked, moving easily, more like the young pup he used to be. Jada was surprised by how much damage Ripley’s fangs caused. The black bear’s shiny coat became stained with blood, its own this time, not hers or Ripley’s.

Get the bastard! Jada thought, too weary to cheer aloud. Tear the thing apart. She fell limp when it finally gave up and turned to run, Ripley hot on its heels.

Jada started to cry, relieved when Ripley managed to chase the bear off. She was safe, at least for a few minutes, but her body was a broken mess. It would be a miracle if anyone found them, but at least she wouldn’t get eaten alive; Ripley had taken care of that. No one could ask for a more faithful companion. She hoped someone would find and take care of him. He didn’t deserve to get abandoned.

Once the adrenalin began to wear off, the pain kicked in. Jada closed her eyes and prayed to either lose consciousness, or die, leaning more toward dying. What kind of life would she have after this? Would it be one worth living?

A warm tongue licked at the tears and blood drying on her face. Ripley softly whined.

Thank you, boy. I’m so sorry I can’t pet you.

“Look, lady,” a man’s voice said next to her ear, “I’m real sorry about this, but I’m gonna have to pick you up. That bear could come back any second and we need to get you the hell out of here. Okay?”

Jada choked on a scream when he lifted her up, bright lights shooting off in her head. There were two people, she could hear them talking. And then they were moving. Tree tops swayed beneath a dark blue sky, visible through a tiny slit in one eye, a beautiful day. Even so, she welcomed the darkness when it reached out to claim her.

* * *

Jada spent almost a month in the hospital. Doctors were shocked she pulled through at all. Heavily drugged, she couldn’t ask questions until well into the third week. When the two men who’d dragged her out of the mountains came to visit, Jada pressed them for answers about Ripley. She’d asked her family several times if he was okay but no one would answer.

“My dog,” she said, though it came out sounding more like, I ‘og. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry, miss, he didn’t make it. He was a brave old dog, you should be proud. My son and me were up above you when that bitch of a bear attacked. I’m real sorry I couldn’t get a good shot. Only brought a shotgun for birds and I was afraid I’d hit you.”

“Tell me what happened.” Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

“You must’ve caught the damn thing sleeping, a fluke.” The man sat down, his teenage son standing behind him. The boy kept shifting his gaze away from her face. “Anyway," his dad continued, "when it knocked you flying your old dog moved in and tried to get it off you. If he’d been a little younger he might’ve made it. Bear broke his neck with one swipe. I know it doesn’t help much, but he didn’t suffer.”

Her voice trembled when she said, “I broke my hip when I jumped. It would’ve tried to eat me if Ripley hadn’t been there.”

The man glanced back at his son and the boy shrugged. “No, miss, he got hit up top, first thing.”

“No, he was there. Ripley chased it off.”

“Not then,” he said. “But it was still the craziest damned thing. That bear was chewin’ on your leg when me and my boy reached the cliff. But the bastard twisted away and started striking out at thin air. Never seen anything like it. Might’ve had rabies, I guess. You’re probably lucky.” He coughed, his face turning red. “We got your dog. We buried him up at our house. He didn’t deserve to get left behind.”

“Thank you.”

“I guess we best go and let you rest. Good luck to you, miss.”

She waited until they left to let the tears fall. They were wrong; Ripley had been with her at the end. She’d know his high-pitched bark anywhere. He’d come back to protect her. She closed her eyes when the tears trickled down her cheek, too tired to wipe them away.

Jada smiled when a familiar wet nose snouted against her neck, a warm tongue washing the tears from her face. “That’s my good boy,” she whispered. Ripley would never leave her.

64 Degrees - Carrie Clevenger 1,264 words

Far away, there was a siren fast approaching. The sound swelled in volume until it was all I could hear, like it was coming from inside me. I dropped the cigarette to the floor to cover my ears. Hands took hold of my wrists and held me down.
I opened my eyes.

I was in a moving vehicle and my body was a bag of sand. The stretcher poked the sides of my arms, but I couldn’t move. The sway of the ambulance increased the roll in my gut and vomit spewed up, unbidden. A woman of indeterminate age held a bag to the side of my face and turned my head. Her gloved hands waved close enough to my face to poke me in the eyes. I wouldn’t react. The siren stopped and so did we. So did I.

I stood close to the curb under the eaves of the Mother of Mercy hospital and watched as EMTs unloaded a covered body on a stretcher. The scene wasn’t frightening or panic-inducing. Not after being that jacked-up. Speaking of which, I’d need to get more. Now that I wasn’t clean anymore. Strangely enough, the thought of not getting more didn’t launch me into a cascade of worry. I slid my hands into my pockets, the swish of the automatic doors stuck on repeat in my brain.

Lights progressed overhead, swoosh-swoosh-swoosh like dotted lines on a road, blinding and sweet.

We got him?

Negative. Try again.

Lightning zig-zagged in my chest cavity. The pierce of a needle straight through the sternum. I hated needles, with their shiny points and oozing fluids, like sharp dicks. Like…

Thunder rolled on the horizon. Trees shimmied overhead. I was standing in a grove. What the fuck was happening? A dream, nothing more.

Renalt had a dream, damnit.

Nate called me Renalt. Nobody called me that but family and family didn’t come around.

“It’s Ren, asshole. Ren!”

A hand appeared on my shoulder, hot. Blazing. My skin wanted to shy away from that touch.

“I’d say Renalt was a fine name, just fine as the day is long.” His voice had a slow, Southern drawl, white Republican. Cheap sports jacket, lemonade-sipping, Tetley tea Southern.

I turned to look at him. I expected a policeman or maybe a security guard, but he was young, not young like me but couldn’t have been more than thirty-five. Sandy-blonde hair with a pronounced widow’s peak above an arched Jack-Nicholson eyebrow. A girl would call him handsome, but there was something about his eyes. The nothing there. Shine of sun on nothingness, to return a bead of white among the black, so deep it swallowed his irises. He smiled, exposing a row of pearly whites too perfect to be anything but caps. I knew caps, I had them myself.

“Rock musicians have to have good teeth, son.” His smile never wavered and seemed genuine.

A cloud blotted out the sun, exposing my flesh to the prickle of cold air. “I never said anything.”

“Why are you standing here? I’d be over there.” He raised his hand, finger extended to redirect my attention to what I recognized was a memorial service. “It’s the last time you’ll be the center of attention. Might as well enjoy it.”

Sunshine beamed down on my head again as the cloud conveniently wisped away, burned through grey wool. It was a beautiful day. And this man had just told me something that was important. My mind ticked away at the sentence. Last time. Center of attention. I liked attention. Once. Very long ago, only but a few years but at my age, twenty seven, a few years was forever. Forever. A trickle of realization oozed down my spine like an oiled snake.

The gentleman smiled again. Sun beat down on our shoulders, he in all black, hands clasped in front of his equally-black buttons as if he ought to be clutching a bible and giving the Last Rites. My Last Rites. I was dead. Dead, and about to be laid to rest in the ground. My mouth dropped open and I turned to the small crowd in slow-motion, mouthing the negative word like a supervillain about to watch his empire crumple in oversaturated and pronounced superdust.

The grass did not crisp under my feet, my shadow did not run ahead of me as it had ever since the day I first poked one pudgy baby toe against the solid earth, no I was air; an angry wind that fluttered the Xeroxed fliers clasped in my family’s and friends’ hands. A sudden breeze that whipped black skirts against black stockings and blew my aunt into my sister.

The man from over there stood over here. He wore a smile that made a tiny dimple in the right side of chin appear and fade depending on the light. “Nice try, son. But you don’t have a leg to stand on now, do you?” His hearty laugh stopped me in my non-existent tracks. I glared at him over the gloss of my black coffin, of course it’d be black, everything else was black out here in the cheery, laughing sunshine, it made so much sense.

“You’re a piece of work, Renalt.”

I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t fucking call me that!”

The man shrugged and held his hands palms turned out, as if in resignation. “Suits you fine, I’d say. Have it your way, son. Ren.”

“Who are you?” I was clenching my teeth so tight, it felt like they would crack from the pressure. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man laughed again. “I’ve got a few names that folks call me, some new, some old, but you can call me Stein. And Renalt?” He arched a brow. “Try living with Cristein all your life.”

“We’re dead.”

“Some would say that, yes.”

Throughout the ordeal, my coffin had been lowered into the grave. The rectangle looked to be a hole into eternity, except if I stepped to the edge. My coffin with its spray of ivory lilies and I don’t know what else gleamed up as the first clod of dirt struck the lid.

“You might not want to watch this part.” Stein stood at my side, peering down in the hole with me. He was just an inch or two taller than me. He squinted his black eyes—not beady, but they still reminded me of a crow’s—at the sun. “Coffee or liquor? It won’t make you sicker.”

“What?” I glanced down at my outstretched arms. White. Whole. I felt real to me. I turned away from the sounds the clods of earth made as the people I’d known buried me.

Beyond the flat, green lawn, a long black car hulked on the shoulder of the narrow cemetery road. I looked from it to Stein. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“Depends on your point of view, Ren. Not everything you experience ever really happens now, does it?” His smile gave me a chill.

“Why can’t they see me?”

Stein shook his head and stepped back from the scene at my grave. I followed him half way to the car, which seemed to be his.

“Because you’re not really here.”

I blinked. “What? What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I’m here.”

Stein gave a little snort. “Well, you are, and you aren’t. You-you is over there, about to become wormdirt. What’s left of you is up for grabs. You see son, you did a naughty thing, and as for all naughty things, there’s gonna be consequences.” He grinned.