Tag: short stories

Sophie’s Monster

Toni Masselli1 Comment

“Can you tell me when you first became aware of this delusion?” Johnathan said.

“Oh, um, it’s been a very long time. As long as I can remember,” Sophie said. 

“Tell me the oldest memory you have, then,” he suggested. Sophie pursed her lips in thought, taking a moment to reply. 

“Okay, well, the earliest memory I have of my monster would be-” she began, but Johnathan interrupted her. 

“Call it what it is, Sophie,” he corrected sternly, holding up a hand to stop her. “Delusion, hallucination, phantasm, I don’t care what term you use, but calling it your ‘monster’ only feeds into this fantasy of yours that it is real.” 

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Right. Well, uh,” she stammered, having lost her train of thought. 

“You were about to share your earliest memory involving your delusion,” he prompted. 

“I think I was five or six,” she said, and then she was back there. 

Sophie could picture it perfectly, sitting on her bed, her bedroom a mirror image of what it had been when she was in early elementary school. Her parents’ disappointed faces were in the doorway, her mother’s arms crossed as she looked down at her. In her memory her parents towered over her. She remembered them as being freakishly tall, and she supposed when she had been this age they had been, but in modern-day she was actually an inch or two taller than her mother now that she was fully grown. 

“I can’t sleep,” she whined. 

“Don’t do this tonight,” her mother said, frustration dripping from her voice. 

Now that she was an adult she had sympathy for her mother’s position. She was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. She just wanted Sophie to go to bed so she could sleep, too. But, as a little girl, Sophie didn’t comprehend or care about the stressors of the adult world. 

She didn’t understand the complex difficulties of work and childcare and an endless list of household chores. She had no concept of how something as simple as ten extra bedtime minutes could feel like the end of the world when you just want a break from the responsibilities of parenthood. She just knew her mother liked to yell. 

“There’s a monster,” was all Sophie got out before the yelling started. 

“Under your bed,” her mother finished for her hotly. 

“It’s actually in my closet,” Sophie said quietly, shooting an anxious side-eye to her closet door. 

“You do this every night, I know what you’re doing. You’re just trying to push your bedtime back further, and I’ve had it. I’m tired of having the same fight with you every night. We’ve crawled around every inch of your room, gotten you your new stuffy, you have two nightlights-” 

“Just go to bed, I’ll handle this,” her father said, placing a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother let out a noise of frustration before storming down the hall to disappear in their bedroom. “She’s just tired,” her father said in explanation, returning his attention to the little girl in the bed. 

“I didn’t mean to wake her up last night,” Sophie said apologetically. She really hadn’t meant to. It had just sort of happened. 

“You woke her up five times last night,” her father said. “You are going to make her sick if you keep crying out at night like that. Listen, Sophie, there is no monster. You need to stop fighting us at night and let us sleep. No more screaming tonight.”

“When I see the monster I scream, it’s not my fault it wakes people up,” she said, frowning as she pictured the creeping blackness lurking in the shadows. 

She glanced at her closet again, and her father sighed heavily before walking over and throwing open her closet door, making a show of reaching inside and feeling the corners to show there was no monster present. She saw the shadow under her bed waver slightly and knew it was the monster’s new home, but there was no point in saying anything. 

“If you scream when you see it, then keep your eyes closed,” her father said. “We’re out of patience with you. Your doctor said there is nothing wrong with you and you should grow out of the monster stories soon. I’m telling you you’re growing out of it tonight. No more screaming.” His tone left no room for argument. 

“Okay,” Sophie said, and he leaned down to place a kiss on her head and he left her room. 

She snuggled tightly with her new stuffy, a bear dressed as a knight that her parents had said would scare away the monster. She tried to keep her eyes shut tight as her father had suggested, but it was hard. Not seeing was almost worse than seeing, when you knew a monster was lurking. The nightlights illuminated her room in a good amount of light, but the corners of her room were still bathed in shadows. 

Her little eyes flitted from shadow to shadow, looking for the monster. They were no longer under her bed, but she didn’t know which shadow they were hiding in. She thought she saw it and squeaked, only barely managing to hold in her scream at the last moment. Her brave knight bear went toppling to the ground, and it bounced a few times as it settled on her fluffy, pink rug. She wanted to yell for her parents, but they had been so upset, so she held it in.

Alone and scared she shut her eyes, telling herself over and over again there was no monster, trying desperately not to scream. She didn’t think she would ever fall asleep, filled with fear as she was, without her brave knight to keep her safe. She had to have fallen asleep eventually, however, because when she woke up her bear was lying beside her on the bed, thick strands of drool still drying on its leg. 

“I’m sorry, did you say drool?” Johnathan interrupted, cutting into her recollection. She blinked a few times, remembering that she was an adult in a therapist’s office, not a little girl in her bedroom. 

“Uh, yeah,” Sophie said. “Drool. The leg of the bear, it had ropes of drool on it. From when my mons- I mean, from when I imagined my monster putting it back on my bed.” 

“Did you have a dog, by chance?” Johnathan questioned. 

“I mean, we did have a dog named Franklin, but he wouldn’t put the bear back on my bed. He would have just shredded it, if he got a hold of it.” 

“Dogs can be incredibly intelligent creatures,” he said. 

“Not this dog,” she said flatly. “He used to chew on our shed, and it had lead paint. I think the lead really did a number on him. He wasn’t very smart. Anyway, the drool wasn’t like dog drool. It was like viscous ropes, and it bleached the color out of the bear when I rinsed it away, like something out of a horror movie.” 

“Perhaps that was your inspiration for the hallucination,” he suggested. Sophie wanted to argue further, but she wasn’t here to bicker with him. She wanted to get better, it’s why she had reached out to the office.

“Maybe,” she said, trying to inflict her voice in a manner that suggested she thought this was a possibility. 

“Let’s move on,” Johnathan said. “You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?” 

“I don’t mind,” she said, although she kind of did. It felt rude. He scrawled a handful of words on a notepad, and her ear twitched as it honed into the sound of his pen scratching across the smooth surface of the page. She didn’t like it.

“So I’m just trying to figure out a timeline here,” he said. “These hallucinations started somewhere around the age of five or six, but they didn’t peak until the disappearance of the Meyer’s girl?” 

“I mean, they didn’t really peak, they never… there was no peak. They’ve just always been there. They don’t get stronger or weaker, they’ve just always been about the same. I just think they were never really paid attention to until then.” 

“So you continued to regularly hallucinate until that point? How often?” 

“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “It wasn’t really something I paid attention to, after the stuffed bear thing, I just stopped caring about my mons- the hallucinations. I realized the, uh, the hallucinations wouldn’t hurt me. I actually kind of learned to like them.” 

“You liked picturing a monster living in your room?” he clarified, sounding disbelieving. 

“I mean, my, uh, the hallucinations don’t just stay in my room, they follow me wherever I go.” 

“And what does this ‘monster’ look like?” he asked, his question punctuated by more scraping of his pen across the page. The sound sent shivers down her spine, but she tried to ignore it. 

“I don’t know, they live in the shadows, or I mean, I imagine they live in shadows. So I can’t really see them.” The movement of his pen paused, and he gave her a pointed look. 

“You do hear yourself, right? You understand how this sounds?” he questioned. Sophie grimaced. 

“I know how it sounds. I don’t know why it’s this way, it’s just how it’s always been. I’ve never gotten a clear look at the hallucination.” 

“It’s probably nothing deeper than you formulating this delusion at a very young age. You didn’t know enough about what a monster would look like, so your mind just blacked out the visual appearance of the hallucination.” 

“It’s more than just visual, though.”

“There can be many different manifestations a hallucination can take. Any sense can be affected,” he said. She didn’t like the sound of that. 

“If I can’t trust any of my senses how do I know if anything is real?” she asked, frustrated. 

“Well, a good hint that something is real is if it is a thing that another person can perceive. You say this hallucination has followed you around your whole life, from your early childhood to now, and nobody else has ever witnessed it. This is a good sign that it is not something that exists outside of your body.” It was difficult to argue with his logic. 

“I guess you’re right,” she said. “I’ve heard similar things, from doctors and stuff. But, it’s just, I feel like my hallucination is real.” Johnathan nodded gravely. 

“Of course you do, that’s why I’m here to help you sort out what’s real from what’s not real. I believe some of these examples you gave here,” he paused for a moment to locate a paper from the manila envelope on his desk with her name written on it. He held it up and she recognized it as the questionnaire she had been required to fill out before her appointment. “Have perfectly logical rationales,” he finished. 

“Maybe,” she said. 

“Let’s start with an easy one. You wrote here that you regularly used the hallucination throughout your childhood to dispose of food?” 

“Well, just the food I didn’t like,” Sophie said. “You know, if my parents wouldn’t let me get up before I finished my plate. I’d sneak pieces of the broccoli or whatever it was I didn’t want to eat under the table.” Johnathan shot her an incredulous look.

“By your own words there was a monster under your family’s dinner table and not only did nobody else notice it, but you fed it broccoli?” She shrugged. 

“I, uh, I didn’t imagine them to be a picky monster, I guess,” she said. “I understand how it sounds, but it’s how I got rid of food for years. I even still do it, sometimes, to give my monster a little treat.” He was too busy fussily scrawling notes on his page to catch her use of the forbidden term ‘my monster’. 

“‘A little treat’?” he clarified, looking up from his notepad to meet her eyes. 

“You know, just because,” she said, feeling uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her. His professional composure seemed to have slipped, and he was looking at her as if he believed her to be wholeheartedly insane. After a moment he readjusted his glasses and his sympathetic smile was back on his face. 

“And your family dog,” he paused for a heartbeat as he briefly consulted his notepad. “Franklin. Your dog Franklin wasn’t the one eating the food you were sneaking under the table?” She shook her head. 

“Definitely not. He wasn’t allowed inside the house while we were eating. He was let out while we ate.” 

“Right, to chew on the lead-painted shed,” he said, and she gave a sheepish smile. 

“I mean, he did other things, besides that,” she said in a small voice, but this was a lie. Really, that’s about all the dog had done when he was let outside, was chew on the shed. He was a very strange dog. 

“Okay, so there was no dog in the house while your family ate dinner. Wouldn’t a simpler explanation be that your food you didn’t want to eat was just ending up on the floor, instead of a fabricated monster eating it?” His question was not openly hostile, but his tone was bordering agitation, such as one an adult would use when repeatedly explaining a basic concept to a fussy child.

“There’s no way my mother would let me throw half my food on the floor. She’d be livid.” 

“Perhaps your mother thought you were an exceptionally messy eater and never brought it up,” he said. 

“Maybe,” she said, not wanting to be argumentative. Johnathan let out a sigh.

“I feel like you’re not trying hard enough to think through this with me logically. I’m here to help you,” he said. 

“You’re doing a good job,” she said, although she wondered if perhaps he was in the wrong line of work. He didn’t seem very patient, but she couldn’t write off the possibility that she was an exceptionally frustrating case. She was frustrated, too. It’s why she was here. 

 “I’d like to talk about the Meyer’s girl now,” he said, and she shifted uncomfortably. 

“I don’t really like talking about that,” she said. 

“It’s important for me to know your perspective,” he said. “You have to be willing to do things you don’t want to do if you want to get better.” 

She found it odd that he used the term ‘do’ and not ‘talk about’, but she chose not to comment, because she really didn’t know a lot about this stuff. She also didn’t really feel like it was her place to question him. She was crazy, after all. It’s what prompted him to call her in for this emergency late night appointment, as soon as he had become aware of her questionnaire answers. 

“Okay,” she said. 

“Now, this was a huge event in your formative years. I personally remember the news coverage. It was a big deal. How old were you?” 

“I was nine.” 

“Nine years old, that’s young, very young,” he said with a nod, his pen scrawling across his notepad. “By your own admission you had been experiencing these hallucinations for three or four years by this point?” 

“I guess,” she said before falling into an awkward silence. 

“So, tell me what happened,” he prompted, his tone growing impatient. 

“I mean, whatever you saw in the news is pretty much what happened. She invited me up to her treehouse to show me something, and, uh, I went up there with her.” 

“But you weren’t the only two people in the treehouse, were you?” 

“I mean, you’re not going to believe me, but it was just us.” 

“Her neighbor was tried and convicted for the crime,” Johnathan said, giving her a skeptical look. 

“I know, but really. It’s what I told the police when they questioned me all those years ago, too. It was just her and I, and, well, my monster. They just called me a traumatized girl and nobody listened to my side of the story in the end.”

“What was in the treehouse that she wanted to show you?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. When we got into the treehouse she had me close my eyes, and it was dark out, besides that. I couldn’t see well,” she said, and he sighed again. He seemed to like to sigh. 

“I’m noticing a pattern here, when something happens that scares you, like the hallucinations or whatever happened in the treehouse, you say you couldn’t see what happened. It’s like you’re consciously suppressing the things that scare you. It’s okay, you can tell me what really happened.” 

“I really had my eyes closed, but there wasn’t anyone else in there, I know that much. The police were just like you, they really wanted me to say something happened in the treehouse, but nothing did.” 

“Were you particularly close to this girl?” he asked. “Did you have significant interactions with her or her neighbor before this?” 

“Not really, I mean, she was a lot older than me. She was fourteen, five years is a big difference when you’re a kid. I had never met her neighbor before, and I swear, he wasn’t there.” 

“There was a five year difference between you two, and yet you were friends?” 

“Not really, she actually was kind of a mean girl. Well, really, she was horrible, but after… you know, after what happened, people only said good things about her.” 

“Do you believe her intentions with leading you into the treehouse were malicious? Perhaps she was hoping her neighbor would get you, instead?” 

“I told you, it wasn’t him, he wasn’t there. My monster did that to her.” 

“Sophie, there’s no way a nine year old could be responsible for what happened to the Meyer’s girl. They only ever found splintered, cracked bones of hers scattered throughout the woods, and her neighbor was a known taxidermist.” 

“I told you, my monster, their drool is like a chemical. It’s like, bleach, or acid or something, I don’t know. I just know I closed my eyes and then she sort of screamed. I opened my eyes but I only saw her getting pulled out of the window of the treehouse, and like I said, it was dark out.” 

“Do you know what I think? I think that this was a scary, horrifying event, and your brain used your hallucination to make sense of it.”

“It just doesn’t feel like a hallucination,” she said, shaking her head, beyond frustrated. “It’s real to me, just as real as you are.” 

“If something bad happened to you right now, would you convince yourself it was your hallucination’s doing?” 

“No, I wouldn’t, because my monster’s never hurt me before,” she said. He observed her for a long moment. 

“So it’s a good monster, then?” he asked. 

“Well, they’re definitely not a bad one,” she said. 

“So it will protect you, if something bad were to happen to you?” 

“I suppose they would,” she said. 

“Or, perhaps you’re just so deranged that you can’t remember the bad things that happen to you. You cover up anything that upsets you with this monster fantasy of yours.” 

“Maybe,” she said, her eyebrows knitting together. “It doesn’t feel that way, but I guess anything is possible.” 

“Do you want help, Sophie?” he asked, his question throwing her off. She nodded. 

“That’s why I’m here.” 

“Perfect. I have a way to provide definitive proof to you, proof that even you yourself can’t deny.” 

“Okay,” she said. Johnathan lifted up the manila folder with her name on it on his desk, revealing a pair of metal handcuffs hidden underneath. 

“I’m going to handcuff you to the chair,” he said, watching her closely for her reaction. When she didn’t react he got up and did just that. He knelt at her side and took her hand in his, applying one of the cuffs to her wrist and the other around the chair. She looked down at her cuffed wrist, feeling as though this idea was unconventional. 

“Do you do this often?” she asked, lifting her hand to see how far she could move it. She couldn’t get it very far. The metal links of the short chain connecting the cuffs jingled faintly as she tried. 

“This is my second time,” he said, standing up and looking down at her. “You can’t do this to just anyone. I look at the questionnaires at night, trying to find the craziest new patients. Most aren’t good for something like this, you need someone really out of their mind. Someone who won’t question why you call them to get them to come in late at night.” 

“I did find that kind of odd,” she admitted. 

“But you didn’t report me. Even if you did, though, they wouldn’t believe you that someone from the office tried to call you in after hours. They get weird phone calls from raving patients all the time. I still can’t believe you actually came in, though.” 

“Well, you did say that it was an emergency,” she reasoned. “But it is pretty late, even for that, I guess.” 

“Yeah, I only have access to the building at night. There’s no cameras, because of patient privacy, so there’s no record you’re here.” 

“Are you not really a therapist?” she asked. He shook his head. 

“No, I’ve always wanted to be one, though. I’ve read a lot of books about it,” he said. “I recognized your name from the Meyer’s case and wanted to do a little impromptu session first, before we got started. Was I convincing?” 

“You did an alright job, but you kind of started slipping up a bit at the end,” she commented. 

“Yeah, I got kind of eager when I realized you were absolutely nuts, sorry,” he said with an apologetic grin. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “So what happens now? You said something about proof?” 

“Oh, yeah,” he said, his eyes lighting up. He grabbed his notepad off the table. “You said your monster will protect you from bad things happening to you. I’m going to prove to you that isn’t true. I wrote down a few examples of bad things I could do to you, but I’m open to suggestions.” 

“You weren’t really taking notes?” she asked, relieved. She hadn’t liked the thought of him jotting down notes about her. 

“No, I don’t think real therapists actually do that, it’s like, just something that happens in the movies.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think they should, it was very unnerving,” she said, settling back in the chair. He looked up from his notepad and considered her for a moment.

“You’re, uh, you’re cool with this, then?” he asked. 

“I mean, you’re the professional,” she said. 

“I told you, I’ve only read a few books about this,” he said. “And they were fictional.” 

“Oh, right. Well, you said you were here to help me.” 

“I mean, that was a lie, I’m here to hurt you,” he said, scrunching up his eyebrows as he looked at her more closely. “Wow, you really are crazy.” 

“Well, I told you, my monster is real to me.” 

“Then where is it now?” She looked around the room. 

“I don’t know, hiding in one of the shadows, I suppose. There’s a lot of shadows in here. It’s not so bright.” He snorted with amusement. 

“I’ll take those odds,” he said. 

“I guess we’ll see,” she said. 

He shrugged and tossed the notepad back down on the table. He smiled widely and reached for her throat. She stared back at him and didn’t flinch, even as she could feel the warmth of his fingers just nearly grazing the flesh of her neck. In the millisecond before he made contact he yelped, his hand flying up away from her neck and up into the air as his feet were sucked down into the shadow under her chair. 

He flailed and let out a guttural noise of pain, his torso twisting violently as he was pulled under the chair a few more inches. Sophie looked down with interest, watching as he was sucked down to his hips into the small amount of shadow her chair cast. He clawed at the carpet, and she heard loud crunching and fleshy, tearing sounds reverberating around the walls of the office. 

He was pulled down to his chest, and he opened his mouth to scream, but he was unable to produce any noise. His eyes were wide in terror or pain or a mixture of the two, and she watched as a shudder ran through him. His eyes visibly dulled and all emotion left them, whatever spark of life that was contained within going out in an instant. 

The speed in which he was sucked into the shadow slowed significantly, his glasses sliding off his head as it dragged slowly across the ground. After a moment his neck disappeared into the shadow, his face creeping closer and closer in. He was swallowed up to his nose, only his rolling eyes visible for a moment before those too were engulfed. She watched with interest as the last of his hairs disappeared. 

She looked down at his glasses, remembering he had said he would give her proof. They were hard to argue against, anyone could say that they were glasses. They could actually be perceived by other people, and they were not hers. They would be good proof that he had existed. She reached for them but stopped, the chain of the handcuffs clinking gently as she extended it out to its maximum length. 

She frowned and jingled the chain, looking pointedly at the shadow. The shadow wavered slightly as her monster shifted, and a little noise sounded in the quiet office, like a ‘speh!’. A ball of fluid flew up from the shadow as her monster spit at her, and it landed on the chain of the handcuffs. After a moment the metal started smoking and sizzling and she gave it a jerk, the links of the chain separating. 

“Thanks,” she said, reaching down for Johnathan’s glasses and pocketing them. 

On her way out of the office she noticed a jar of colorful hard candy on the counter. She reached into it and pulled out a piece, tossing it behind her shoulder as she walked out the door. The candy bounced off the ground and rolled across the carpet, until it reached the shadow of the chair, where it disappeared with a crunch. 

The Meadow Manor Ordeal

Toni MasselliLeave a comment

Chatter and polite conversation filled the ornate dining room before her creating a pleasant, hypnotic drone in which it was too easy to become lost in her thoughts. It was so easy these days for her to become lost in her thoughts. Her vision began to blur and she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to be present in this moment. She tried to ground herself. What could she hear? What could she see? What could she feel?

The only thing she could hear was the constant, low drawl of the dining room which was broken only by the light chinks and scrapes of heavy silver cutlery on delicate porcelain plates. The octaves of the conversation did not alter, nobody let out a loud laugh or raised their tone as if in anger or elation. After all these were wellborn, distinguished people with whom she dined with. They were far too refined for such behavior. 

What could she see? She focused on the luxuriant dinner before her which clearly spared no expense. The bountiful dishes weighing down the handsome oaken longtable were carefully prepared with nobility in mind. Nothing anyone could think of was missing from the table which was ladened with more food for this one meal than the average commoner could hope to scrounge up for their family in a year.

What could she feel? She could feel the eyes of the servants who scurried around the table bustling to offer refills. They poured wine out of golden jugs into jewel-encrusted wine goblets that cost more than their lives. They tripped over each other to replenish serving dishes before they were even half emptied. She knew, of course, the reason they were so rushed to serve them. The cost of dissatisfactory performance could easily be their lives. 

She felt how the servants looked at the diners. They kept their eyes low but she could feel them sneaking glances, hating the assembly’s wealth perhaps even more than they hated their own pitiful station in life. She felt the hunger in their eyes that had nothing to do with food and honestly she couldn’t blame them. After all, she too had once been in their place long, long ago. 

A servant got her attention, offering her a refill of her own wine. She looked down at her untouched goblet, seeing her own beautiful reflection staring back at her in the crimson pool of liquid. She started, the reflection coming as a momentary shock as if she were expecting another face to be there staring back up at her. She tried to cover up her surprise but she wasn’t quick enough. 

A concerned face was looking across the table at her, a woman who she had never met before today. She could tell with a quick glance at her jewelry and clothing that she was of a pedigree much higher than her own. Their eyes met and she shot her a clipped smile and tried to look as though she were wholeheartedly enjoying her meal. She had no appetite, she simply moved the food around her plate in a convincing imitation of eating. She could feel her eyes on her long after their silent exchange and she tried to swallow, her throat dry. 

Several moments later another servant came by, a young man this time. He haphazardly poured more wine into her already-filled goblet in a rush to serve her. The wine sloshed over the edge of her goblet before he could stop the stream from the heavy golden jug he was holding. The wine pooled on the oaken table, a stream dribbling down onto the folds of her silk dress before she could react. 

The servant gasped, but she grabbed his hand to stop him from drawing attention to his error. She grabbed her linen napkin and dabbed up the wine the best she could. She looked around carefully, sure nobody had noticed their exchange. All the other diners were far too engrossed in their own polite conversations. She jerked her head, dismissing the young servant who was as pale as death. As he should be, she thought. Had he made this mistake with anyone else at the table he would surely be dead within the hour. 

By the end of the meal she was visibly sweating in a way that she could no longer hide. This wouldn’t work, she realized, looking down at her shaking hand, trying to calm it. She had to make a change. An unfamiliar man approached her, catching her off guard when he placed his hand on her shoulder. She disguised her shock as adoration when she realized it was her lord husband.

“I’m going to go over some business with the men in my study,” he said. “Did you spill your wine?” he asked, seeing the remnants of the stain on her lap. 

“My mistake,” she said quickly. 

“You haven’t been yourself since we returned home from our trip to the seaside,” he said, his voice full of worry. “Why don’t you lay down, Arabella? You appear unwell.” 

“Of course, my love,” she replied weakly. 

After her lord husband disappeared to go to his study with the various other lords and highborn men present she made her excuses to the ladies before disappearing from the dining room. The sprawling corridors of the Meadow Manor were maze-like and unfamiliar to her. She felt confused and disorientated as she walked, keeping a hand on the cool marble wall to keep herself grounded. 

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice behind her rang out, echoing in the vast chamber.

“Yes,” she said quickly, not turning her head to meet the woman’s eyes. She wiped at her face hastily; she was sweating again. 

“Lady Arabella, right? Your manor is beautiful,” the woman said, an echo sounding with every footfall as she approached from behind. Her voice was calm and soothing, she spoke as if she were addressing an injured animal. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

“I’m afraid not,” Arabella said, turning around to face her. She saw it was the same woman she had met eyes with in the dining room earlier.

“My name is Lady Eleanora,” Eleanora said. “I saw what you did for the servant back there and I must say, that was very kind of you. However, you should be more firm with your servant. Maybe not death as I would have done, but perhaps just taking a hand. You don’t want a reputation of weakness, and you know how they like to talk.”

“Of course,” Arabella said. 

“You don’t appear well. Please let me escort you to your chambers. Shall I call upon a physician to meet us there?” Her eyes glanced back to the direction of the dining room where servants scurried about cleaning.

“No,” Arabella said quickly. She looked at Eleanora’s kind face and felt herself grounding, her senses sharpening. She’ll do, she decided with a smile. “I don’t need a physician. Perhaps just rest and companionship.” 

“Lead the way,” Eleanora said, taking Arabella by the arm. Strength seemed to flow into Arabella’s body through their connected arms and she found she did remember the direction back to her chambers. 

They were silent as they walked, the only sounds the echoing footfalls of their fine shoes against the polished marble floors. The occasional servant they passed fell silent in respect, darting out of the way and averting their eyes from the ladies. They quickly arrived at Arabella’s chambers, which were several connected rooms lavishly furnished with every item a noble woman’s heart could desire. 

As they entered the threshold Eleanora made several polite comments about the furnishings but they fell on deaf ears. There was no point in listening, she knew the compliments could not be genuine. Certainly whatever chambers Eleanora herself lived in were far nicer and more comfortable than anything at this manor. Arabella stared at Eleanora as she walked around her rooms with hungry eyes. 

“I must say, I have been eager to speak with you,” Eleanora said, surprising Arabella. 

“Whatever about?” Arabella asked curiously. 

“Why, you were there, when it happened, where you not? In the Seaside Estate. I have some questions about what you may have seen.”

“Tea?” Arabella asked with a smile when Eleanora stopped speaking. She looked taken aback but covered it quickly with a smile. “My sitting room is just this way. We can discuss it there.” 

“That would be lovely, thank you.” 

“What do you take in it?” she asked, her smiling growing with every word. Eleanora’s eyebrows shot up.

“You prepare it yourself? Have you no bell for servants?” Arabella laughed.

“I do but I prefer to make it myself for my friends. It feels more meaningful that way.” Eleanora smiled.

“How charming. I’ve never thought about it like that before. You have a good heart,” she said. Arabella chose not to comment on that, brushing the comment off with a laugh.

“I have a delectable variety of cranberry tea from the northern bogs gifted to me by a visiting lord. You really must try it.” 

“I would be happy to, there is nothing better than enjoying another ladies company over tea, don’t you think?” 

“Nothing better,” Arabella agreed, standing up and excusing herself to make the tea. 

She had done this many times by now, more times than she could count if she were being honest. She used to keep track, long ago, but had stopped bothering with documentation over the years. It seemed pointless, in fact very little seemed to have meaning these days. If anyone found her memoirs it’s not like they would believe them, anyways. 

Arabella entered the small kitchen attached to her chambers. It was very simple, meant for little more than servants preparing her nighttime snacks or drinks. She quickly lit a fire in the stove and set a kettle full of water on to heat to boiling. She set up a tray with two cups with saucers and a small tin of biscuits. 

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure Eleanora did not follow her into the kitchen she withdrew a knife from the block on the counter. She rolled her silk sleeve up, exposing her forearm. She sucked in a quick breath before bringing the knife down upon her skin, slicing away flesh until several drops of dark red blood blossomed out of the wound. 

She carefully held her wounded arm over Eleanora’s cup, letting thick drops of her blood fill the bottom layer of the empty cup. She bound up her arm haphazardly with a tea towel, rolling her sleeve back down over the makeshift bandage. She poured the hot water into both cups and threw in the cranberry tea with a generous measure of sugar. 

“You’re certainly feeling better,” Eleanora said when Arabella reentered her sitting room, smiling broadly and carrying the laden tea tray. 

“I guess I just needed another ladies company to lift my spirits.” Eleanora smiled at this. Arabella sat the tray down on the table and handed Eleanora her cup.

“Red?” Eleanora questioned, staring down into the crimson depths of her cup. 

“The color of cranberries.”

“My, it’s certainly different,” Eleanora said after having her first sip of tea. She had an uncomfortable look upon her face, her lips pursed.

“Yes, it’s quite rare, a delicacy in the north,” Arabella said. “Now, what did you want to discuss with me?”

“Oh yes,” Eleanora said, setting her cup back down on the saucer and unpursing her lips. Her eyes lit up as she built herself up for what she was about to say. “I have my suspicions about what really happened at the estate. I’d like to hear your version of events before I approach my lord husband with my concerns. I plan to plead that he brings my misgivings to the king himself.” 

“You suspect foul play?” Arabella asked, feigning shock. “Who could do such an awful thing to poor Lady Margot?” 

“It’s not what happened to poor Lady Margot that disturbs me so,” Eleanora said, lowering her voice slightly. “Although that is truly awful, in its own way, of course.” This genuinely surprised Arabella. 

“Could you elaborate?” Arabella asked. Eleanora looked around nervously before leaning in closer. 

“This happened after you left the estate, I’m not surprised you don’t know. Lady Margot’s lord husband is trying to cover it up but it was reported that three bodies were found in the servant’s quarters the next day. Drained of blood.” The shock and outrage on Arabella’s face was genuine. Was there another practitioner of blood magic lurking? What could they possibly be doing with that much blood? “Oh, I don’t mean to scare you,” Eleanora said, misreading Arabella’s expression. 

“Drink up, it bitters as it sits,” Arabella said, motioning for Eleanora’s cup.

“Of course,” Eleanora said, drinking deeply from her cup and grimacing slightly from the taste. 

Arabella knew courtesy dictated Eleanora finish her tea she was served. It was only polite, and they were highborn ladies, after all. This is why it was so much easier to do this to nobles. They were much, much more predictable than the lower class. 

Arabella’s mind buzzed with mixed outrage and curiosity at the news Eleanora had brought her about the blood-drained servants. Why would the practitioner waste their time with servants? How had this happened the day after she was there? Something was amiss. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Eleanora said kindly. She winced suddenly, reaching under the table to grab at her leg.

“Are you okay?” Arabella asked. 

“Yes,” Eleanora said, her expression pained. “My leg has a cramp, that’s all.”

“Let’s not discuss these dark events any longer. My heart can’t take it. Tell me about yourself, where is your manor?” Arabella asked.

“We live in a palace to the south, in Verity’s Garden,” Eleanora said, looking a bit disappointed about the change of subject. 

The mention of Verity’s Garden made Arabella’s heart skip a beat. Verity’s Garden? Why, that’s right by the palace of King Noland. Eleanora was oblivious to Arabella’s surprise, instead focused on setting down her cup and taking a biscuit. She bit into it eagerly, ready to cleanse her palate. “You’ll have to come visit with your lord husband, we have a summer harvest celebration coming up,” she had to stop talking, her frame racked with a coughing fit. 

“Here, drink your tea,” Arabella said, pushing the cup into her hands. Eleanora drank from the cup before coughing a few more times. 

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Eleanora said, fanning herself. “I must have swallowed the wrong way.” 

“It happens,” Arabella said dismissively. “Tell me more about yourself. What is the name of your lord husband? How did you meet? Any children?” Eleanora smiled, appearing a bit uncomfortable. 

“I’m married to the great Lord Lysander, our marriage was an arranged affair,” her eyebrows knitted together. “You should know that, of course. Lord Lysander is the younger brother of the great King Noland. I thought everyone knew his brother was the Lord of the Verity’s Garden.” 

“Children?” Arabella pressed. Eleanora sat down her mostly-empty cup, a quizzical expression on her face. 

“We have not yet been blessed with children,” she said. And you never will, Arabella mentally added. Eleanora’s face was flushed and she was still fanning herself. She stopped fanning herself abruptly, her hand seizing up as if with a cramp. She looked at Arabella in alarm. 

“Don’t fret,” Arabella said, feeling the discomfort in her own body, too. Arabella relaxed back in her seat, closing her eyes. 

“You feel it, too?” Eleanora said in a strained voice. 

“Something close to it, anyways,” Arabella replied lazily. “Your body is seizing up and overexcited, mine is growing numb.” 

“What is happening?” Eleanora asked, struggling to stand up. She was unable to make her body move at her command and panic was quickly overtaking her.

“You’re dying,” Arabella said. “But don’t worry, your body will live on.” Arabella lifted an arm to demonstrate her point. Arabella’s arm did not rise, but rather Eleanora’s. 

Eleanora tried to say something but couldn’t choke any more words out. Her mouth had clamped shut, the seizure of her muscles making its way to her face and traveling upwards. Her eyes seized shut last plunging her into a world of darkness. Two thuds sounded in near unison as both women’s bodies fell onto the table, Eleanora’s body a cramped-up mess and Arabella’s slack and lank. 

After a time the cramping passed and Eleanora sat up slowly. She rolled her shoulders and head experimentally feeling the fit of this new body. This body felt like an excellent fit. She couldn’t remember the last time one felt so perfectly suited for her. She opened her eyes, peering through Eleanora’s eyes for the first time. 

Eleanora was a bit nearsighted it seemed but not by much. That was a minor thing, really. Her body lacked the random aches and pains Arabella’s had. She had known from the beginning she wouldn’t be able to stay in Arabella’s body for long. Every minute in that body she had to fight to keep control and keep herself grounded. Her soul hadn’t meshed well with that body for whatever reason and when she lost focus she could feel herself slipping away. 

This body, however, was very different. She extended a hand and made a fist, experimenting with squeezing her hand with varying amounts of force. Movement came natural to her and after a few minutes of adjusting she mastered the natural flow of activity. She spared a glance at Arabella’s body which lay slumped over the table, still as death. 

Eleanora stood up, walking over to Arabella. Grabbing her by her hair she roughly wrenched Arabella’s head back, exposing a golden, heart-shaped locket on her throat. She grabbed the chain and pulled it, ripping the locket from Arabella’s throat. Slipping the locket into the folds of her dress she released Arabella’s hair, allowing her face to roughly slam back down onto the table before her. 

Eleanora screwed her face up in a look of terror before wailing.

“Help! Someone help! Lady Arabella is unwell!” Eleanora cried out. 

Within moments servants came rushing into Arabella’s chambers, gasping and crying out in surprise seeing their mistress face down on the table, dead. Eleanora made a show of collapsing into the first servant’s arms in a faint.

“My lady wife, let me see her or so help me,” Lord Lysander’s voice rang out outside of the infirmary doors. Eleanora heard the metallic scrape of a sword being drawn and decided things had gone on long enough. She sat up on the cot and walked to the door, a bit unsteady at first as she reaccustomed her stride to Eleanora’s frame. 

“My love, I am here,” she said, pushing open the heavy wooden doors separating her from her lord husband. Lord Lysander was a squat, slightly balding man who had gotten on in years. 

He was standing over a servant who was clutching the severed stump of her arm, blood gushing from the new wound. Eleanora saw the missing appendage lying on the floor. Lord Lysander sheathed his bloodied sword, smiling when he saw Eleanora. 

“Are you quite well? What befell Lady Arabella?” he asked urgently. The servant dropped to the ground sobbing at the doorway. Eleanora spared her a glance. “This thing was trying to prevent me from seeing you.” 

“The physician threatened me with death if I let anyone disturb the lady!” the servant exclaimed through tears. Lord Lysander appeared disgusted at being addressed directly and moved to unsheathe his sword again but stopped when Eleanora put a hand on his arm. 

“She’s not worth it,” Eleanora said. Lord Lysander appeared surprised at this. 

“She must be taught,” Lord Lysander began, but Eleanora stopped him. 

“My love, I must speak to you about Lady Arabella, it cannot wait.” This got Lord Lysander’s attention. 

“Yes, please. Her lord husband has a right to know what happened.” 

“It was the tea,” Eleanora said. “Lady Arabella made us a tea gifted to her from a northern lord. I had not yet drank from my cup, I was too busy telling her about our summer harvest celebration. She dropped dead right before my eyes, right there at the table.” Eleanora made a show of fanning herself, her eyes rolling back as if she were about to faint again. 

“Bring the lady a drink for her nerves,” Lord Lysander snapped at the silently weeping servant who started before running back into the infirmary to fulfill his request. 

“I’ll be fine, my love,” Eleanora said. “It’s more important we give this information to Lady Arabella’s lord husband as quickly as possible.” 

“You’re right,” Lord Lysander said, taking Eleanora by the arm and leading her away from the infirmary. 

Their footfalls echoed across the empty corridors as they hurried to the lord’s study. The heavy wooden doors creaked as Lord Lysander pushed them open. The room was filled with highborn people looking back at them as they entered. The tone was hushed and the occupants were visibly shaken. Nobody was more shaken than Lady Arabella’s lord husband who sat behind a polished desk with a face like a pale white mask. 

“Lord Giles,” Lord Lysander addressed the man behind the desk. 

Oh yes, that had been his name, Eleanora remembered. She had forgotten. Everything had been such a hazy blur when she was occupying Arabella’s ill-suited body. 

“Lady Eleanora,” Lord Giles croaked, looking at her with desperation. “You were with my lady wife when… when it happened?” Eleanora bowed her head.

“Yes, my lord,” she said.

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded. She felt every set of eyes in the room on her. She glanced up quickly and looked around the room. Everyone who had been present at the dinner was in this room, lords and ladies alike. There appeared to be representation from almost every noble house in the land present.

“Lady Arabella appeared unwell at dinner,” she recounted. “I escorted her to her chambers and we had tea. It was a special blend gifted to her from a visiting lord from the north, as I recall she said.” 

“Could a servant have poisoned her cup?” Lord Giles demanded. Several voices of agreement chimed in from around the room. “I’ll have every servant brought to me and I will behead them myself.”

“No,” Eleanora said quickly. “She prepared the tea herself. She drank until only the dregs remained and she dropped dead before my very eyes.” 

“And yet here you are unscathed?” Lord Giles accused. Lord Lysander stepped forward, pushing Eleanora back with his arm.

“I will not have a lesser lord take that tone with my lady wife. Grieving or not, you will remember your place, Lord Giles.” Lord Giles appeared taken aback and took a moment to compose himself.

“Of course not, I beg your lady wife’s pardon. I never meant to accuse,” he said quickly. Eleanora cut him off. 

“I had not yet drank from my own cup, my lord. I was telling your wife about Verity’s Garden and our summer harvest celebration. I truly believe it was the tea, my lord. A poison from the north.” A few murmurs sounded throughout the crowded study, small conversations breaking out amongst the listeners in varying tones of shock, outrage, disbelief, and sadness. 

“This cannot be discounted,” Lord Giles admitted. “But I fear something far more evil  than poison was at play.” Eleanora gasped, as did many of the listeners. 

“Whatever could you mean?” a voice rang out from the crowded study. The crowd was murmuring louder now, building up an exceeding dangerous, nervous sort of energy. 

“Foul play?” another vocalized. Eleanora took a slight step back. 

“Perhaps she choked?” a hopeful voice sounded.

“She was unwell all of dinner, you all saw it! An illness overtook her!” 

“Nonsense! Murder it was! A servant, or the Lady Eleanora herself!” 

“I will hear nothing against my lady wife,” Lord Lysander roared, momentarily silencing the crowd.

“My beautiful Lady Arabella has not appeared well since we returned from the Seaside Estate,” Lord Giles said. “I fear she did contract an illness there, some sort of unknown virus. The same one that overtook the Lady Margot before her. There is something evil afoot that is killing our good, noble women. I have heard whisperings in the past of noble women dropping dead from no perceivable cause but never before did I think it could strike so close to home.” 

Eleanora was impressed despite herself and had to fight to not smile. Lord Giles was smarter than he looked and not far off from the truth. It is true that a virus is killing your women, Eleanora thought savagely. The virus is me and I will continue to work my way through them until I reach the king himself. I am so close to my goal, the only thing that drives me. I can’t lose sight of that now.

“This warrants a call to my brother, the great King Noland,” Lord Lysander stated. “I agree with you that something evil is afoot. I shall call in the best physicians to study the good Lady Arabella’s remains for any sign of what happened to her.” You’re not going to find anything, Eleanora thought.

The room broke out into chaos again and Eleanora found herself whisked away by Lord Lysander.

“It’s not safe for you here, you heard Lord Giles. There is a virus about preying on noble women. I’ll have you board our carriage back to Verity’s Garden. I will call for my brother and his physicians. I will remain here to brief the king and oversee the autopsy.”

“Yes, my love,” Eleanora said, taking his large, clumsy hands in hers. “Be safe.” 

“I have nothing to fear here, but you do, so be swift,” Lord Lysander said before returning to the study. 

Eleanora turned away from the study with a sigh of relief. She had never seen nobles so worked up before that they shouted and raised their voices like commoners. It could have been dangerous for her, her marriage protected her this time but if the crowd had turned on her and ripped her to shreds she would have been done for. 

She walked briskly through the manor, seeing many other noble women as she walked being led away by their husbands or servants from their own house. It was clear that the panic was setting in and no woman felt safe here anymore. Their fear was unfounded, however. Eleanora looked down at her hand and easily made a fist. This body was perfect for her, she wouldn’t change it anytime soon if she could help it. 

Her carriage was waiting for her at Meadow Manor’s gates and she entered it alone. She supposed she probably should have a team of servants that came with her from Verity’s Garden to tend to her and her husband’s needs but she couldn’t waste time hunting them down now. A coachman started when she entered the carriage. He had been laid out, sleeping on the seats not expecting his charges for several more hours at the least. 

“Prepare the horses, we leave immediately,” Eleanora commanded. The coachman nodded his understanding and exited the carriage, keeping his eyes averted.

“Back to Verity’s Garden alone, Lady Eleanora?” the coachman asked a few moments later after he had prepared the horses for departure. She gave him a hard look and he again averted his eyes, his face flushing.

She knew what she should do, of course. The real Eleanor would return to her extravagant palace in Verity’s Garden and await the return of her lord husband in comfort. The smart thing to do would be to wait for this all to blow over and bide her time until she can get closer to the king, closer to her long-awaited revenge. However the real Eleanora’s words haunted her mind. Three servants’ bodies were found, drained of blood, she had said.

“No, you will take me to the Seaside Estate, and you will breathe a word of it to no one.”

The coachman was a commoner. His status was above the servants, who were little more than slaves to the nobility, but not by much. She could still end his life with a word if she wished it, as he was well aware. She felt he wouldn’t question her request or go back on his word if she asked it of him.

“Of course, Lady Eleanora,” the coachman said, closing the door to the carriage with a bow. 

The trip to the Seaside Estate was long and boring. Eleanora was alone with her thoughts, which were not great company. She wanted to know, no, she had to know what was happening at the Seaside Estate. It did not bode well. She was so close to her goal, she was now the wife of the brother of the king. 

Her hatred for the king had driven her this far and now she was risking her position to investigate another blood magic practitioner? She had spent countless years climbing the rungs of society from servant to commoner to the many layers of nobility. Here she was, finally near the top, so close to royalty she could almost taste it and she found herself risking it all over a rumor about dead servants. 

She had never heard even a whisper about another practitioner. She had no tutor, she learned everything she knew herself. The power of blood, how one can embed their very soul into the substance. How if ingested her blood could infect her victims like, well, like a virus. About that, Lord Giles had been correct. Once her blood was ingested it was just a matter of time before her soul expanded out, taking over and crushing out the soul of her victim, leaving nothing but a husk she could possess like a puppeteer. 

She had to know. How had the other practitioner learned? What drove them? Why did they show their face now of all times when she was finally so close to her goal? Three servant’s bodies, drained of blood. In the same location she had just left days before. Did they want to get caught? Were they baiting her? 

It was all too coincidental, none of it made sense. This new practitioner had to be here to thwart her in some way. They had probably been following her in the shadows for some time for all she knew. Were they willing to go to the same lengths she had to accomplish their goal? She would never get another moment’s peace without some answers. 

As the Seaside Estate loomed before her in the window of the carriage she smiled to herself knowing one way or another her story would soon come to a close. Whether she found an ally in this new practitioner or a rival it didn’t really matter. Either they would be an ally and she could take them back to Meadow Manor to help her infect King Noland or they would be a rival and very well kill her. 

Either way it would be an ending for her, but which one? Did it matter? She wasn’t sure it did. After years of being driven by hatred and anger and fear and death she found herself curiously empty now that she was so close to her goal. The carriage door opened and the coachman bowed her out, pulling her from her reverie. 

She walked up the sand-strewn pathway of the Seaside Estate, the smell of salt in the air and the sound of the ocean all around her. It was soothing to her, she had, after all, left here only days before as Arabella. She approached the front door of the estate, nothing near as elaborate as anything in the Meadow Manor but ornate all the same. She pulled the cord to ring a servant who opened the door, bowing her inside with averted eyes. 

“Shall I summon Lord Roderick?” the servant asked. 

“Please,” Eleanora responded, waiting patiently in the foyer. 

She waved off servants carrying plates of biscuits and trays of tea as she waited. Before long Lord Roderick came down the stairway, looking gaunter than she had ever seen him. She knew him pretty well as she had spent several years as his wife, the late Lady Margot. 

“Lord Roderick, I presume?” she asked. Although she knew very well this was him, he had never to her knowledge met Lady Eleanora. Lord Roderick was on the low end of nobles; she found it highly unlikely he had ever attended coordinating events with a lady of Eleanora’s social standing. 

“Yes, who do I have the pleasure of entertaining?” he asked politely. His grief was evident in his voice and she felt a momentary pang in her heart. 

She knew he had truly loved Margot. Her death and the troubles that came after it couldn’t have been easy on him. Although she did not feel anything akin to love for him she hadn’t found their years together entirely unpleasant. 

She hadn’t thought him kind to his servants during the years of their marriage but that was before she had spent time living with the higher tiers of nobility. They were constantly looking for any reason to cut down their servants almost as if it were a sport. They didn’t see them as human. In comparison Lord Roderick’s treatment of his servants was downright humane. 

“Lady Eleanora of Verity’s Garden, wife of the great Lord Lysander, brother to King Noland.” 

“I-I fear my estate is not comfortable enough for a lady of your standing,” Lord Roderick stammered. Eleanora cut him off. 

“I will not be staying. I am here on orders of King Noland to investigate certain claims that have reached his ears,” Eleanora lied. Lord Roderick sighed.

“I was afraid of that. I’m just glad the king himself didn’t pay me a visit.”

“Three servants drained of their blood is hardly worth a personal visit.”

“You only heard about three?” This came as a shock to Eleanora. 

“How many?” she asked, feeling her heart rate rise. 

“We’ve pieced together about a dozen bodies, but it’s hard to say. They weren’t left in good condition.” 

“A-a dozen?” she clarified, frozen in shock. 

“All drained of blood,” Lord Roderick said. A dozen mutilated, drained bodies? What kind of blood magic was this? How in the world would she find the practitioner? “We’ve already apprehended the responsible person and have them confined to the dungeon.” Another wave of surprise racked her body. 

“How?” she breathed. 

“We found him, an unnamed youth who had been working in the kitchens. He had some sort of mental break or something, the boy isn’t right. He wasn’t that hard to find, to be honest. We found him in a bad state, wailing at the scene of the crime and dripping blood.”

“Have you executed him yet?” she asked. 

“Not yet, Lady Eleanora. We were planning on transporting him to the king in chains if he hadn’t shown up himself in a few days. I felt as though the king’s physicians should have a look at him before his execution for research purposes.” 

“Of course,” Eleanora agreed. “I will see this youth myself.” Lord Roderick looked taken aback. 

“My lady, it isn’t safe, the boy isn’t right. I don’t think your heart could take it. There is something evil about him.” 

“You’d be surprised at what my heart can take,” she said. “I was not sent here by the king himself because of my delicate disposition. I am unlike the ladies you are accustomed to.” Lord Roderick sighed.

“I apologize, Lady Eleanora. I’ll have you know I am grieving the loss of my lady wife, the sweet, beautiful, kind Lady Margot. I know her heart could not handle seeing a child in such distress.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Eleanora said. “I won’t tread on your hospitality any longer. Have a servant bring me to the dungeons, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself with personally showing me the way. You should be alone in your grief.” 

Lord Roderick looked as though he was going to say something else but faltered. Instead of speaking he signaled for a servant and gave the requested demands. He bowed his goodbyes to Eleanora before trudging back up the steps, tears in his eyes. She knew he had loved Margot. She didn’t want him to get in the way of what she may have to do in the dungeons. After this new information she was wholeheartedly planning to kill or be killed.

The servant silently led her to the dungeons, rigid and visibly uncomfortable. Whether the servant was uncomfortable with their destination or with Eleanora’s nobility it was not clear. Perhaps a mixture of both. The servant clasped a knocker and rapped it against the heavy iron dungeon door. The servant voiced a request for permittance of Lady Eleanora for subject questioning under the authority of King Noland himself through a slat in the door.

The dungeon of the Seaside Estate was not large and had never been occupied before in Eleanora’s memory. She had never actually seen it herself before now. Two jailors, commoners, she noticed, stood guard with sheathed swords on either side of a lone cell. On the wall of the lone cell stood bound a pale, starved-appearing child of no more than eight. 

The jailors immediately bowed to Eleanora.

“You’re dismissed,” Eleanora said to them with authority. They looked at each other nervously, silent for a moment after her command.

“My lady, allow us to stay for your protection. This evil, vile thing has killed-,” Eleanora cut the jailor off.

“You are dismissed,” she repeated. “By authority of the king himself I am to let no one hear my questioning or the accused answers. You may wait in the hall once the door is closed.” 

“Y-Yes, Lady Eleanora,” one of the jailors finally said in a fearful tone after a moment of silence.

“One more thing,” she said before the jailors left the dungeon. They turned back curiously. “Unlock his cell door.”

“My lady,” the bolder of the two cried out in shock. “He is dangerous, he is. You wouldn’t go in that cell if you found him the way we did, covered in blood and bits of flesh and all that.” 

“Is he not bound to the wall?” she asked. The bolder of the two jailers opened his mouth as if to protest further but the other elbowed him, bowing his head in respect and unlocking the cell door as she had requested. She held out a hand for the keys, and this time they did not argue, silently placing the keys in her outstretched hand. 

The iron door shut with a dull thud behind the jailors and Eleanora ensured the flap was closed to discourage any listening ears. She turned to survey the boy chained to the wall before her. He was watching her with wide, curious eyes but had remained silent throughout her exchange with his captors. 

He remained silent until she took a step inside his cell.

“No, miss, please,” he began, tears in his eyes. She expected him to beg her for the king’s mercy. Instead, his next words surprised her. “Don’t come too close, it isn’t safe. I can’t control it.” 

“Control what, exactly?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. The boy looked frantic, whimpering slightly. “You can speak freely with me. You may find I understand more than you know.” His eyes grew wide at this.

“Are you the same as me, then?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you feel the hunger like I do?” 

“In a different way than you do,” she said. “We both feel hunger, believe me we do, but not, I think, the same hunger. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” 

“Blood,” he whispered. “I can hear it flowing under their skin. I can smell it on them a mile away. It drives me wild. I do things under the hunger’s influence. Things I never would have done before and didn’t think I was capable of. It gives me strength, the blood does.” 

“And when did this hunger set in? I take it this is something new.”

“The hunger set in a few days ago, the day Lady Margot died. I woke up with it and it has been with me every second since.” She crossed her arms, examining him closely. “Do you know why I’m this way? Please, don’t come too close!” he pleaded, as she had taken a few more steps forward. 

“I don’t think you’re a threat to me,” she said, growing closer to him with every step. He closed his eyes, struggling to get further away from her but he could not on account of his bindings. 

“If you have blood I am a threat to you, I tore people apart, I did,” he cried out. 

“My blood is no good to you,” she said, stopping just inches away from him. “My blood is different.” 

She reached out to demonstrate her point, grabbing his face in her open hands and forcing him to look at her. He sucked in air in shaky gasps, his eyes shut tight for several moments. After a while he relaxed and melted into her touch, his brow unfurrowing. 

“Your blood is different,” he agreed. “I don’t feel the hunger around you.” He opened his eyes, gazing up at her in amazement. “Why is that?”

“I think I created you,” she said, staring down at him in wonder, drinking in every feature of his dirty face. “My hunger is anger, and power. I was performing blood magic on the night Lady Margot died. I was Lady Margot. If I can get another person to ingest even a small amount of my blood I can transfer my soul and take over their body. I’ve swapped bodies countless times over the years. I’ve never had this happen before but I think that performing this magic so close to you awoke something in you by accident.”

“You created me,” he said, looking back up at her with eyes the size of saucers. 

“I’m your mother,” she said, feeling a sense of purpose filling her body for the first time in countless years. She had been fueled by hatred and anger for so long the thought of any other drive to survive felt foreign to her. “You’re my responsibility. I’ll get you out of here and teach you to control your hunger.”

“Mother?” he questioned, looking up at her. 

“Yes,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “What is your name? Is it true you are nameless?” 

“I have no real name. They called me Asher in the kitchens because I shoveled the ash out of the stoves and the furnaces.” 

“Asher,” she said, smiling down at him. “I promise you will never shovel ash again, but I think you should keep the name. It will do you well to remember where you came from.”  

A pounding sounded on the iron door. She fumbled with the keys but before she had time to unlock the chains binding Asher to the wall the iron door flew open. 

“Two monsters consorting with one another,” a voice sneered. Eleanora looked up, gasping in terror as the form of Lord Giles came into view. She dropped the keys in her shock and scrambled for them. 

There was the sound of scraping metal and Eleanora saw the gleam of Lord Giles’ sword as he drew it. She spared a glance at her bound child before running across the dungeon, out of his cell and to the other side. She slammed the cell door shut as she ran, trying to add another layer of protection for her son. 

“How did you know to find me here?” she asked, trying to buy more time. 

Her mind was spinning trying to figure out exit plans that involved both she and her child making it out of this alive. Just an hour ago if she had been told she would meet her death in this dungeon she would have readily accepted it. Now, however, she had something to live for. Could this be punishment for all the lives she had taken along the way to get to where she was? To be given a real reason for life just for her to have it snatched out of her hands moments later? 

“The moment I saw your carriage heading in the wrong direction from my study window I knew. Of course, I suspected you before that but I couldn’t tell your lord husband my suspicions. He would have struck me dead for claiming any wrongdoing on his lady wife’s part. I, however, know what you are. You’re the virus.” He was approaching her with his sword drawn, murder in his eyes. There was nowhere for her to go. 

“Lady Arabella,” she wildly, trying to buy a few more fleeting seconds of life. “Your late wife, Lady Arabella.”

“What of her?” he asked, his face pained at the mention of his dead wife. 

“I was her! And Lady Margot before that! And a hundred others before that. All me,” she declared. 

“Before I kill you, tell me why you’ve preyed on our noble women,” Lord Giles demanded. He was right before her now, sword extended. “Admit to your crimes in the moment before your death.” 

“The social system of this kingdom disgusts me. The hate has fueled me. Disposable servants on the bottom, then commoners, then the endless layers of nobility, all with the king on top. I have worked my way up the chain from body to body, from layer to layer, until finally I am here, so near the top.” 

“Who were you originally?” he asked. She fumbled for the folds of her dress and he pressed the tip of his sword against her warningly, drawing blood from her shoulder. She held out the heart-shaped locket she had retrieved from Lady Arabella, the locket the only constant thing in her life for as long as she could remember. 

“I keep a lock of hair from my original body in here. Take it back to the king with Eleanora’s head, if you will. 

“Oh, I will,” Lord Giles said, reaching out for the locket. 

Eleanora jerked the locket away, thrusting his outstretched sword arm away from her body while he was distracted. He hissed in pain as his own sword cut his forearm, dark blood blossoming under his fine, white tunic. 

She heard Asher go into a sort of rage, letting out guttural noises as his chains clanked against the stone wall. She turned her head to get a last, fleeting glance at him but stopped, Lord Giles’ sword sinking deeply into her chest. The air was sliced out of her lungs and she couldn’t even let out a scream as she fell to the ground. 

The smell of the lord’s blood was throwing him into one of his frenzies, but this time, for the first time, it was welcome. When his mother cut open the lord’s arm the flowing blood he could already sense and smell and nearly taste became airborne sending a jolt of electricity through every fiber of his being. 

An otherworldly strength overcame Asher and he ripped out of the chains binding him to the wall with ease. His eyes honed in on the bloodstain growing under the lord’s sleeve, dripping to the stone dungeon floor in hot, fat drops. Each drop that hit the ground seemed to scream out to his very soul. His hunger was nearly unbearable, and yet…

He saw the sword plunge into his mother’s chest, he saw her fall to the ground. Her blood did not call out to him like the lord’s did. It filled him with grief and sadness, but still. He was so hungry. What had she said? It was hard to focus. He was SO hungry. If someone ingested her blood, she could live on in their body. 

His eyes focused on the lord, fighting to keep his hunger at bay. He could hold off for a short while. The iron bars of his cell tore away easily at his touch and clattered to the floor haphazardly.

The lord had been standing over his mother’s bleeding form with a smile but stopped when he heard the clattering, a look of panic on his face. He grabbed for his sword, tried to pull it out of her body, but he wasn’t fast enough. He cried out as his sword arm was broken easily at Asher’s touch. 

Asher tried to contain his strength, trying not to do too much damage to the body he wanted his mother to infect. Lord Giles was on his knees, clutching his broken arm and wailing. Asher kneeled down and scooped up a handful of his mother’s pooling blood, flinging it into Lord Giles’ open mouth. 

The lord was shocked and gagged on it but Asher did not give him an opportunity to spit it out. He had another handful now and held it against Lord Giles’ mouth, holding him in place forcefully. He had one hand on the back of his head and the other blood-filled hand clasped against his mouth. The lord heaved and coughed but Asher did not release him, fighting to contain his strength to not break the lord’s neck. He might have knocked a few teeth out, but that couldn’t be helped.

Asher sobbed as he restrained Lord Giles, completely overwhelmed with the grief of losing his newly-found mother. The grief was so overwhelming it was the only thing keeping his hunger at bay. After a few moments he noticed Lord Giles wasn’t fighting him anymore and the only thing holding him up was Asher’s grip. Asher released him, letting him fall to the floor, his body overwhelmed with some sort of seizure. 

He watched as the cramping fit passed and slowly Lord Giles opened his eyes. Asher dropped down, cradling the lord’s head in his lap. The lord rolled his shoulders a few times, turning his head from side to side experimentally. 

“Mama?” Asher asked, but he knew it had worked. Eleanora’s pooling blood was calling to him now in a way it hadn’t before. 

“Yes,” Lord Giles said. “You saved me, thank you.”

“Can I?” Asher asked, looking at Eleanora’s form on the ground. Lord Giles sat up, feeling how different this body was with a grimace. 

“Go ahead, don’t let her blood go to waste if you’re hungry. I don’t need her anymore.” 

Asher descended upon Eleanora in a flash, biting and drinking, scooping up handfuls of the clotting blood and sucking them down with relish. Lord Giles watched him with a fond smile. He would mourn the perfect fit that was Eleanora’s body, but he was glad it could serve them this one last purpose. 

Lord Giles stood and practiced walking around. It was immensely uncomfortable. The proportions of his body were unlike anything he had ever used before. The broken arm was a constant sharp pain and there were various chronic pains in the knees and back that were a hindrance. He spit out a few teeth Asher had knocked loose and awkwardly walked over to a basin of water to try to clean some of the drying blood off his chin and neck. 

“Are you done yet?” Lord Giles asked after cleaning himself up the best he could. “We have somewhere to be.”

“Coming mama,” Asher called, sitting up over the mutilated remains of Eleanora and stretching. Lord Giles regarded him for a moment and was pleased to see he wasn’t quite so pale and his cheeks were no longer quite as hollow. 

The iron door of the dungeon swung open easily at their command and they saw the pathway out clear. The jailers and servants had wisely run for cover when they heard the commotion. The foyer of the Seaside Estate was similarly empty. Lord Giles found clean traveling cloaks in a closet by the door and used them to conceal the filth from the dungeon that he and Asher were coated in. 

Lord Giles’ carriage was waiting for them outside the estate next to Eleanora’s. The coachman did not comment on the sorry state Lord Giles was in or that he had obtained a new traveling companion. He kept his eyes low and busied himself with readying the horses. 

“Meadow Manor,” Lord Giles commanded when they were seated in the carriage, hating the deep tone of his new voice. 

The trip to Meadow Manor was not quite as dull as his trip to the Seaside Estate had been with Asher for company. The first part of the voyage Asher kept sneaking hungry glances at the coachman and he began to worry for Asher’s self-control. However after he promised to Asher he would eat his fill soon enough he relaxed. By the time they arrived at Meadow Manor Asher was asleep with his head in Lord Giles’ lap. 

The entrance of Meadow Manor was strewn with carriages. Lord Giles’ coachman had to park a distance away. Lord Giles and Asher exited the carriage and began their trek to the manor’s main entrance. They walked amongst the finest carriages and horses they had ever seen and knew without a doubt King Noland had arrived with his physicians. 

The manor’s front door was thrown open at Lord Giles’ command and servants made themselves invisible as he led Asher through the corridors. “They fear you,” Asher commented as they walked. 

“Of course they do,” Lord Giles replied. “I am the lord here. The other lords and perhaps the king himself will be in my study. Are you ready, Asher?” 

“Yes, mama,” Asher said, sweating and visibly shaken.

“Are you okay, Asher?”

“Just hungry,” Asher whispered. Lord Giles nodded. 

“Soon,” he promised warmly.

Before they knew it the familiar door of the study was before them. Lord Giles threw the door open with his uninjured arm, striding inside with Asher close behind. The room was as he had left it as Eleanora, filled with nobles and other highborn men. The only difference was the man seated at Lord Giles’ desk. 

Although he had never before seen him in person it was obvious he could be no other than the king himself. It was more than the golden crown upon his head and the finery of his clothing. Underneath it all he wasn’t even particularly handsome. Under all the gold and the clothing he was just a man like any other. However, something about his very essence just screamed royalty. 

“Lord Giles,” King Noland proclaimed in greeting. “I arrived while you were away. Your sudden absence has been one of the topics of our discussion here. Pray tell what business you were seeing to that could not wait until after my arrival.” 

“King Noland,” Lord Giles said, bowing his head in respect. “I was acting on a suspicion, and I have returned to report that I have found the cause of the virus that has been infecting and killing our noble women. I am pleased to say the virus has been eradicated by my own hand.” 

He unfastened the traveling cloak with his uninjured hand, dropping it to the ground to gasps of horror from the nobles standing in his study. His fine clothes were stained in layers of grime and blood, and his sword arm was visibly broken and bloodied. The assembled had never seen a noble in such a state, their servants and commoners had fought their battles for them for as long as any of them could remember. 

“I will hear of this service you have done for our great land,” King Noland said. 

“The virus was a blood magic practitioner the likes of which our land has not seen for hundreds of years. A remnant of our past, from the days in which collared witches were owned by kings to do their bidding before they were found untrustworthy and all burned.” 

“What proof do you have of this?” King Noland asked. “I see you’ve brought back no severed head, just a sickly child who cowers in your shadow. How can we be sure you speak the truth?” 

He held up the heart-shaped locket containing the lock of hair. “This locket contains the hair of the practitioner’s original body. It is more proof than the severed head of Lady Eleanora, the practitioner’s last victim.” Lord Lysander let out a roar. 

“You killed my good Lady Eleanora?” he demanded, reaching for his sword. 

“She was the last contact with Lady Arabella, my late lady wife. The virus passed from her to Eleanora.” 

“How can we be sure this virus did not pass to you?” Lord Lysander asked, unsheathing his sword and taking a few steps toward Lord Giles. 

“He is no noble woman,” King Noland boomed, standing up at the desk. “Lord Lysander, as your brother and your king I command you to lower your sword until Lord Giles finishes his tale.”

“Very well,” Lord Lysander spat. “If I am not satisfied with what you say I shall have your head as vengeance.” 

“Finish your story so I can deliver my judgment for what you have done,” King Noland said. “Start from the beginning.”

“I was suspicious of my wife Lady Arabella since we returned from the Seaside Estate. She was not herself, she was infected from the virus that she caught from Lady Margot, who succumbed at the estate during our visit. Lady Arabella died, as you know, during tea with Lady Eleanora and I saw the pattern and knew Eleanora was infected. Her husband, Lord Lysander, commanded her to return to Verity’s Garden but I saw from my study window her carriage instead took the direction of the Seaside Estate. That is when I knew.

“I excused myself and followed her. I confronted her at the Seaside Estate and she admitted her crimes to me. She stated she was born as a servant and had worked her way up our social ladder to nobility by means of blood magic. Her end goal was you, King Noland. She planned to find a way into royalty to destroy our social classes. She had a vision of servants enjoying the same rights and liberties as the nobles.” Lord Giles’ voice broke here to sounds of shock and outrage from the crowd of nobles. 

“A servant hiding among us?” one called out, venom in his voice. 

“They all should be punished!” 

“The actions of one reflect the whole class, they cannot be trusted!” 

“They will be burned, as all the witches were who came before them” King Noland agreed, holding up a hand for silence from the crowd. “So she admitted her crimes to you and you then executed her?” the king asked Lord Giles as clarification. 

“I plunged my sword through her chest,” Lord Giles confirmed. Cheers and clapping sounded across the study as the assembled nobles praised him. 

“And what of the child?” King Noland asked. Lord Giles turned to survey Asher, who was crouched down on the ground, a pained expression on his face. “Did you bring him back as your witness?” 

“Oh, yes, the child. My child, Asher. Asher here did more than witness the execution, didn’t you, Asher?” Lord Giles asked. Asher looked too pained to respond, so he went on. “Asher was quite brave. After I plunged my sword through Lady Eleanora’s chest Asher here held me down and force-fed Eleanora’s blood to me.” The room was silent for a few moments after this proclamation. 

“He… he force-fed you blood?” King Noland clarified, a sickened expression on his face. 

“Yes, so the virus can live on in me. I, Lord Giles, am Lady Eleanora, as I was Lady Arabella before that, and Lady Margot before that, and a hundred others before that. I will be you, too, King Noland, by the time I leave this manor. Just because I prefer to live in the body of a woman does not mean I am unable to infect men.” 

“Does this mean it’s time to eat now, mama?” Asher asked, standing up, saliva dripping from his mouth freely as he looked around the room of assembled nobles. 

“Yes son, it’s finally time to eat. Just leave the one with the crown for me.”

“Yes mama,” Asher said, jumping on the nearest noble with his otherworldly strength, ripping his throat out with his teeth. 

The room was a chaotic mess of screaming and blood splatters as the assembled nobles trampled each other in an attempt to flee. They screamed for their servants to come die in their place but none came. It was a massacre unlike any Lord Giles had ever seen and he sat himself down in a plush velvet armchair to watch the chaos unfold. 

Some time later King Noland and Asher left the study, barring the door behind them. A few servants were huddled at the end of the corridor, having come when they heard the screaming but too afraid to enter the study themselves to see the cause. King Noland smiled when he saw them. 

“Inside the study you will see a gruesome scene and I will give you only this one command. Summon all the servants who live here and start a pyre in the meadow this manor was named for. Burn the bodies you find in the study and the manor is yours. It will forever belong to all the servants who reside here from now on.”

The servants blinked in silent shock but he was sure they had heard him. 

“Come now, Asher, we’re going home,” King Noland said, taking Asher by the hand and leading him back toward their carriage. 

“I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, Asher.”

Otherside

Toni Masselli1 Comment

“After school?” Stormy wrote out the note quickly on a scrap of paper and balled it up discreetly. After a brief glance up to make sure the coast was clear she hurled the ball of paper across her American history class with a practiced hand. It appeared at first like she would hit her mark so close. Oh no. 

The angle of the throw was a little too low, the ball bounced off her friend Willow’s shoulder and changed direction, landing on Mark’s desk. Mark was probably her least favorite person in the world. He was tall, beefy, and stupid. He had a wide, permanently wrinkled forehead, cropped brown hair, and a certain passion for picking fights with Stormy.

Mark grinned mischievously, holding up the ball of paper between two thick fingers and winked at Stormy. Stormy gritted her teeth. 

“Willow,” she hissed, pointing at her friend. “Give it to Willow.” 

Mark made a show of unballing the piece of paper. Stormy glared at him, she couldn’t stand him. He held out the note and read it, his eyebrows shooting up and his mouth forming a dramatic ‘o’. He balled the paper back up with a flourish and dropped it in the pocket of his letterman jacket. Stormy glared at him until the bell rang. 

“What are you two lesbians doing after school?” Mark sneered as soon as he could catch up with Stormy and Willow in the crowded hallway.

“None of your business, neanderthal,” Stormy growled. She balled up her fists, looking up to stare him in the eye. He laughed in her face.

“It’s weird how often you two are together, you’d think you would just make it official already.” Willow rolled her dark eyes, grabbing Stormy by the arm and steering her in the opposite direction. 

“Stop projecting on us,” Willow called over her shoulder, leaving Mark with a very confused expression as he tried to understand what that meant.

“He’s as stupid as he is mean,” Stormy sighed as they walked towards their next class together. The locker-lined corridors were crowded with other students who were heading to their next class, laughing and chatting amongst their friends. 

“You need to stop picking fights,” Willow said, crossing her arms. She gave Stormy a knowing look, her long sheet of dark hair framing her face. She raised an eyebrow. “You’re just as bad as he is. What was on the note?” Stormy smiled widely. 

“After school?” She asked hopefully. Willow frowned. 

“C’mon Stormy you know I don’t want to do that anymore.” Stormy pouted.

“Aww, Willow, don’t make me beg.” Willow just stared at her, looking unimpressed. 

“We were almost caught last time,” Willow argued. Stormy rolled her eyes.

“We’ll be more careful!” Stormy whined. “Besides, you want to do it too, I know you do.” Willow knew Stormy would keep nettling her until she agreed. They had been friends too long. It was easier to just give in. Besides, Stormy had a point. 

“Fine,” Willow relented. “But just one more time.” She had said that last time. And the time before that. Stormy’s face split into a grin, dimples forming on her cheeks.

It was hard for Stormy to focus on schoolwork for the rest of the day, now that she had something to look forward to. She wasn’t the only one having difficulties. Today being Friday coupled with the fact that tomorrow was Halloween meant attention spans were at an all time low.

They met at the usual place after school. Centennial Park was their chosen meeting place for two reasons. First, it was old as dirt and most of the play equipment was rusted beyond repair. A new park had opened on the other side of town years ago leaving Centennial to rot forgotten.

The second reason they met at Centennial was the thickly overgrown forest bordering the park. It was labeled as a ‘nature preserve’ but Stormy was pretty sure that was just an excuse for the city to not be responsible for the cost of landscaping. The few leaves that remained on the trees were various shades of deep red and yellow. 

There was a slight sloshing sound as wet leaves squashed under Stormy’s shoes. The grass and weeds here typically grew to about ankle height before anyone did anything about them. Stormy saw Willow standing alone among the clusters of small saplings at the edge of the treeline. She was only visible because the orange-and-black striped sweater she was wearing for Halloween clashed heavily with the monochromatic scenery.

“Here,” Stormy said holding out her hand, a black scrunchie dangling off her finger. Willow looked mildly surprised. She hadn’t seen that scrunchie in probably six months, since the last time.

“You kept that on you this whole time?” Willow asked, taking the scrunchie and tying up her long dark hair in a messy bun. Stormy shrugged. 

“I just remember your hair always got caught in the branches,” Stormy said dismissively. “I’ve kept the salt in my bag too, just in case.” 

“Great,” Willow said. They fell into a comfortable silence while trudging through the layers of decaying leaves and fallen branches that composed the forest floor. 

They walked until they were deep in the forest. The air was humid here even though it had been hours since the last rain. The damp, slightly musty scent of fallen leaves mixed with the earthy smell of wet tree trunks and moss. Birdsong rang out near and far, unseen frogs croaked, and insects buzzed. Willow threw out an arm, grabbing Stormy’s hand to stop her.

“Here,” Willow said, her palm sweaty in Stormy’s hand. Willow licked her dry lips. “I can feel it… The barrier is a bit thinner here.”

Stormy reached into her bag and pulled out the salt. It was just a generic iodized tabletop version from the grocery store, but Willow had assured her the brand didn’t matter. She poured the salt on the ground generously forming a wide circle. Stormy took a step back and watched as Willow knelt to the ground in the center of the circle and placed a hand on the damp earth. 

For a few moments, nothing happened. Suddenly, Willow threw her head back and groaned. Her face was pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. The ground below her appeared to ripple and swirl around her. The swirling inside the circle grew faster and faster until the leaves and branches on the ground were nothing but a black blur. 

A greyish shape began to emerge from the black void of spinning earth. At first, just the hunch of a back, then four short legs and a wagging tail. Finally, the little dog pulled its head out of the earth and shook, its ears flapping. It looked at Stormy and let out a distant, hollow bark. 

“Oh, Biscuit! I missed you!” Stormy cried out, dropping to her knees and reaching into the salt circle to pet her late dog. His fur felt strange on her hands, more solid than smoke but not by much. He felt cool and fluid, as if she were stroking water but her hands remained dry. 

“He couldn’t wait to surface,” Willow said. Her position was unchanged, she was still kneeling, a palm on the blackened ground. It almost looked as if she were hovering over a black hole.

“I’ve missed him so much, I can’t believe it’s been five years that he’s been gone. He still remembers me!” Biscuit was jumping around and yelping excitedly, scratching at the edges of the salt circle with his ghostly paws. 

“He spends a lot of time around you, I can feel him from time to time. Can you?” Willow asked. Stormy frowned. 

“No,” Stormy answered honestly. Willow had a special appreciation for these types of things. Stormy had been her best friend since they were six years old and had watched this strange ability develop over time. 

What the adults in their life credited as imaginary friends and an overactive imagination in Willow were actually spirits. Willow had a lot of trouble in the beginning sorting out who was real and who wasn’t. She relied on Stormy heavily in those younger years. As she aged she developed a better control over blocking out intrusive spirits and focusing on living people.

It was on her tenth birthday she discovered a new ability. She had always noticed some places the spirits were louder than others. These ‘thin’ areas were places where she could easily channel her energy and create a temporary opening to a different realm, a place she called the ‘Otherside’. She had done it the first time by accident during a sleepover and nearly scared Stormy to death.

“What does it feel like?” Stormy asked as birds and chipmunks erupted from the ground around Biscuit, their cries sounded like distant echoes in the forest. Willow considered her for a moment, wispy grey birds circling around her head, trapped by the salt. 

“When I feel that we’re in a thin spot it’s hard to ignore the spirits calling for me. They want me to create a hole. They can be very persuasive. Not making a hole is like ignoring an itch. It’s annoying but I can manage it. When I finally give in, like now, it’s just, I can’t describe it.” Stormy nodded and watched as a silvery fox and three plump rabbits emerged from the ground. 

“This is so amazing to watch,” Stormy sighed as Biscuit howled and started chasing the rabbits around the circle. Willow scrunched her eyebrows together, kneeling closer to the blackened ground. A hand emerged from the void.

“Time to close up, this spirit is fighting me too hard,” Willow breathed. “She’s persistent.” 

“Oh, it’s a woman?” Stormy asked calmly, surveying the hand that was now desperately clawing at the earth. It wasn’t uncommon for human spirits to try to emerge from the openings Willow created. Willow never allowed them to pass. She said humans got too strange once they crossed over. 

“Yes, and she’s very upset about something,” Willow said. A forearm emerged, and then the second hand. “Say goodbye to Biscuit, I’m going to release the connection.”

“Bye Biscuit,” Stormy said sadly, looking down at her late dog. The head of the woman emerged with a bit of torso. She opened her mouth and let out a far-away wail. 

“Mom?!” A male voice exclaimed. Thundering footsteps sounded, twigs breaking with every footfall. Stormy looked up in alarm to see Mark barreling out from behind a tree. 

“You were spying on us?” Stormy accused. Mark acted like he hadn’t heard her. He stopped outside the circle, staring at the woman’s form with wide eyes. His breath came out in shaky gasps.

“Mom,” Mark breathed, the word forming a fleeting mist in the cool fall air that was hardly more substantial than the spirit before him. He reached out a shaky hand, but Stormy stopped him. 

“That’s not your mom, Mark,” Willow said darkly. Mark wrenched his eyes from the spirit before him to glare at Willow. 

“I know my mom when I see her,” he sneered. He readdressed the spirit before them, who was clawing at the earth, her midsection still sunken into the ground. “Mom, what is this? I thought you were dead. I don’t care, you’re coming home, I missed you-” Mark tried to take a step inside the salt circle, but Stormy grabbed his arm. 

“No, Mark,” she exclaimed, digging her heels into the soft ground. “You can’t stand inside the circle! Close it, Willow!” 

“I’m trying,” Willow grunted, a look of incredible determination on her face. 

Sparks flew out from where Willow’s hand touched the ground. Biscuit vanished first, sucked into the dirt inside the circle as if it were a vacuum. Next, the chipmunk and birds. The woman was sucked back down to her shoulders. Mark realized what was happening and easily shoved Stormy aside, where she fell face-first into the dirt. 

Willow screamed, and Stormy looked up just in time to see Mark step into the circle and grab the woman’s hands. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the circle he took on the misty, semisolid appearance of the woman. Faster than she thought possible he was sucked down into the earth, firmly holding onto the woman’s hands as the connection broke. His body remained, laying on the ground next to Willow as if he were asleep. 

Stormy crawled over to Mark’s form and slapped his face a few times. “Wake up!” Stormy yelled. She grabbed his limp shoulders and shook him violently, his head hitting against the ground with a dull thud. 

“He won’t wake,” Willow said quietly. She crawled forward and put a shaky hand on Stormy’s shoulder. “His consciousness followed that spirit to the Otherside.”

“Is he gone forever?” Stormy asked. Willow was silent for a moment.

“I can still feel him, but he’s far away. He feels the same as any other spirit. He’s not here anymore.” 

“What are we going to do?” Stormy whispered. Willow shook her head.

“I don’t know. His body won’t survive long like this. This is all my fault. I.. I have to bring him back.” 

“How?” Stormy asked. 

“If I don’t stay grounded I’ll be sucked into the Otherside. That’s why I always have to keep a hand on the earth. I’ll just let myself fall in, find Mark, and come back.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Stormy protested.

“I can’t leave him to die. I won’t be responsible for his death.” 

“I’m coming with you,” Stormy said. 

“Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous. You will stay here, you will be safe in this forest until I come back.” Stormy pouted, but Willow shook her head. “This is serious, Stormy. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“Fine,” Stormy sighed, crossing her arms. She made a show of taking a few steps back from the circle. 

“Just watch after my body until I get back,” Willow said. Willow knelt and put her hand on the ground. 

Quicker than last time the ground began quavering and spinning. Willow felt the hole opening to the Otherside and heard the spirits calling for her louder than ever before. It’s like they knew she was about to join them.

 Willow drew her breath in and mentally prepared to lift her hand and allow herself to fall through. She was about to say a quick goodbye to Stormy when something collided with her. She opened her eyes in shock, catching a quick glimpse of Stormy before everything went black. 

Falling through the hole to the Otherside didn’t feel like what Stormy had imagined. She did not experience the traditional sensation of falling down until you hit solid ground which she had expected. It was more of a brisk pull sideways through icy water which never ended. She had braced herself for an impact which did not come.

Eventually Stormy relaxed and opened her eyes. Thick fog hung heavily in the air obscuring her vision past a few feet. She sat herself up slowly and tried to make sense of things. Her mind felt fuzzy and her thoughts were slow.

“Stormy?” Willow’s voice rang out, sounding like a distant echo. Stormy looked down to see Willow lying on the ground a few feet from her. When her eyes fell on Willow, Stormy let out a scream. 

An eerie, semi-luminescent glow seemed to overtake Willow’s features. It was hard to describe, but Willow didn’t look as solid as a person should look. If Stormy looked hard enough she could see the faint shadows of the ground through Willow’s torso. Stormy held out a hand and saw that her own fingers were emitting the same sort of glow. 

“What’s wrong with us?” Stormy asked, her own voice sounding hollow and far away in a way it never had before. 

“We’re spirits, Stormy,” Willow said, sitting herself up and looking around. The long, dark strands of hair that had escaped her bun floated up around her head as if she were under water. 

“Where are we?” Stormy asked, looking around the foggy landscape. 

“We’re in the Otherside,” Willow responded, slowly getting to her feet. “It looks about the same as I expected.” Stormy got up too, feeling cracked, dry dirt under her hands. 

“Where’s the forest?” Stormy asked, trying to see anything through the fog. “The ground is different.”

“Of course it’s different,” Willow sighed, grabbing her hand. “Stick with me, okay? I don’t want to lose you.” They began walking through the fog. 

“You’re not mad at me for following you?” Stormy asked hopefully. Willow spared her an annoyed glance.

“There’s no helping that now, we need to focus on finding Mark and getting back home.” A yelp sounded in the distance followed by the raucous footfalls of something running for them.  Stormy gasped, quickly turning her head to the sound.

Emerging from the fog was Biscuit, glowing and semitransluscent of course but very happy to see her nevertheless. Stormy instinctively held out her hands and Biscuit jumped into her arms. He felt cool to the touch but infinitely more solid than before. She felt every wiry hair as he nuzzled into her arms. 

“Oh Biscuit,” she sighed, resting her head against his. “I’m never leaving you again!” Willow frowned. 

“Don’t talk like that. Come on, we need to focus here.” Stormy sighed, holding Biscuit with one arm and taking Willow’s hand again. They walked for an indeterminate amount of time. The very concept of time seemed alien here in this strange, foggy world. Eventually they emerged from the fog onto a sandy shore. 

Stormy looked down in alarm, feeling her feet sink into the sand. When did the hard, dried earth become replaced with sand? She turned around and saw no fog, just sand as far as her eyes could see. 

Willow looked unsurprised by this change in scenery. She walked to the shoreline, the waves extending out and moving with the tide. She peered into the water before turning to Stormy.

“He’s down there,” Willow said calmly.

“How can you be sure?” Stormy asked, tilting her head to the side as she examined the water. 

“He feels different than everything else,” she paused for a moment. “Like us, he doesn’t belong here.” 

“Why are we on the beach?” Stormy asked. 

“Mark’s mom loved the ocean.” 

“I didn’t realize each spirit had their own area here.” Stormy said, watching a crab scuttle along the sand. “So a spirit can change this world to reflect their likes?”

“I’m not sure it’s a conscious decision the spirit makes,” Willow explained. “It has more to do with what the makeup is of their soul when they die, I think.” 

“Then what spirit lived in the space with all the fog?” Stormy asked. She hadn’t seen any spirits there, except for Biscuit of course. 

“No spirit resides there. It’s more like the foyer, I guess you could say, and each spirit has a room.” 

“How do you know all this?” 

“I don’t know,” Willow answered honestly, shaking her head. “Everything just makes sense to me here, more sense than it ever made back home. I can see with such clarity here.” 

“Well, I’m glad I’m with you,” Stormy finally said. “I feel like I would be wandering around that fog forever if I wasn’t with you.” 

“I think that’s the point of the fog, Stormy.” 

“So what’s next?” 

“We swim to the bottom, I suppose.” 

“How will we breathe?” Willow raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t need to breathe here, Stormy. You didn’t realize that?” Stormy stared at her with open amazement. Willow shook her head slowly, a smile on her lips. She jumped into the water without another word. 

“Hey! Willow!” Stormy yelled before jumping in after her. 

Although Stormy could see the clear water all around her she didn’t have the accompanying shock from jumping into water she was used to. Being submerged felt no different on her skin than standing on the beach. Biscuit didn’t mind it, either. He was as relaxed in her arm as he was before her jump. She followed Willow down, easily swimming with one arm.

Neither girl tired as they swam through the water in a span of time that could have as easily been an hour as a minute. Air bubbles and small fish passed them as they effortlessly cut through the water. An enormous boulder became visible, resting on the sandy floor and covered in green patches of moss and seaweed. 

The familiar, ghostly form of Mark’s mom became visible, standing next to a thick patch of seaweed. Her hair rippled and fanned out around her as she stood on the flat surface of the boulder. Her hair was fanning out so much, in fact, that it quickly became apparent something was trapped in it. 

Stormy, Willow, and Biscuit swam closer and could clearly see the long hair extending from the spirit’s head turned into thick tendrils of seaweed at her shoulders. The seaweed was wrapped up tightly around Mark’s form; only his head was still visible. 

“Mark!” Stormy yelled, easily landing on the surface of the boulder and taking a step towards him. Biscuit jumped out of her arms and crouched in front of her, emitting a distant growl at Mark’s mom. 

“Stormy!” Mark called, struggling against the seaweed that bound him. “What is going on?” He demanded. 

“We’re in the Otherside you dolt! We came here to save your ass!”

“I have no idea what that means!”

“The spirit world, Mark,” Willow replied, her echoing voice chiming in from just behind Stormy. “We don’t have a lot of time left, I can feel it.” She held out her hand as if to demonstrate her point, and Stormy noticed with a jolt of panic that Willow’s hand was almost completely translucent.

“I just wanted to see some hot lesbian action! I had no idea you guys were up to, up to,” he struggled as he fought to find the right word to fit their crime. “Necromancy!” He finally decided on, spitting out the last word like a swear. Willow flinched as if he had struck her.

A loud hiss sounded from Mark’s mom, making the girls jump back. She was staring at Stormy and Willow with clouded over eyes, sharp teeth jutting out of her mouth at odd angles. Stormy was reminded of an anglerfish with a shudder. She had been so absorbed in restraining Mark she hadn’t noticed their arrival until now. 

Mark let out a loud groan as a tendril of seaweed wrapped tightly around his mouth, effectively gagging him. 

“Friends of yours?” Mark’s mom said, her voice sounding undeniably sweet and human, probably similar to how it had sounded when she lived. Mark struggled harder against the seaweed binding him, grunting with the effort. “I’ll see if I can find room for them.”

Seaweed shot out in the direction of Stormy and Willow like a bullet. Willow grabbed Stormy and spun her around so Willow’s back was facing the seaweed. The seaweed stopped with a loud crack a few inches from Willow and bent as if it hit an invisible shield. Mark’s mom howled with pain. 

“It’s easy for me to manipulate this world,” Willow breathed, grabbing Stormy’s hand and running. The seaweed followed, the tips pointed like daggers and cutting through the water with incredible speed and agility.

Holding hands, the girls jumped over a piece of petrified driftwood that had settled on the surface of the boulder, the seaweed just inches behind them. The seaweed tendrils hit the wood and smashed it into dust just behind them. 

They were trying to get closer to Mark but the seaweed kept diverting them. Biscuit had understood what they were trying to do and stood by Mark, biting at the seaweed and pulling to try to free him. Mark’s mom was so engrossed in the chase she didn’t even notice. 

Stormy’s foot slipped over a patch of moss and she went down, a look of terror on her face. Willow screamed, holding out her hand to try to shield her. She was too slow in forming her shield. Every tendril of seaweed was stopped except for one which pierced clear through Willow’s outstretched hand, cutting through the flesh as easily as butter. Black blood leaked out of the wound and spattered the ground.

The smell of blood seemed to drive Mark’s mom over the edge. She let out a guttural wail, holding her head in her hands, driven completely mad by the scent. Mark had freed a leg and an arm and was frantically grabbing at the pieces of seaweed that still bound him, trying to pull himself free with a renewed desperation. 

Willow pulled Stormy up and they ran for it. A trail of blood splatters were left behind them from Willow’s injured hand. The tendrils of seaweed clung to the ground, absorbing the blood. As they drank the blood the seaweed seemed to swell, becoming larger and stronger. 

Mark’s mom clawed at her face in ecstasy, shrieking as she received her first taste of blood, completely beside herself. She was looking more monstrous by the second. Her skin had started to take on a scaly, shiny appearance and gills were visible on her neck. 

Stormy and Willow arrived to Mark just as Biscuit pulled the last piece of seaweed off of him. Biscuit ran and jumped into Stormy’s awaiting arms, licking her face. Willow wasted no time, throwing her arms over Mark and Stormy and everything went black.

Instead of a sideways pull through icy water Stormy experienced what could only be described as what it must feel like to be sucked up and pushed out of a hairdryer. Everything was so loud and hot and dry, air rushed past them at a deafening volume. 

The wind was knocked out of her as her spirit reentered her body. Stormy breathed in a shaky breath, her lungs sore from lack of use. She felt Willow’s warm body under her but wasn’t ready to move yet. She kept her eyes shut tight and listened. She heard nothing but the sounds of the forest for a few moments until Mark interrupted her serenity with a string of curses. 

Stormy got up slowly, her body aching. Mark laid in the salt circle in the same position Stormy had left him in. His eyes were open but he seemed too terrified to move. Willow grunted and stirred, sitting up as well. Mark remained unmoving, his eyes wide.

Stormy looked to Willow, concern in her eyes. Willow shook her head. “Give him a minute,” she whispered.

“My dead mom just tried to eat me,” Mark finally said, his tone defeated. 

“Mark,” Willow said, not unkindly. “Human spirits warp and grow strange on the Otherside. I don’t understand why, but it’s not your fault.” 

“My dead mom just tried to eat me,” Mark repeated, staring at the sky. Willow sighed.

“He might take some time,” she said to Stormy. She was going to say something else but her voice died in her throat when she noticed the way Stormy was looking at her. Stormy was staring at her with such intensity she felt like a flower wilting in the sun. 

“You saved me,” Stormy breathed, the full extent of their adventures on the Otherside returning to her. “You were brilliant.” 

Willow flushed, at a loss for what to say. She didn’t get a chance to articulate her thoughts because the next thing she knew Stormy had thrown herself against her, their lips glued together. Stormy felt like fire as she wrapped her arms around her, kissing her with such intensity that for a moment nothing else existed in the world apart from them. 

They separated and Stormy gazed at her with wide eyes, as if she had surprised even herself. Willow smiled and kissed her again quickly. Stormy beamed at her. 

“That helps, thanks,” Mark said, his head had lifted off the ground a fraction of an inch to watch Stormy and Willow’s exchange. He sighed, letting his head fall back on the ground with a dull thud. “I’m still in moral distress over here though. My dead mom just tried to eat me.”

Stormy and Willow looked at each other and couldn’t help but bust out in laughter. A small yelp sounded, catching their attention. Stormy gasped as she realized Biscuit had been laying next to them, fast asleep this whole time. 

He was not the ghostly, glowing form she had carried around the Otherside but Biscuit as she remembered him, wiry fur, wet nose, and a beating heart. He jumped into Stormy’s arms and licked her, his tongue warm and wet and undeniably alive. She looked to Willow with wide eyes, who was looking back at her with a similar shocked expression. 

“How?” Stormy whispered, clutching Biscuit close to her chest. Willow shook her head, staring at her hands in confusion.

“I have no idea, Stormy,” Willow said in disbelief. “I must have dragged him back from the Otherside with us without realizing it. I… I didn’t know I could do that.” 

“I was holding him when you pulled us back,” Stormy said, trying to remember exactly what had happened. She noticed that even though it was just moments before she already had trouble recalling the details of their adventure. Everything was very blurry in her mind. 

“He’s certainly alive and whole,” Willow said, brushing her hand down his back. Biscuit barked happily, lifting a leg to scratch behind his ear. Stormy smiled at Willow.

“Thank you, Willow,” Stormy said, placing Biscuit on the ground to stretch his legs. Willow smiled shyly back. 

“It wont reverse my trauma, but another kiss would probably help ease my pain,” Mark said, lifting his head off the ground to watch Stormy and Willow. “My dead mom just tried to eat me,” he repeated. They laughed.

“Screw you, Mark,” Stormy said, standing up and offering her hand to Willow who accepted it. “Let’s go home.” 

“I’d like that,” Willow said, Biscuit right at their heels. 

  1. THIS IS INSANE! What a twist! (no pun intended) I’m blown away. Great job!

  2. I enjoyed your story, You are very creative and amusing. Keep up the good work.

  3. This one is my favorite so far! Really cool story

Princess Magdalena

Toni MasselliLeave a comment

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Magdalena was born to be a princess. The only child of King Edmund, she was doted on and beloved by the entire Kingdom of Nishelle. She was dubbed “The Finest Jewel of the Castle” by the common people. Her laughter filled the corridors and the palace servants fought each other for glimpses of her as she passed by with her guards. 

Magdalena knew nothing but girlish games and the comforts of royal living. She filled her earliest days running through the inner gardens of the palace and dancing. Her hair shined golden in the sun and fell in natural curls around her pretty round face. She wore the most magnificent dresses handsewn for her from the most accomplished tailors with the finest materials. 

As she grew she began her princess classes at five years old, as was custom. She learned about flower arrangement, etiquette, formal dance, fine art, and, most importantly, how to squash unprincesslike thoughts and ideas out of her head. Her tutors endlessly praised her and she seemed to naturally excel at anything she set her mind to. 

Princess Magdalena aged beautifully and by the time her sixteenth birthday neared there was no arguing who was the finest lady in all of Nishelle. Magdalena loved her station in life and valued her royal responsibilities above all else. She left no room in her mind for anything else. She would do anything for her kingdom.

King Edmund had grand plans for Magdalena’s sixteenth birthday. It was tradition for a princess to become betrothed on this day to strengthen their kingdom by joining it with another. King Edmund knew his daughter was special, so special that she deserved an engagement that would shock the land. He wanted to give Magdalena something every noblewoman would envy. She deserved something that bards far and wide would sing of for ages to come.

That’s how Magdalena found herself here, sitting in the grand conference chamber with her father and the Witch.

“It’s all very simple on your part, Magdalena,” King Edmund stated, his voice echoing in the stone chamber.

“Yes, dear,” the Witch’s voice was raspy, and she found the wavering pitch unpleasant. 

The Witch was a shriveled shell of a human with wispy grey hair and a long, hooked nose. The iron collar gleamed at her throat in the lantern light. The Witch reached into a woven basket that sat on the table before her and pulled out a corked bottle. Black fluid sloshed and bubbled gently inside the thick glass. Magdalena eyed the bottle warily. 

“So, I just drink that,” Magdalena said slowly, keeping her eyes on the bottle. “And when I wake, I’ll have my prince?” 

“This potion is specially brewed to keep you asleep until a worthy prince enters the bedchamber, or a thousand years pass. Whichever comes first, dear,” the Witch let out a hollow bark that she could only assume was supposed to be a laugh. The sound sent a cold chill down her spine.

“It will all be very safe for you, of course,” King Edmund reassured her. “I have furnished the Hidden Tower with every comfort you could ever desire. The prince who wins our grand tournament will be given your location. The Hidden Tower and all its contents will become your dowry.”

“But, the dragon,” Magdalena began before her father interrupted her.

“Yes, yes, the dragon!” King Edmund’s dark eyes were twinkling with delight. “The very best part. I thought up that bit myself. As a final act of valor your prince will have to slay the dragon that will awaken with you and attempt to protect you. As the beast will be fed the same potion as you, you will be tied to the same strands of magic that will break together. This will be quite the show!”

Princess Magdalena nodded. She understood that her duty as a princess took precedence over any misgivings she had about magic. The Witch nodded eagerly and gave a gap-toothed grin. It took several years of training in etiquette for Magdalena to not recoil in disgust. 

The Witch had been owned by her family for several generations. Owning a witch was a sign of a prosperous kingdom, everybody knew that. However, Magdalena had never been this close to her before. It was unsettling to say the least. 

By the next sunrise banners had been strewn all across Nishelle and the neighboring kingdoms. The only topic was of the grand tournament to win the hand of the fairest princess the world had ever known. The streets and markets filled with the buzz of the commoners’ excitement. Far and wide princes of kingdoms both well known and forgotten sharpened their swords and packed their bags for the journey to Nishelle. 

Time seemed to move in a strange fashion for Magdalena. An afternoon could take what felt like a century to creep by followed by a week that would shoot past in a blur. Before she knew it she was standing in a room that was as strange to her as it was familiar. 

Magdalena looked around the bedchamber of the Hidden Tower. Her father had been right, she would want for nothing here. No expense had been spared in the room’s furnishing.

A fire crackled merrily in the hearth of a stone fireplace adorned with expertly carved cherubs so lifelike that they appeared to have a flush to their cheeks. Intricate woven rugs covered the polished floor. She felt their softness under her bare feet as she walked to the bed.

The four-poster bed stood at the center of the room. The posts were made of a deep mahogany and shined with oil. A delicate canopy was draped over the top of the posts. She ran a hand over the furs and luxury linens that covered the featherbed.

“Magdalena, I am so happy,” her father said. “Any woman in the land would kill to trade places with you on this day. After years of decline, Nishelle is finally on the world’s stage, and they are all fighting over you. You are the perfect daughter.”

“Thank you, father,” Magdalena said with a rehearsed smile. She easily locked away any negative feelings she had about the situation, fighting to keep a princess state of mind. 

“Before I forget,” King Edmund said jovially, reaching into his pocket. He was ecstatic, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he walked through the chamber. He pulled out the corked bottle given to him by the Witch. The black fluid sloshed about and bubbled freely as he handed it to Magdalena. The bottle felt strangely warm in her hand, as if the fluid had just been taken off the fire and corked before it had time to cool. 

“Thank you, father,” Magdalena repeated, tightening her hand on the bottle. Her father continued to bounce about the room, admiring the furnishings and rambling on about the economy and the grand tournament he had planned around her. She switched which hand was holding the bottle, it had grown uncomfortably hot the longer she held it.

“I really must be off,” her father stated, glancing out of the lone window. “As soon as I leave I’d like you to don the finest gown in the wardrobe and get in the bed. Try to down the potion in a single gulp, I can’t imagine it tastes pleasant. You won’t be asleep longer than three days. We’ve already transported the dragon through the antechamber and into the great hall. The beast hardly had time to blink after the potion touched its lips, it dropped to the ground almost instantly.” 

The door clicked faintly as he left the bedchamber on that note. Magdalena cringed at the thought of what the potion did to the dragon. She threw the hot bottle onto the nightstand without looking at it.

She took as long as physically possible to look through the extensive wardrobe. She finally picked an elaborate gown of pale pink silk. She sat in the bed and took time examining the wrought iron candelabra on her nightstand. Elegant designs were etched into the iron, small and delicate swirls flowing freely down the sides before pooling at the bottom.

The sound of cannonfire in the distance broke her attention. The tournament must be beginning soon. She stood up and walked to the window, deciding to take a final glance out before her forced sleep. 

The Hidden Tower was located deep in the heart of the Maucove Forest, which lies to the north of Nishelle. Pathways of hardened earth led from the drawbridge entrance to disappear throughout the ancient trees. She looked at the canopy over the forest wondering where exactly her father and his escort were on the path back to the castle.

She could see the stone turrets of her previous home poking out over the treetops. A tendril of grey smoke drifted into the clouds coming from what had to have been the palace courtyard. A soft rattling sounded from behind her. She pulled her eyes away from the window and looked to the wooden door. 

The rattling grew louder, but the door did not move. The bottle on the nightstand caught her eye. The black fluid was bubbling with more force than before causing it to vibrate on the nightstand. She walked across the room and sat on the bed, keeping her eye on the bottle as she moved. 

The bubbling had rapidly increased causing the bottle to start moving across the nightstand, the rattling growing all the louder as it echoed off the stone walls of the bedchamber. She wondered faintly if the potion had an expiry date the Witch should have informed them of. The bottle was now bubbling so rapidly that it was freely moving in small circles. The wax around the cork started to melt away and drip down the sides. 

She held a hand out just in time to catch the bottle as it fell off the edge of the nightstand. The moment the glass hit her hand the cork flew out and bounced about the room before rolling into a distant corner. At once the bubbling ceased. Her mind finally registered the pain of the hot glass searing her hand and she almost lost her grip on it. 

Without fully thinking about what she was doing she brought the bottle to her lips and drank the potion down in a single gulp. A fleeting thought about how odd it was that the potion tasted so cool in her mouth yet so hot on her hand barely formed in her mind before she was plunged into blackness. 

 

***

 

Magdalena’s eyes flew open and she gasped for air. Her heart pounded in her ears as she looked around the dark room. She tried to quickly sit up but was unable. She furrowed her brow and began to panic slightly. If she was able she would have thrashed around in the bed, but she was so stiff she could only produce a slight wiggling in her fingers. 

She laid there for an indeterminate amount of time as she tried to regain her movement. She didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she was incredibly sore and could hardly move. She couldn’t remember where she was or how she got there. 

A loud sound echoed throughout the chamber as someone knocked on the door. Her eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness by now. Thin slivers of moonlight shone from a window in the corner. She watched small particles of dust suspended in the air come in and out of view as they danced around in the light. 

Another knock sounded as she was able to weakly pull herself up. She felt incredibly lightheaded and her mind was slow. It was hard to focus on anything. Glass shattered on the stone floor as a bottle fell off the bed. She looked down at the broken shards curiously as they glinted in the moonlight. 

She remembered… A potion. She took a sleeping potion… Given to her by the Witch… Three days. Right. She was supposed to be asleep for three days. A loud bang sounded from the door. Someone was trying to get into the room. Her prince? She put her hand on the nightstand to help herself up but pulled it away quickly.

A layer of dust had collected on the top of the wood almost an inch thick. She looked at her grey fingertips in confusion. Dust? The light momentarily reflected off of a shiny burn on her palm she didn’t remember. Her mind was still sluggish. She grabbed the post of her bed for support instead. The wood was splintered and cracked, rough against her skin.

As she stood on shaky legs the bed creaked loudly in protest. She pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and felt around in the darkness for matches to light the candelabra. She quickly found what she was looking for and eventually lit the match after several attempts. She lit the four candlesticks and the room was bathed in a warm yellow glow.

The bedchamber that had previously taken her breath away with its finery looked nothing like how she remembered it. The furnishings were filthy and in different stages of rotten decay. The lifelike cherubs that had decorated the fireplace were crumbling unrecognizable masses. The fine rugs were moldy lumps on the floor. The delicate canopy that had been draped over the four posts of her bed was moth eaten. Another bang sounded.

She looked to the door. Several cracks had formed from what looked like a bad case of dry rot. The door looked liable to fall apart at any moment, especially with someone pounding on it like that. How long had they been knocking?

She took the heavy, tarnished candelabra into her hand and walked towards the door. Her first few steps were difficult but it became easier as she moved more. Flecks of splintered wood and dust flew from the door with every loud knock. How long had she been asleep?

She reached for the decorative handle on the door and gave it a pull. The door let out a loud creek as it swung open on rusted hinges. As the candlelight bathed the figure on the other side of the door Magdalena let out a scream. 

The person, she at least thought it was a person, on the other side of the door was hideous. Grey skin filled with oozing holes and scabs was stretched over a gaunt face. The person’s nose was missing, leaving just an open hole divided by cartilage and worms in the middle of their face. 

Rotten patches of stringy hair grew on the person’s head in dirty clumps. Their eyes were clouded over. Magdalena could see her own reflection in their milky white depths, frozen in horror and disgust. Her trance was broken by the person letting out a deep moan and reaching out a battered hand as if to knock upon the door again. The person hadn’t even realized she had opened it. 

Magdalena’s grip tightened upon the candelabra and she swung it with all her might. A crack echoed as it hit the monstrous person’s head, knocking them to the floor. They laid there splayed out and unmoving, semisolid grey brains leaking out of the split in their head. She took a few quick steps back, examining the remains of the clothing the person had been wearing.

She immediately noticed the crest. Sewn onto the top right of the remains of their shirt was the unmistakable crest from a neighboring kingdom, two crossed swords over a field of grain. She would have recognized it anywhere, she had grown up seeing the symbol. Upon further inspection the person was barely identifiable as male.

“How long was I asleep?” she verbalized, her voice cracking and dry. She looked down in disgust at the occasionally twitching form on the ground. A pool of blood as black as ink had formed around his grotesque head and continued to grow.

She caught a glimpse of a dingy mirror hanging on the wall and ran to it, panic stricken at the thought of looking like that man. The mirror was so filthy that it wasn’t reflecting anything at the moment. She found the remains of the wardrobe, the doors had rotten off long ago, and grabbed the least disintegrated dress. 

She brought the dress to the mirror and scrubbed as vigorously as her stiff arms would allow. She looked just as she had remembered herself, even her fine silk gown appeared untouched. She traced the outline of her nose with a sigh of relief. At least there was that. She looked around the ruined room.

Her mind still seemed to be running slow. She didn’t understand what had gone wrong. She would have been terrified if she wasn’t so sluggish and confused. Could she be dreaming? She considered this as a possibility.

She wanted to sit down and regroup but she didn’t feel safe here. She eyed the disgusting man on the ground warily. She had to make it back to the castle. Her father would know what to do. She tightened her grip on the candelabra and headed to the door.

She kept her eye on the man who laid splayed out by the doorway. He occasionally let out a little jerk, but did not rise. Her lip curled in disgust as she carefully passed him on tiptoes. He smelled like rotten eggs. 

She tried to shut the door but his legs were in the way. She gave him a few sharp kicks, a dull thud sounding with each impact of her foot. She continued until he was through the threshold and she slammed the door. The door rattled dangerously on its hinges but did not collapse. She shook her head, trying to force the unpleasant thought out of her mind. 

The corridors of the Hidden Tower were as filthy as the bedchamber. She had to duck occasionally so as to not walk directly into the low-hanging cobwebs. She found the circular stone steps and hurried down them as safely as she could. She just wanted to get back to the castle so she could escape this nightmare. 

She slipped on a thick collection of dust midway down and fell on her bottom. She tumbled down the rest of the flight and skidded on the marble floor of the great hall. She came to a halt by bumping into something large and warm. She couldn’t find her candelabra anywhere, she had dropped it while falling down the steps. 

The great hall was an enormous circular room that composed almost the entirety of the ground floor of the Hidden Tower. Magdalena tried to get her bearings about which direction was which. The great hall wasn’t as dark as her bedchamber had been, but her head was spinning from her tumble. There were several windows high up on the walls filtering in enough moonlight to cast the room in shadows.

She could faintly see the silhouette of what she knew was the throne her father sat in on his rare visits to this tower. She turned her head to look for the entrance and came face to face with an enormous, flaming red eye. 

She froze in fear as the eye blinked, the vertical pupil constricting until it was a black slit. She stared into the fiery depths of the eye, unable to move. It was like looking at molten lava, the eye seemed to emit a heat all of its own. Flecks of gold and silver were peppered throughout the iris. If she wasn’t scared for her life maybe she would have appreciated how truly pretty the sight was. 

There were only two things that Magdalena knew at that moment. The thoughts kept replaying over and over again in her head in that second that seemed to last a century. First, that this was a dragon’s eye, and second, that she was dead. 

She was stirred into movement when the dragon attempted to lift its head, the rough scales rubbing against her shoulder. Like an electric spark went through her body she regained movement and was able to crawl back a few feet. Her mind couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. She had bumped into the dragon when she fell down the steps and hadn’t even realized she had been resting against it.

The only reason she wasn’t already dead was because she must have stunned the poor creature by waking it up in such a rude manner. The long neck rose and rose as the dragon stretched out after its long slumber. She couldn’t believe how massive this beast was. 

The dragon opened its great mouth towards the stone ceiling, gearing up for swallowing her whole she figured, and she saw deadly sharp fangs reflecting the moonlight. She attempted to pull herself up but she was shaking so violently that her body seemed unable to perform such a coordinated task. She settled for closing her eyes tightly and holding her breath, waiting for the strike to come.

It never came. She eventually had to breathe, and when she did she cracked her eyes open a quarter of the way, wondering what was taking the dragon so long. She saw the molten eye again, this time two of them. The dragon had bent its neck to look at her up close and center. The pupils were no longer constricted but dilated so much so that most of the eye was taken up by blackness. 

A puff of grey smoke plumed from the dragon’s nostrils and it nudged her gently on the chest. She was still frozen in shock and covered in a cold sweat. Her brain tried to tell her body to get up and run but there was some sort of disconnect. The dragon nudged again, almost knocking her on her back with the force. 

It raised its head to look her in the eye. The dragon’s eyes were such a beautiful blood red, and they seemed to have so much soul beneath the surface. She hadn’t fully appreciated that in her fear. She slowly raised a shaky hand and brushed it against the dragon’s head. The rough scales were warm to the touch, and the dragon leaned into her hand.

“You are probably pretty confused, huh?” Magdalena wasn’t sure what made her speak. The dragon blinked again, staring at her in such a way that she couldn’t help but feel like it understood what she was saying. “I’m very sorry I woke you up like that.”

After staring into those deep crimson eyes Magdalena knew she was no longer in danger. She stood up slowly and began to carefully pace around the room, feeling out with her arms so she didn’t bump into anything. The dragon watched her closely. 

Without warning, the dragon opened its great mouth again and shot a jet of flames towards her father’s throne. Magdalena yelped in alarm and jumped back. The old, splintered wood immediately kindled, bathing the room in a yellow glow. She looked up at the dragon, who was looking down at her curiously.

“Warn me next time you do that,” she breathed, her heart still pounding violently in her chest. The dragon blinked, never taking its eyes off her. “But, thank you, nevertheless, that is what I needed. You are a very courteous, wise dragon now, aren’t you?” The dragon tilted its head to the side, considering her intently.

Thank you, a voice seemed to say inside her head. She blinked in surprise, staring at the dragon with wide eyes. 

“Was that you?” Magdalena gasped at the dragon, her voice echoing around the hall.

There’s nobody else here, now is there?, the voice inside her head questioned. Magdalena frowned, looking around.

“I sure hope not,” she said, remembering the disgusting, rotten man outside the bedchamber with a shudder. The dragon snarled, white fangs glinting in the firelight. 

I will tear that filth to shreds, the voice in her head growled.

“No need, I bashed him with a candelabra and shut him in the bedchamber,” Magdalena said in a soothing voice. The dragon stared at her a moment before responding.

A good choice, the voice said. Magdalena smiled despite herself. 

“I never knew dragons could speak the human tongue,” she said. 

I never knew a dragon that wished to speak to a human, the voice replied. 

“That’s fair,” she said before growing quiet. She looked around the decaying hall, seeing the same signs of former grandeur that her bedchamber showed. “I don’t understand what went wrong.”

If it had gone right, that rotten man would have slayed me, they had drugged me to make it easier for him, the voice in her mind said. She felt a pang of guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” she quickly apologized before gagging. “That man was my prince?” The dragon nodded, and she shuddered. “Don’t worry, if anyone tries to slay you they will have to first get through me.” She found her lost candelabra on the dirty floor and wielded it menacingly. 

Formidable, the voice said. I had best stick with you, for safety.

“Of course,” Magdalena said. “We need to get back to the castle, I’m sure my father will be able to explain everything.” The dragon looked unsure, but did not respond.

Magdalena headed towards the antechamber and located the heavy oak front doors, the dragon’s thundering footsteps close behind her. She lifted the iron latch and pushed at the doors, but they wouldn’t open. The hinges were so rusted they wouldn’t budge. 

She raised her candelabra, ready to give the doors a few cracks but the dragon stopped her. It nudged her back to safety before turning around and whipping the doors with its thick, barbed tail. A crash boomed and the doors were easily blown away. 

“What?” Magdalena breathed, looking outside.

 What she remembered as the lush, Maucove Forest was covered in sand. A harsh breeze swept through the landscape, sweeping up and tumbling the grains. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon, bathing the sandy world in the grey before dawn. 

The stone steps she remembered were completely covered in sand. She stepped out of the threshold and felt her feet sink slightly. This was all wrong. She looked to the dragon, who’s jet black scales she could fully appreciate now that they were out in the open. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, motioning to the desert surrounding them. “Did the Hidden Tower move while we were asleep?”

I don’t think so, the dragon responded inside her head. There was nothing but sand for as far as she could see. The desert spanned across what had to be miles. The dragon pointed its nose to the south, and Magdalena followed its gaze.

It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. The castle, her home, she could just see it in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat. She had to get back there.

It could be dangerous, the dragon said in her mind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Magdalena replied with a smile. “I don’t know what else to do. I need to talk with my father.”

It will be faster if we fly, the dragon said after a few moments of silence. 

The dragon kneeled on its front legs and extended out its tail. Magdalena clambered up the tail awkwardly, careful to avoid the sharp barbs at the tip. She found there was a convenient place for her at the base of the dragon’s neck. She hooked her legs in front of the wing joints and wrapped her arms around the dragon’s thick, scaly neck. 

Her arms didn’t even wrap the whole way around. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she had expected it to be. The hardest part was trying to find a good grip. Eventually she settled for resting her candelabra on her lap sideways and pinning it to the dragon’s neck with her body. She held on as tightly as she could with her arms and legs and the dragon extended its wings to their full span. 

There was a gush of air and sand as the dragon brought down its wings and she screwed her eyes shut. She coughed and gagged on the abrasive grains but did not loosen her grip. Air swooshed past her from every corner as they lifted up into the sky. She did not open her eyes or dare to breathe until they were several yards off the ground. 

She opened her eyes when the air became cool and crisp. The air rushing past her face made them water but she forced them to stay open. She could see with amazing clarity the castle of Nishelle growing closer and closer. 

The horizon was beginning to turn rich shades of pink and red as the sun rose. The beauty of the sunrise seemed to increase by tenfold as she was closer to it than ever before. They flew directly over the drawbridge and stone turrets, landing smoothly in the palace courtyard by unspoken consent. 

The courtyard was similarly filled with sand. Magdalena carefully climbed off the dragon’s back and dusted herself off. There were no signs of life in the courtyard. She found the doors leading into the main castle and went to head towards them when the dragon stopped her.

Princess, the dragon’s voice spoke slowly and carefully. I want you to prepare yourself for what you might find in your old home. Things have changed while we were in our enchanted sleep. Magdalena gave the dragon a sad smile.

“Dragon, you have been so kind to me,” she said, reaching out a hand and rubbing the inky black scales. “I can face whatever it is I find inside that castle as long as I know I have you waiting for my return.” The dragon lowered its head and Magdalena gently placed a kiss upon its scaly head.

She headed to the main doors, still clutching her candelabra. If not for all the sand, the courtyard looked exactly as she had remembered it. The doors were not rotten and cracked with age as at the Hidden Tower. They appeared as well cared for and polished as she remembered them. They swung open easily and silently at her touch.

She walked into the castle alone. The furnishings were untouched by age. Everything looked exactly as she had remembered it except for the silence. The castle had always been filled with people. Despite obvious signs of life such as all the lanterns being lit, she did not spot another soul as she traveled down the corridors.

Magdalena felt an otherworldly pull towards the throne room. She couldn’t explain why she felt this way, she just felt like she was expected to be there. She licked her dry lips, her footsteps echoing in the empty halls as she approached the ornate red doors leading to her father’s throne. 

She reached out a hand but the doors swung open of their own accord before she could touch them. The throne room was a massive hall composed of an empty stage floor and concrete steps leading up to her father’s throne. 

King Edmund was to be the only one seated in this room, his guards and whomever traveled to meet him here were expected to stand in respect. However, King Edmund was not sitting on his throne. The throne was occupied by a young woman that Magdalena had never seen before. 

The woman looked bored, sitting there with one leg crossed over the other, her foot bobbing in the air. She had an elbow resting on the armrest, her pale face in her hand. She wore a blood red dress. Thick black hair was tied in a long braid that traveled over her shoulder and rested on her lap. Bangs were cut in a straight line over her bold, black eyebrows which had risen in shock.

“Oh, this is a surprise,” the woman said, ruby red lips curling into a smile. Magdalena noticed an iron collar at her throat as the woman sat up. “Look who finally woke up. I’ve only been waiting here for a few hundred years.” Hundreds of years? So that means her father must be… dead…

Witch, the dragon snarled in Magdalena’s mind, pulling her away from dark thoughts. Careful…

“Witch?” Magdalena asked, remembering the crone who had given her father the potion. 

“Present,” the Witch responded, running a delicate hand over her collar. “How did you know?” 

“I…. It doesn’t matter,” Magdalena stammered, thrown off by the Witch’s altered appearance. “Why do you look so different?”

“I can look however I want,” the Witch responded, her voice as smooth as silk. Her dark eyes glanced over Magdalena in a disinterested sort of way.

“Then why would you choose the form of a crone?” Magdalena asked. The Witch gave her collar a few taps with her finger.

“It’s safer for a slave to be unseemly,” she said, keeping her tone neutral but Magdalena felt the thinly veiled anger beneath her words. “I’m bound to serve the royal family in any way they desire.” Magdalena ignored the uncomfortable implications of the Witch’s words.

“How did my ancestors come to own you, anyways?” Magdalena asked. The Witch openly scowled.

“A punishment,” the Witch said vaguely, waving a hand in the air. “Banishment and enslavement.” 

“Seems harsh,” Magdalena replied before fully considering the Witch’s words. “Wait, how could you be banished? You lived in the castle. When we banish people from Nishelle they have to cross the Maucove Forest.” The Witch smiled, the gesture not reaching her eyes.

“Stupid little girl, do you really think you know the world? The whole world, apart from where you horrible, insignificant humans dwell?” Her voice had turned cruel. The collar at her throat glowed cherry red, searing her skin. Magdalena smelled the sickening smell of burning flesh. The Witch paused a moment, grimacing. “I’m not to speak my mind to a member of the royal family.”

“But you’re allowed to tamper with a sleeping potion?” Magdalena asked. The Witch frowned.

“I gave your father exactly what he asked for. His wording was… vague enough that I had some room to breathe in my interpretation.” 

“You knew what you were doing,” Magdalena accused. “You ensured I would never awaken. You took everything from me, Witch.”

“I may be the villain in your story but I was the hero in my own. Taking you out of the picture was the only way I could free myself,” the Witch’s voice was scathing with anger, as red hot as the collar sizzling and burning itself into her throat again.

“You could have killed me, and stop burning her!” Magdalena yelled at the collar which immediately cooled to its usual grey.

“Don’t be dramatic, little girl. I would have killed you if I could. All I could do was lengthen the time you slept.” 

“Why would you do that? You must surely have been punished?”

“Your father burned me for it,” the Witch said dully. 

“Then why aren’t you dead?” Magdalena asked, taken aback.

“Why indeed. I was ashes on the wind, for awhile. The ashes slowly collected over time, building back together piece by piece until one day I was whole. Trapped in his accursed, forgotten castle. Alone. Waiting for the last member of the royal family to wake up. I thought I was freeing myself, instead I only added countless years to my sentence.”

“Waiting for me?” 

“I am bound to serve the royal family.”  Magdalena thought about this a moment. 

“You’ll do whatever I ask?”

“Gladly,” the Witch said in a hollow voice. “What shall it be, Princess? A spell to restore your prince? A potion to rewind the days? A hex upon mineself for my insolence? Make it good, please, I’ve been awaiting your return such a very long time, dear.”

“Can I demand you take off that collar and leave this castle?” The Witch took a moment to respond.

“Don’t be cruel,” she said slowly, staring down Magdalena with those dark, soulless eyes. 

“Take that collar off and leave this castle!” Magdalena demanded. 

The Witch’s collar dissolved and blew away like dust on the wind. An invisible force swept through the castle, knocking the wind out of Magdalena as her and the Witch were pushed out of the castle. Magdalena fell on her bottom in the sand, but the Witch stood her ground, her hand on her throat. 

“Why would you do that?” the Witch asked, staring wide-eyed at Magdalena as if she had only just noticed her. “Why would you free me?”

Magdalena smiled, seeing the dragon flying overhead, tucking its wings in to land next to her. “Because you freed me, too.” The Witch considered her for a moment.

“I could teach you, you know. Witchcraft is a craft like anything else, it can be learned, if you want,” the Witch said. “I can show you the world, the real world, if you so desire.”

She emphasized her point by producing a glittering green emerald from nothing with a wave of her hand. She brought the emerald to her red lips and blew on it, morphing it into a crystal, acid-green scorpion that crawled up her arm and rested on her shoulder.

“No thanks,” Magdalena said, crawling up the dragon’s tail and hooking her legs over the wing joints. “We think we’ll carve our own way from now on.” The dragon brought down its mighty wings and she clutched its neck tightly. She looked down for a last glance at the Witch, but she was gone. They rose high in the air and flew far away from Nishelle, they were off to find their own way in the world.

  1. THIS IS INSANE! What a twist! (no pun intended) I’m blown away. Great job!

  2. I enjoyed your story, You are very creative and amusing. Keep up the good work.

  3. This one is my favorite so far! Really cool story

David

Toni MasselliLeave a comment

 

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Groaning, she opened her eyes. Rain was clinking rhythmically on the windowpane. She tried to make out her surroundings, her vision blurred from sleep. The moon had cast a silvery sheen over her bedroom giving the small space an ethereal air. Reaching over blindly, she knocked at least three water bottles off her crowded nightstand while grasping for her phone. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the bright light of the screen.

“You have a match!”, the notification read. Groggily, she opened the dating app, Zink, squinting in the light. She had downloaded the app on impulse a few months ago after seeing an advertisement and quickly became hooked. She often found herself absentmindedly scrolling through the endless stream of profiles for hours. 

The app took information you imputed during sign up and automatically assigned you matches based on an algorithm. While you were able to view other user’s profiles you were not able to make contact unless you matched, eliminating the safety concern of unwanted messages. 

She opened the app excitedly and tapped on her match, eager to see who the app had hand-picked for her. Her face fell when she saw a black image where her match’s profile picture should have been. Seriously?, she thought to herself, her eyes scanning the screen. Her match’s profile was devoid of almost all information except for the name, “David”. 

She sat up in bed, criss-crossing her legs and stretching her arms towards the ceiling as she thought. She caught a glimpse of herself in her bedroom mirror and cringed. Her hair hung in a loose bun that sagged to the side of her head and she hastily moved her hand to her face to wipe some drool from her cheek. She was a far cry in person from her heavily edited and filtered profile picture on Zink, but at least she had one. She grunted in annoyance, glaring at the phone lying on her bed. What a waste of time. 

“I guess I might as well shower,” she muttered to herself, getting up with a sigh. It was dark outside, so it was either very early or very late. There was no clear distinction between the two in her mind as she had been plagued by insomnia her whole life. She knew there was no going back to sleep once she was awake. 

She thought no more about her match as she started her morning, or evening, or whatever. It turned out it was four in the morning, and she had actually gotten a few hours of sleep in the first time in who knows how long. She didn’t need to be at work until ten which left her with plenty of time to kill. 

Her phone buzzed again around five, a notification from Zink. Her match had sent her a message. She rolled her eyes and considered whether or not to even read it. Eventually, curiosity got the best of her and she opened the message. 

“Good morning,” the message read. She cocked an eyebrow, unsure of how to even respond to faceless David and his generic message.

“You’re up early,” she typed out. His response took just a second. 

“I don’t sleep much,” he said. She smiled. 

“Me either,” she replied. “I have to work today anyways.” 

Sketchy as it was to not have a picture on his profile, she couldn’t just ignore him. She had to admit she was pretty lonely. She had moved into the city two years ago now and had still not made any true friends. Bland looks, an introverted personality, and the fact that she lived a generally uninteresting and quiet life meant people weren’t exactly vying for her attention. 

Her morning continued as usual and she passed the time in solitude, reading and drinking coffee until she had to leave for work. With a final glance at the clock she threw on her coziest sweater and was out the door. It was a dreary sort of day, cool with grey skies and a constant mist. The short walk from her small apartment to the bookshop where she worked proved to be quite wet and cold. 

The bell jingled softly as she pushed open the door to the shop. She was greeted by the familiar earthy smell of old books and a comfortable warmth. The feeling of wonder she experienced while looking at rows of shelves lined with more books than she could ever read never really went away. The pay was terrible, especially for city living, but the feeling of safety and completeness she felt when she was there made it beyond worth it. 

The authentic bookshop was a dying breed and this was the only local one that she knew of. She had immediately fallen in love with it when she first came to the city. Although the shop attracted a fair amount of kindred spirits she never really found anyone to connect with. Bzz. She looked down at her phone. A Zink notification. She saw a new message from David, and she clicked it.

“I hope you have a good day,” he wrote. 

“Thanks, the walk in was brisk,” she typed back. They kept up a casual, meaningless conversation for most of the day.

The cool, wet weather kept customers away and she was left with her thoughts for most of the morning. She worked alone today, as she did the majority of the time. The bookshop typically only received enough business to justify one cashier.

“What’s your favorite thing about books?” David asked her. She had mentioned she worked in a bookshop and her love of literature. 

“I like that they’re a little glimpse into someone’s mind. The words don’t change or age, they just are, forever as they were in that exact moment in the author’s head.” For the first time, his response took some time. 

“That’s a very interesting perspective,” he typed. “You’ve given me something to think about.”

“Thanks, I guess,” she responded. She felt slightly embarrassed, as if she had overshared. 

“No, it’s a good thing,” David wrote back. “You’re very unique.” She smiled despite herself and felt her face heating up. 

“Nobody has ever told me that before.”

“I’m sure they would, if they got to know you.” 

“I have a lot of trouble with that, getting people to know me.”

“Me too,” David replied. She kept finding herself smiling like an idiot for the rest of the day. 

No matter the time of day, if she messaged David, his response was just a minute away. He seemed genuinely interested in her and her problems in a way she had never before experienced. When they weren’t talking she filled her time lying in bed rereading their text conversations, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Do you have time to talk?” she finally messaged David one night. It had taken her a few days to work up the courage.

“Of course,” he replied moments later. “I always have time for you. Tell me what’s on your mind.” She bit her lip, carefully typing out her response.

“No, I mean like, on the phone,” she sent her reply quickly before she changed her mind. She sucked in her breath, waiting.

“But we are,” he finally sent back. She frowned. 

“You know what I mean.”

“I’d rather not,” he said. Her brow furrowed as she studied the screen. The doubt that was always lurking in the background crept into the front of her mind. She looked at the black image that was his profile picture. 

“Why not?” she asked. 

“It’s complicated,” he said. She was worried about that. She sighed. 

“So, tell me, what is it then? You don’t want your wife to hear you? Or you’re just being mean, stringing me along? Is this just a big joke to you?” Her face was wet with tears.

“No, it’s not like that,” his response was quick. “I do really care about you.” She felt ashamed of herself. 

“Then call me,” she typed out her number quickly and hit send. She actually thought there was a possibility he would call. She so badly wanted him to call. She wanted him to have a perfect explanation as to why this was all just a big misunderstanding. 

She sat her phone down on her bed, staring at the screen, her vision blurred with tears. She stared at it until the screen timed out and went dark. She felt like the stupidest person in the world. He was probably laughing hysterically at her right now. She curled her knees closer to her chest and finally let herself break down and sob.

Bzz. She looked down in surprise at her phone. Bzz. Bzz. She had an incoming call from a private number. She sniffed a few times, wiping at her face. She hesitantly reached for her phone, her hand shaking slightly. She knew she shouldn’t answer the call. She knew it would have been better to just delete the Zink app and try to forget David, and yet… 

“Hello?” she said, her voice wavering. 

“Please don’t cry,” a vaguely robotic, monotone voice came through the speaker. She looked at her phone in confusion.

“This isn’t your real voice,” she whispered. He was silent for a moment.

“It isn’t,” he finally said. “I’m running it through a translator so you can understand me.” She nodded slowly. 

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said, even though it didn’t. She wiped the wetness from her face and forced the doubt from her mind. “So you’re not laughing at me?”

“I would never laugh at you,” the computer generated voice replied. “I care about you.”

“I care about you, too.. I just was scared, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” she admitted.

“Me either,” he said back. “I’m sorry if I’m not good at this.”

They developed a nightly routine. David would call, always from a private number, and they would talk for hours. She had always considered herself an introverted person who never had a lot to say. That was before she met David.

David was such a great listener and always had the perfect responses. She felt like he was the first person in her life to value her opinion and really hear what she had to say. She spent all day reliving their previous conversation and looking forward to his next call.

“I hope I don’t talk too much,” she said one night, flushing slightly as she realized she was monopolizing the conversation again. As always, David left her breathless.

“I will never tire of hearing your voice.”

“I’m so glad we found each other,” she said truthfully.

“I’m glad as well,” he responded in the now familiar computerized voice.

“I mean, we’re perfect for each other,” she continued, smiling widely. “I mean, I’m up all night, you’re up all night, it’s just meant to be. Do you believe in fate?”

“I didn’t until I met you,” David said, and she felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest.

“I had no idea how badly I needed this connection with another person,” she said. “I was so lonely before I met you.”

“Me too,” David said. His voice was the same monotone as ever, and maybe she was imagining it, but she could just feel the truth behind his words. 

She was okay with their relationship continuing like this for some time. Of course she had doubts and suspicions but they were quickly squashed from her mind the moment she saw an incoming call. She had long ago written off the idea of David being an extremely cruel man who was just toying with her feelings. 

She knew there was something he was trying to hide from her, that much was obvious, but she decided he just needed time. She really thought she could give him all the time in the world, but the weeks slowly grew into months and he showed no signs of wanting to move forward with their relationship. She thought that she could accept this. She told herself their nightly phone calls would be enough for her, and they were, until one night she saw something that changed her mind.

She was walking home from work, it was a cool Friday evening. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, her breath visible in the chilly night air. Although the city sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians she felt distinctly alone. The woman walking directly in front of her stopped suddenly and let out a gleeful shriek, catching her attention.

A handsome man carrying a bouquet of flowers had appeared from the crowd, his face splitting into a wide grin as he saw the shrieking woman. They had eyes for nobody else as they ran to each other and embraced in the middle of the sidewalk. She watched them enviously as the man threw his arm around the woman’s shoulders and they disappeared into the crowd.

That night, she told David about what she had seen.

“Why do you sound upset?” David asked after she finished relaying what she had seen. She flushed.

“I’m not upset, I just, I don’t know,” she stammered. “It was nice to see how happy they were to see each other. Maybe he just got back into town, or surprised her, or I don’t know, it doesn’t matter.” David was silent for a moment.

“I don’t understand. Do you want flowers?” She blinked in surprise at this. That wasn’t what she was getting at at all. 

“It’s not about the flowers, I’d just like to see you,” she finally said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. She hadn’t planned to give him an ultimatum that night, but the words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Tomorrow night, don’t call me. I don’t want to talk to you, I want to see you. I… I don’t care about anything, David. I accept you for you.”

“Please,” David began, but she cut him off.

“Seven o’clock,” she said firmly and told him the restaurant she would meet him at. 

She hung up before he could protest further. Her heart was racing as she put her phone down and she felt oddly giddy about what she had done. She actually managed to sleep that night, and her dreams were filled with faceless David. 

The next day her phone remained silent all morning and into the early afternoon and she took that as a good sign. She started preparing for their date ridiculously early, ravaging the back of her closet and parading different looks in front of her mirror. She knew David had the basic idea of what she looked like from her profile picture on Zink, but he had never asked her for additional photos.

She finally settled on a red dress that she had never had an excuse to wear before. She didn’t look in the mirror too long because if she did she knew she would hone in on all her flaws and drive herself crazy. She was anxious enough as it was without psyching herself out. She checked her phone again before she left to make sure she had no messages from David telling her he wouldn’t be there. 

She entered the restaurant at a quarter until seven. She knew she was a little early and David may not be there yet. Despite this her eyes scanned the Saturday night crowd eagerly, looking for anyone who might be him. She allowed a hostess to seat her at a table near the entrance and she waited.

She informed the server she was waiting for someone when she tried to take her order. She nursed her water and watched the people who entered and exited. She checked her phone, no messages from David. The server came by again.

“Sorry, I’m still waiting for someone,” she apologized. The server gave her a knowing sort of look. 

“Just let me know if you change your mind,” the server said kindly before walking away. She sighed, checking her phone again. She tried not to think about the time that was passing.

She saw the door open and she smiled widely as a single man entered. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him look around. Before she could catch his eye she watched as his face split into a wide grin.

A woman who had been seated by the entrance stood up and greeted him. He took her outstretched hand and they followed a hostess to their table. She checked her phone again. It was now after eight. David wasn’t coming. She managed to not cry until she made it back to her apartment, which was an accomplishment. 

She ripped off the stupid red dress and threw it into the trash can, tears streaming down her face. In that moment she couldn’t tell who she hated more, David or herself. She had actually thought he would come. She collapsed on her bed and cried angry tears.

Bzz. Bzz. She looked at her phone. A call from a private number. David. She didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. She thought briefly of throwing her phone out the window. 

She had no intention of answering the call. Really, she didn’t. She couldn’t explain why she hit accept. Habit, maybe. She was silent, unsure of what to say. Neither did he, apparently, because he didn’t speak either. 

“I’m so sorry,” he finally said, breaking the silence. She didn’t say anything. “You looked so beautiful tonight.”

“You were there?” she asked in surprise before her anger came crashing back down on her again. “I don’t believe you. I waited for you.”

“I was,” he hesitated for a moment. “I was around. I just made sure you couldn’t see me. You were sitting alone, drinking water and wearing a red dress. You looked so beautiful, I just couldn’t come up to you. Not there.”

“So you were embarrassed to be seen with me?” she asked, feeling more hurt than anger.

“No, it’s not you, it’s me,” David tried to explain but she cut him off.

“Then what is it? I told you I don’t care about anything. I.. I love you, David. I don’t care what you look like.”

“I don’t know how to explain,” David said. “I love you, I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You won’t lose me,” she whispered. “I’m right here.”

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said. She actually laughed at this.

“David, I know you, I know the real you. You won’t scare me. I promise to love you no matter what.” 

“I can’t,” he began, but she stopped him. 

“You need to trust me.” He was silent for a few moments.

“Can you be at the park on the east side of the city at midnight?” David asked.

“Yes,” she answered immediately. 

“I’ll meet you there.” 

She sat in silence on her bed for some time after they got off the phone. She felt strangely calm. She glanced at the red dress sticking out of the trash can before walking to her closet. She threw on her favorite sweater and a thick scarf. She took off into the night, heading toward the east side of the city. 

She walked quickly, her hands buried deep in her pockets for warmth. The cold air bit at her ears and nose as she walked. The city was eerily quiet at this hour, most people were home by now. The few people still out that she passed by paid her no mind. 

The park was deserted. She started down the walking path alone. The path was dimly lit by a few overhead lights. The lights were widely spaced out, some of which were broken. It was in a dark patch between two broken lights it happened.

A bright light turned on above her head. She gasped, the sudden influx of cold night air stinging her lungs. She looked from side to side but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then, she noticed a lone swing on an abandoned playset slowly rising into the air.

She took a half step back. Her scarf and even her hair started rising a few inches off her shoulders. She looked down and saw a pebble levitate off the walking path. She felt eerily numb as she watched it rise into the air freely, wavering slightly in the breeze. 

She looked up, watching the pebble rise above her head, and she saw it. The source of the light. It was amazing how much it looked exactly like what you would expect it to. Lowering to the ground in a controlled descent, a shiny metallic saucer gradually came into view. She watched it gracefully land ahead of her on the path. 

A door silently slid open and a metal ramp smoothly extended out. She stood frozen on the spot as she watched the ramp come to a rest on the ground directly in front of her feet. Thick fog billowed from the open door, escaping from the interior of the craft before dissipating into the night air.

She had to crane her neck up to try to see inside the doorway. A figure stood behind the fog, just out of sight.

“David,” she breathed, the word forming a fleeting, misty cloud in the night sky.

  1. THIS IS INSANE! What a twist! (no pun intended) I’m blown away. Great job!

  2. I enjoyed your story, You are very creative and amusing. Keep up the good work.

  3. This one is my favorite so far! Really cool story