Blister under tongue

First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cr3pct/troublemakers_adrenaline_is_a_superpower_in_itself/
......
Drake wrapped clean, sterile, saline and antimicrobial soaked gauze around his laser burns to stave off infection. he occasionally glanced at the Geknosian spec ops that had been stripped of their armor and weapons. The heavily cybernetically modified Geknosians kneeled silently with their heads bowed along one wall of the forge. Destrier walked down the line with a bucket and ladle, offering each soldier water. There were looks of apprehension, but none refused the kindness offered, drinking several ladlefuls at a time. Except for one, Despite the splints affixed to her arm and leg, Charlotte, no, Sylva refused the water, turning her face away from the wooden ladel. Destrier sighed and dolloped the water back into the bucket, setting it down on a dusty anvil with a slosh. Drake looked to Remin, who was still pale and shaky as he held the chest seal to his ribs. Cassius sat in a corner, looking completely exhausted as he reloaded his Dahlia. There was a sickening crunch from a dark corner as Caz re-set her broken nose, exhaling hard through her nostrils to splatter the ground with clotted blood. Donning her mask, she turned back around, reaching underneath the mask to wipe her nose and snuffle.
"Are we going to open up the bunker anytime soon? If not we should get back to base and get everyone medical attention."
Drake nodded and pulled out the remote before looking to Destrier and Cassius.
"Keep an eye on everyone, we'll be back."
Caz joined his side as he stepped out into the warm sunshine, looking up at the corpse tree, he sighed softly and removed a pinky ring, feeling a pulse of ancient power rushing through his veins as he focused on the tree. On the thought of its bark darkening and burning beneath roaring flames, of defiled corpses crumbling to ash. He slowly squeezed his hand into a fist, and the tree burst into flames with a roar. Drake slipped his ring back on as Caz looked up at the burning corpses, mask expressionless before returning to Drake's side as he wandered toward the excavated elevator.
Standing in the center of the large platform, drake set his thumb inside the hooded slot on the remote, something jabbing into his finger before a small green light lit up on the device. There was a loud grinding noise as the elevator began to descend. He folded his hands behind his back as the metal lip of the elevator rose past his vision, revealing the massive metal tracks that it ran on.
The elevator shuddered and Drake got a sinking feeling in his stomach as a loud clicking noise surrounded them. Caz looked up at him just as he threw an arm around her, clutching her to his side as he threw four rings off of his left hand, hearing them clatter once before puffing into smoke as the elevator fell out from beneath their feet with a screech.
...
"Shitshitshitfuckfuckfuck!! Fuck!"
Carlos thought as he sprinted through the underground halls of the mansion, sprinting past fellow humans in new armor and weapons as he neared Martha's workshop, barely registering the new gas masks swinging from their hips. He slammed into the mad scientist's workshop, screeching to a halt on his rubber soled sneakers before rushing over to her desk and slamming a video puck onto the table she was distributing armor and masks from. The moment he slammed it down, a video popped up on a hologram projector, taken from Halcyon's rifle camera.
Galliks and light-skinned troop transports slowly hovered down the main boulevard, columns of power armored soldiers marching on the sides keeping pace. Martha dropped the helmet in her hands, shaped like a corynthian helmet as she saw the buzzards hovering over the column, loaded down with spec ops. Halcyon's shaky voice could be heard over the clamoring, guttural marching song in the background.
"we're aborting the mission and moving back to base... I knew they brought in reinforcements but this is insane there's gotta be a hundred Gallicks alone. We're fixing charges to the buildings we concealed ourselves in, going to try dropping some buildings across the road to slow them down. I don't think we're getting out of this one... Halcyon out."
The feed cut, Carlos and Martha looking at each other with rapidly paling faces. Martha cursed and stomped to her desk, raising the alarm and sending Klaxons blaring throughout the underground chambers and mansion as she removed the safety pin from the concussive blaster built into her forearm.
"Alright Martha, Go time."
She muttered to herself as the rumbling footsteps of a few thousand humans vibrated the underground halls.
...
The elevator dropped from beneath their feet as corvid-like wings sprouted from Drake's back. A mighty wingbeat pulling them from the elevator's downdraft as he controlled their fall, holding Caz tightly to his chest.
"Please, don't drop me."
Caz sounded afraid as her fingers dug into the collar of his armor, he tightened his grip around her back as he softly sighed.
"I won't drop you, ever, I promise."
Caz unburied her face from his lorica, looking up into his eyes, not saying anything as a reassured look entered her eyes. He gave her a soft, lopsided smile, feeling it tug at the scar on his face.
"there's no way... a markswoman afraid of heights? don't you climb buildings and swing around all the time?"
There was a flash of embarrassment in her crystalline eyes and she buried her face in his chest.
"Shut up... Its different when the ground just falls out beneath you..."
Drake let out a soft laugh as his boots softly touched down on the top of the elevator, summoning his missing rings and watching black feathers poof to the ground before disappearing in puffs of black smoke. Pulling caz out of his chest, he felt her fingers linger at his collar as she dusted herself off, looking around the odd antechamber. He turned his gaze to look over the simple metal antechamber, lit be caged, yellow bulbs that cast a sickly light on everything. A massive hangar door with a pulsing red light in the middle of a locking mechanism at it's center, made up the entire far wall. Drake curiously took a step towards it and Caz grabbed the back of his collar, just as he started to tip forward, foot going straight through the holographic floor. Drake let her pull him back as a soft mechanical laugh echoed through the room.
Drake swapped a look with Caz and then asked.
"Can you see where it's safe to step?"
She slowly nodded and extended a hand, pointing at a section of flooring close to the far wall.
"only piece that's raised up, it's like a big basin made up of movable pillars. Most sit flush with the ground roughly fifty feet below us. Not necessarily lethal, but still a nasty fall."
Drake nodded, looking around the practically blank room, then he turned his eyes to the ceiling. Girders and beams ran along the ceiling providing potential grip points. Pointing at them he asked.
"Those solid?"
Caz nodded and reached to her belt, spooling out her grapple hook and wire, slowly spinning it in a large circle before lobbing it up at a girder, letting it loop around an A truss. Drake looked around the room as Caz tested the firmness of the grapple with a few experimental tugs. It couldn't be that easy, if it was simply that easy why hadn't the Geknosians gotten through other than the genome coded remote? they could bypass it with a slave.
"Hey Caz, be careful."
She looked over at him and he could see the grin in her eyes.
"I'm not worried, you won't drop me, you promised."
Then put her weight on the cord and swung out. Drake watched, slipping a pinkie ring off just in ca-
A turret dropped from a panel in the ceiling and fired one shot, snapping Caz's grapple line.
She turned in mid air before momentum took over, a look of shock and surprise on her face before she began to plummet. Drake didn't think twice, launching himself off the elevator platform with a powerful leap that bent durasteel. He flew through the air, arms outstretched as he slammed into Caz, pulling her into his chest, the change in momentum spinning him onto his back as he slammed into a platform that rose up to meet him. He slid on his back a few feet, Caz clutched tightly to his chest, masked face centimeters from his own. They stared into each others wide eyes for a moment, the unplanned closeness both comfortable and awkward in a way Drake couldn't quite describe. Drake gently pushed her back, swallowing through his suddenly dry throat before letting out a nervous laugh.
"Caught you."
Caz chuckled and palmed his face to push herself off him, looking down at the solid square of ground they sat on.
"yeah, yeah, knew ya wou-"
A high pitched squee! noise echoed through the room, grabbing their attentions as a high-pitched feminine voice squealed from all around them.
"Ooooooh! that was just adorable! and what a jump!"
The holographic floor dissipated as the sound of purring electric motors filled the room, large metal pillars rising to make a seamless, white tile floor. Drake instinctively looked to the large hangar door as the red light at it's center pulsed, a girlish giggle echoing through the antechamber. The AI overlord of the bunker seemed to replicate a blush as it said.
"oops, I'm supposed to wait for a password before restoring the floor... buuuuuttt... that directive expired fifty years ago. So! I made my own rules. Anyway my pretties! Would you please get to your feet so I can give you a tour?!"
Drake nodded and took Caz's hand, letting her haul him to his feet before they both turned to face the hangar door as massive clicks and thinks echoed from inside the thick door. With a screeching noise, the almighty doors slid open to reveal a a brightly lit, large hangar. Aircraft Drake couldn't even dream of understanding sat polished and clean, hardpoints loaded down with ordinance and massive, multi barreled guns slung under the chin of each aircraft. Hulking, humanoid robots stood in orderly rank and file, powered down for long term storage with their weapons still loaded and ready. Each one had a belt fed 20mm Hep autocannon for a left arm.
Drake is wide eyed and gape-mouthed as he beheld the bounty the hangar held, the massive aircraft looking like sleek birds of prey, latches on each landing strut seeming to specifically be designed to hold the mechanical soldiers. Drake shook his head, wondering if he was looking at an illusion when he heard Destrier's loud, deep voice call down the elevator shaft.
"Martha just radioed in! They need us back home Yesterday, forces are marching on the mansion! A LOT! of them!"
Drake's heart dropped into his boots as he shouted urgently.
"How fast can these things be in the air and can you fly them!?"
The overlord giggled.
"Now and, of course! any music recommendations to make an entrance with?"
Drake looked at the ceiling incredulously, before shouting.
"Make it something intimidating but for the love of the gods we need to go NOW!"
The mechanical soldiers all moved in unison, eyes pulsing green as they straightened up and began latching themselves to the craft. Drake didn't need to tell Caz twice as they both sprinted for the nearest aircraft, a small robot on wheels hooked itself to the chin wheel and pulled it toward the elevator with a lurch.
...
General Gra'vos watched from a buzzard, a fruity cocktail in a coconut shell daintily held in one clawed hand as he watched the carnage below. Lounging in a folding chair in only his fatigues, medals acting like a weighted blanket. His men pummeled the gates of the rebel base even as the helpless rebels desperately spewed projectiles from the noisy guns they'd somehow acquired. There was a good section of space in front of the gate where both Geknosian and human corpses lay broken. He bared a laugh as the gates were thrown open immediately after the rebels put out a blistering barrage. His eyebrows furrowed as the humans, instead of attacking, ran out with stretchers and loaded up as many of their dying and injured as they could before sprinting back through the gate. A grin twitched onto his face as he watched as a pair of the human stretcher bearers were cut down by emplaced gaussian turrets. What a useless effort, leave the dying to their fate lest you join them. He brought the straw poking from the shell to his lips and took a long pull of the mix of fruity alcohols, savoring the bouquet of flavors.
He watched with glee as Gallick rail turrets pounded the armored gates with a salvo of kinetic penetrators. He'd be slotted for a promotion after this mission when he'd completed it, just like all the others. He was looking forward to a cozy job as a captain of a cruiser, or perhaps as a security officer on a capital ship, perhaps he'd have the honor of being an Imperially sanctioned slaver. He pulled the straw from his lips, tongue cold from the slushed ice he'd added to the shell for texture. A slave woman in beautiful, red ribbon garb attended his nondominant hand's claws with a short, sharp knife as she trimmed them into a good shape for ripping out throats.
"Sir! eight UFOs, enclosing on our position from the badlands. Advise!"
Gra'vos raised an eyebrow ridge before laughing.
"Shoot them down then!"
"Lock on isn't working sir! I repeat, cannot achieve lock on, advise!"
Gra'vos shifted in his lounge chair to look at the pilot.
"Do I need to repeat mys-"
^{Whopwhopwhopwhowhopwhopwhop}
The noise sent shivers down his spine, no, they couldn't have. The sound grew louder, bringing with it the sound of a song that brought Gra'vos back to the jungles of Votran. The sound of screams filled his mind, interspersed with the sound of air beaten into submission as those accursed machines circled overhead, raining rip-roaring explosive death onto his men as that accursed song played.
Gra'vos looked out the other door of the buzzard, face pale, cold, and clammy as he saw the chevron of dark shapes getting closer, the chorus of that accursed song making his heart pound in his chest as he remembered laying there on that muddy forest floor, shrapnel riddling his body.
"We're not gonna take it! No! we ain't gonna take it! WE'RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT, ANYMORE!!!!"
He lurched from his chair to grab a set of binoculars from a hook by the door, a small, balled fist driving a shortbladed knife into his back and snatching something from the back of his belt before he was shoved from the Buzzard. Twisting in midair, he looked up at his slave as she armed the det-sphere he always kept at the small of his back, a look of cold determination in her eyes. The last thing he saw before he slammed into the hard pavement at terminal velocity, was the buzzard getting torn in half by the explosion.
...
Drake flinched a bit, the explosion loud even over the blaring music as one of the circling Buzzards over the mansion was torn in half, spinning to the ground in a fiery inferno. He felt a sadness then, but it was a proud kind of sadness. He bowed his head and pulled his helmet on as they flew closer, a medi-bot treating both Remins and Sylva's wounds expertly.
Many would die today... it was only right that some got to do it on their own terms.
He raised his head to look at the bright flashes of laser weapons against the mansions walls, sparkling like the sun off of a running creek. The fiery, nuclear sun of rage in his chest burned bright as he narrowed his eyes. Fear soured his gut as he looked down upon the swarm of Geknosians, there were indeed a lot of them. Pulling a jump pack from the rack, he pulled it on and yanked the safety clip out before sliding his arm into the control glove.
"Drop me and the bots behind them! I'm going to try and split their attention. Caz! remain onboard and pick off high priority targets from the air. Destrier, Remin, Cassius..."
He looked back at them, and they looked up at him from where they nauseaously held their stomachs, leaning against the airframe.
"Help hold the mansion, they need you."
Seeing the light by the door turn green, he heard the robotic soldiers detach to careen towards the ground like vengeful meteorites. Drake snapped them a salute and fell backwards from the aircraft, two rings puffing into black smoke from his right ring and middle finger as he un-summoned them.
......
Part 108: will be linked here upon release.

There's something up here with me.
Since I returned to the world of the living, I've been doing my best to become an active member of society again and to try and earn my ticket to heaven in the meantime.
Even though I can't afford this luxury right now, I always donate a portion of my salary to charity, do volunteer work on weekends, and help out at a community kitchen on Thursdays after work.
All of this is to avoid going back there.
But I don't know how well this can work, nor do I know if by gaining this new life, I also received a new chance.
There's something I haven't told you.
If none of this makes sense to you, it´s good to take a look at my first post.
If you missed the last update, I recommend reading it before continuing.
The truth is that my torment hasn't completely stopped. Since I returned from the dead, my nights are filled with agony and terror.
The nightmares are terrible, but when I wake up shrouded in the darkness of my room, I can sometimes discern things in the shadows.
Arachnid-like forms with dozens of eyes and mouths that sing profanities.
Throughout the day, I can still see them, in the corner of my eye almost like a permanent silhouette, a reminder that they're watching me, just waiting for my last breath to take me back via the VIP express lane.
I think Samael didn't like being deceived one bit.
Now, however, it's not the time to recount my escape. There are still many dangers I've yet to warn you about.
And if after your death you find yourselves wandering through the infernal circles, surely at some point you'll come across the Silver City.
The last vestige of community in hell.
Gehenna is like a living structure, a fabric composed of buildings, streets, and alleys that stretches vertically through the 9 circles that compose the abyss.
When I died, I arose just like many others in Lust, the third circle of Hell, contrary to what Alighieri claimed.
The real order of the circles would be: Limbo, Greed, Lust, Wrath, Gluttony, Heresy, Violence, Treachery, and finally, Pride.
The goal of the Collectors was set like a jewel in the center of Limbo.
It's funny, in Dante's work, the city is portrayed as a paradise away from heaven for those with good hearts who never accepted Jesus into their lives. Their only punishment would be to never glimpse the face of God.
Damn, I wish it were like that.
I woke up with the mettalic taste of blood still on my mouth.
A gentle voice was saying something, but with my ears ringing, I couldn't make out anything. I could tell there was something in front of me, the smell was good, my stomach reminded me I was yet to eat anything.
Without much choice, I accepted the charity and ate. The taste was surprisingly good, if I were to describe it, it's something close to pork.
I spent some time just eating and recovering. I was also given a canteen of warm water; it tasted weird, but It was not like I was gonna complain.
As my senses returned, I could understand what the young man in front of me was saying.
I still remember his face, without any bruises,shallow beard and a glimmer of hope that didn't match that place at all.
"Feeling better now ?"
" I guess.. where are we now, Is that thing still here ? "
I tried sitting but a sharp pain on my chest stopped me from moving.
"Hey take it easy now. You're so skinny you look like a twig. When was the last time you ate?"
"About 10 seconds ago "
He smiled a bit.
"Well at least now you´re good enough to enjoy the ride"
With that, I felt prompted to look around, and finally noticed that we were on the back of a strange pickup truck.
Not only that, some sort of locomotive seemed to form around us. In total, there were four vehicles.
Our pickup stood at the center, with metal plaques around its frame and sharp grates on the ends confining us.
On our left, an old mustang suffered to keep itself close traveling on such uneven terrain.
On our right I could see Mice on top of an old motocicle gigling to himself, I silently wished he crashed.
Leading the group ahead, I could see the rear of a black van, and finally, following behind, I saw what appeared to be a Honda with smashed windows and covered in dents.
"Where are they taking us?"
"I have no idea, but anything must be better than these fucking fields."
Recalling Mice's delusions, I wasn't so sure about that.
"Who are you? Are you with them too?"
"I think we're in the same boat, buddy."
"The last guy who called me 'buddy' tied me up and dragged me into the clutches of a monster."
"I don't like them one bit, but from what I saw when we arrived, he was trying to protect you."
"So you really are one of them!"
"I already said we're in the same shit-hole. I got caught by the masked one while trying to hunt dinner." he said, pointing out the window towards the driver of the pickup, a tall, muscular man wearing a strange wooden mask.
"Sorry, the past few days have been so... God If you only knew what I've been through."
The young man chuckled sincerely. "Friend, I'm sure whatever you've been through, I've lived it dozens of times already. The name's John, nice to meet you."
"Well, John, you can call me Nate. I would shake your hand, but..." I nudged towards the wires on my hands. "
"Could be worse" He gestured towards his feet.
They where chopped off.
"Holy shit! I´m sorry John, these guys are insane!"
"Don´t be, They will be back once I die, but I have a feeling they will not let that happen so soon."
We could already see the spire slowly coming into view on the horizon.
"You sound used to all of this."
"Don't tell me, you're new?"
" I...still can´t believe this is all real"
"You better come to terms with it fast; this place doesn't take pity on the weak."
We didn't feel like chatting after that.
I wanted to ask about what I was given to eat, but something told me I would be better off not knowing. We traveled far towards the Spire, Gehenna slowly embracing us again with its dark skies.
From up close, I was able to see an opening in the base of the Spire.
The twisted terrain of the fields gave way to broken roads and dusted buildings, screams of despair found their way back to my ears as we passed near the tar pits.
Haunted by memories of my arrival, I couldn't help but search for the beasts that mauled me in the confusing streets of the city. I don't know if it was because of the sound of the engines or the size of our group, but I didn't see them among the wreckage and alleyways.
As we approached the Spire, a strange icy breeze embraced us. The shock was so intense that I lost my breath, trembling as I noticed a thin layer of ice forming rapidly on the pickup truck.
"Try to control your breathing, it'll pass soon."
"What is this now?"
"Specters."
As we finally reached the center of Lust, I realized we were not alone.
The base of the Spire held an immense arched opening, from which a dark interior was barely visible. Above the entrance, crucified on the wall, I saw a man; the slight movement of his head and his blue eyes made my stomach churn.
The culprits for the sudden cold gathered below the man in desperation. There were dozens of them, humanoid beings emitting a faint glow and seeming to levitate; their cries echoed through the city, spreading along with their icy presence.
The man only watched them, one by one, but said nothing.
He seemed to be judging them.
The engines shut off, and one by one the collectors descended from the vehicles.
Mice was the first to approach; the specters recoiled from him like cockroaches fleeing from light.
He then looked the man in the eyes, bowed, and said:
"Oh Aeacus! King of Aegina, my heart is not pure for rest, my eyes are blind to injustice, and my fists only weigh for my desires. From dust I came and to dust I return, my soul judged to forever burn, so I beg you to open the doors to my torment."
The Man's eyes locked onto Mice for a moment, then his lips whispered something in an elaborate tongue, and the darkness of the entrance turned into a scarlet mass.
I didn't knew about the kings back then. Aeacus is the easiest to convince; he oversees the higher circles. They say if you're under Minos's gaze, however, I hope you enjoy the lower circles because he's unlikely to grant you passage. And if you're a special kind of unlucky, I suggest you don't even try to approach Rhadamantus unless you want a one-way ticket to Pride.
The collectors then pulled us out of the cars, displaying us like trophies in an organized line. I had to support John on my shoulders; otherwise, they would have made him crawl the rest of the way.
From the other cars, a few more people emerged, other unfortunate souls with the same destination as mine. I saw a beautiful woman with short red hair and brown eyes; she was injured with several cuts on her back. The collector taking her out of the van seemed pleased; I tried not to dwell on it too much. She stared at me intensely, looking scared.
A man had to be forcibly removed from the Honda by two collectors. He was big and strong, dark-skinned with furious eyes, long braids cascading from his head to the middle of his back, a terrible scar showing on his left arm.
To this day, I have no idea how they managed to capture that bastard; later, he would tell me that they didn't got him until after he'd taken down some of them.
Finally, an old man with a band over his eyes was pushed into line; he looked so worn down that I thought I would see him turning to dust at any moment.
Mice then made his way to the entrance and was swallowed by the mass.
The collectors forced us to enter, one by one I saw everyone being pushed into the unknown, looking around I tried to think of something, some escape route.
"Don't do anything stupid," John whispered in my ear. "It won't work."
I thought about throwing him at them and running for my life. I didn't know him, didn't know a damn thing about him except his name. A glance at the collectors' weapons made me change my mind; I wouldn't get far even if I did find an opening.
Finally, my turn came. With the weight of John still on my shoulders, I walked to the entrance with my heart pounding in fear.
The mass that filled it seemed to react to me, stretching to cover my body, the scarlet glow blinding me as the collectors urged me to hurry.
I reached out my hand and felt a slight resistance, almost like touching cold gelatin. I felt it pulling me, and before my head was completely swallowed, I held my breath.
My body was warm; it was like being bathed in soup, every exposed inch of my skin burning, but the agony was only beginning.
I felt that strange mass invading me, entering through my nose, ears, eyes.
It hurt.
I tried to scream but my lungs were filled with the alien substance that forced its way through my organs; I felt like I was about to lose consciousness.
A shockwave ran through my body; I felt as if I was being torn into a thousand pieces and reformed, my consciousness used as a child's toy.
And then I was spat out.
I barfed on the gray grass that solemnly clung to me; John lay beside me, eyes rolled back, red fluid still trickling from his mouth.
I didn't have time to worry about him.
Before me, proudly stood what can only be described as a monument of sin.
Far from the light of hope it once was, now taken and calloused, abused and defiled by the filthy ideals of the damned scum.
Its golden streets don't shine.
Its security only harbors hate.
Its cracked walls don't protect, they only confine.
Even though I didn't knew much about hell, didn't knew its history or care about its purpose, I could see in that moment that I was looking at the greatest disrespect to the sacred that could exist.
An empire built with blood and erected by desire.
The Silver City opened its gates to me.
With the intention of never letting me go again.
The other collectors arrived, and one by one we were introduced to the next 40 years of our lives.
The memories of this city are painful. I tried to ditch this shit given the purpose of it all, but a drag is necessary if I'm really going to recall the decades I spent under that tyrant's rule.
Passing through the rusty gates, the lower city is the first thing you see. Jack leaves this region of the Silver City for his merchants to sell their findings in the lower circles, where everywhere you look, prostitutes and slaves accompany the more fortunate. Jack's personal guard takes advantage of his authority to get everything they want without spending a penny, of course.
Linked to the lower city by a rudimentary elevator, the Pleasure Zone casts its glow over those below, a neighborhood where the best drinks, drugs, and alterations can easily be found. Hunters and collectors usually walk around there, spending their earnings to calm their vices and complaining about their King's insane demands.
But by far, the most striking sight is a castle covered in soot, built at the highest level of the city, where only Jack's personal circle can tread without being summoned.
That's exactly where we were being taken.
John was still unconscious, being carried by our captors.
As we walked under the guns, naked and defenseless, the malicious glares of the vendors assessed us as new merchandise.
My feet ached, full of blisters; I couldn't feel my hands anymore. Looking at a toothless man being pulled by a chain around his neck, I wondered if that would be my fate.
Desperation was beginning to consume me.
We ascended to the Pleasure Zone by elevator, the same one powered by the brute force of several slaves harnessed to the wall, their hands raw from continuous and repetitive effort.
The hallucinogenic fumes from the laboratories filled the street of the neighborhood. I felt my heart race, my skin tingle, and a sweet smell invading my mind. The woman accompanying us seemed to recognize the substance as she lunged towards the source of the vapors. Mice kicked her in the stomach, making her kneel, grabbed her by the hair, and laughed.
"You fucking addict! You've used this shit before, haven't you? Look at the way you're trembling, hahaha! If they don't send you to the brothel, I might have an idea of what to do with you!"
She didn't seem to understand, or care, drooling from her mouth and experiencing small spasms as the drug filled her lungs.
Wish I could say I avoided it, but this shit is strong; within a few minutes, I was almost as high as when the Succubus attacked.
We then walked through the alleyways towards a staircase carved in marble; a sinner was overdosing against the steps.
Mice shot him in the head and threw him aside.
One moment he was alive, and the next, the remnants of his brain adorned the ground.
I gasped for air, my vision darkening; I meant nothing to them, they could dispose of me whenever they wanted.
I felt like I was going to die. I felt like I was going back to the tar pits, seeing myself suffering and being devoured for ages, running only to be captured, no rest, no warning.
What kind of being would create such a rotten place? Why did he have the right to read my soul and throw me towards this flaming lake? It's not fair, it's sick.
As I climbed the stairs, stepping on the remnants of the sinner's mind, I wondered if God was watching me at that moment.
Maybe he was having fun.
The biblical hell holds a king.
It shelters demons and powerful beings born from darkness itself.
And as you already know, beings made by the Creator's own hand.
It wouldn't be at that moment that I would meet Samael, but alongside the self-proclaimed human King, I met his right-hand beast.
When the doors of the castle opened, I fell to my knees on the ground.
An angelic figure, with the aura of pure evil.
A feminine body, dressed in white adorned with jade, three pairs of long and golden wings kept her hovering a few meters above the ground.
On her face, a twisted helmet, with an eternal black flame at its peak, portraying what was, what is, and what will come.
The base of her helmet completely covers her eyes, squeezing them with such force that blood constantly drips to the ground. Her face constantly changes—a slender young woman, a frightened child, an irritated elder, a black goat, a hungry tarantula, an unnamed beast, an indescribable void.
In her hands, a chain hangs a clock, which constantly moves, which moves constantly. It tries to guess the hour, the hour that only He knows, constantly wrong, corrects itself, recoils, recalculates, wrong, corrects itself, recoils, recalculates, wrong.
Such a beautiful creature, fell alongside the morning star, with a third of the stars, to forever hate us, to extinguish everything and everyone.
Who was I compared to such perfection?
Who was I compared to such obscenity?
I felt broken.
I felt complete.
Terrified.
Emancipated.
A thousand mouths sang in a thousand languages in my mind, all equally correct, all equally wrong.
The duality that leads to madness.
In my heart, he introduced himself, Astaroth, the Grand Duke of Hell.
With a flick of his hand, he disappeared, but I still felt him watching us, assessing us.
Seated on a broken throne, there was the face of control.
Almost as tall and robust as my captured companion, a short, defined beard adorned a ruthless face marked by battles.
Gray hair and a leather cloak, a silver medallion around his neck, and a shining red ring on his left hand, eating grapes like a Greek emperor.
Jack graced us with his presence.
Mice once again took the initiative.
"My lord, we have found fresh meat of the highest quality to expand your empire, mostly young and strong, and the old one is wise and knows the ancient rituals."
Jack looked at us as if we were worms, evaluating us like a spoiled child receiving gifts at Christmas.
"You bring me trash and expect gratitude. If this is what you consider good quality, perhaps it's time to revoke your position."
Jack's ring began to glow, and I felt Astaroth's strong presence growing. Mice quickly knelt and spoke again.
"My king! One of them appears to be marked." Mice then looked at me with a malicious smile, sending a shiver down my spine.
Jack observed me, the disdain in his eyes palpable.
He seemed to notice something at that moment, scratched his beard, and smiled.
"Mice! I can always count on you to keep me entertained. Take him to the pit, send the others to the dungeon. There may be something useful in this batch after all.
Before I could protest, I was struck on the head with the butt of a gun, and I lost consciousness.
Sorry, I need a moment. Just remembering the terrible nights I spent in that place makes me feel sick.
Man, I hope smoking doesn't count as too big of a sin.
When I woke up, I was chained to a wooden pillar by the neck, with several other sinners chained around me.
The place was poorly lit, and I could smell feces and urine. They didn't even release us to go to the bathroom.
In front of me, Jack stood with two guards.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. I'm sorry to disturb your rest, but I have some questions, and if you cooperate, you may find yourself involved in something much bigger and more important than your miserable afterlife."
"Screw you! I've seen the things your people do, you're all crazy. I don't want anything to do with you!"
Jack's ring began to glow, and Astaroth's silhouette became visible even in the deep darkness.
"For your own good, I hope you learn to have good manners. Now tell me, where is he?"
"What?"
The ring glowed, and Astaroth entered my mind.
The concept of emptiness is terrifying.
Non-existence is dreadful.
Emptiness occupied existence before everything existed; in the beginning, there was nothing, and then there was God.
My consciousness faded away, I felt the void corrupting my flesh prison; it's not a lack of senses, it's Nothing.
Sounds didn't vanish; they turned into nothingness. Along with sensations, memories, my existence.
I was completely devoured. I wanted to scream, but there was no voice, no will.
I wanted to exist, but there was never an "I."
I vanished completely, and then I was catapulted back into existence, where I could feel everything.
The infinite, it destroys.
Through Astaroth's eyes, I saw, I understood, not even in a thousand and one lives could I touch one percent of the truth.
My brain burned, flooded with everything that was, everything that would come. I cried, I screamed, agony drove me to madness; time made no sense anymore.
And then everything stopped. In despair, I screamed, I cried like a child. Jack embraced me with the tenderness of a mother as I collapsed into his chest. He gently stroked my head while speaking softly.
"Poor thing, so much suffering, so much lamentation. Pain is a choice, and I don't want it for you. I love you; I love all my possessions from the bottom of my heart. I only want what's best for you, but for that, I need your help. I want your pain to stop, help me make it stop! You just need to tell me, Where. is. he?"
I didn't want to return to nothingness; I didn't want to suffer with knowledge. Desperately, I lied; I said I knew where whoever he was looking for was, I would show him, he just had to let me go.
Jack acquired a sad expression, gently lifted my face, and said.
"Oh, child, why do you lie to me?"
With the scarlet glow of the ring, once again, I ceased to exist, catapulted between two extremes, blood streaming from my ears, I laughed, cried, begged.
All to make it stop, for him to remove that being from the room, I just wanted peace.
I felt my cells giving up, exploding and restructuring; memories were erased and returned, lived a thousand times per second.
My wife, my daughter, the drugs, the betrayal, the accident, the body, the hospital, the fall.
Once again, everything stopped.
I spat blood on Jack's cloak, who asked me again.
"Where is he, come on, damn it, just tell me! He marked you, he touched you, come on, where the hell is Samael, tell me and I'll leave you alone!"
I pleaded, I tried to tell him that I didn't know who he was talking about, I promised obedience, my life, anything for mercy.
Once again, he sent me to the void. For countless nights, the cycle repeated itself, I have no idea how long I was tortured in that place.
Eventually, Jack began to use me in other ways.
My days were divided between slave labor in the lower city and nights of torment in Jack's palace.
At the time, I didn't understand how he couldn't see that he was wrong; clearly, there was nothing special about me, I couldn't lead him to Samael, I was just a damned soul who could barely endure the first days in the abyss.
I just hadn't realized that Jack already had the certainty that I was different. After all, how could I be a nobody if Astaroth couldn't extract the "truth" from me, and they had to resort to torture?
Hope vanished from my chest; I didn't know if I would ever escape from there, if I would see John again before my soul was corrupted by the Grand Duke.
The years dragged on, and Jack's fury only grew.
Fortunately for me, in my fourth year in the Silver City, I gained a new cellmate, the old man who had been brought in the same group as me.
Little did I know that he would be my first clue to the way out of there.
I'm tired of remembering those horrible years, so I think I will stop here for today.
Clinging to hope in hell is as useless as using petrol to put out a fire; you'll only end up dying either way. But in the realm of insanity, it might not be all that crazy to think there might be a way out of the suffering.

My wife, Iris, sat on the couch next to me, holding the bowl of popcorn in her thin hands. On her other side, our little boy, Freddie, sat. He looked just like his mother, with the same dirty blonde hair and faraway eyes, like the eyes of a dreamer. The movie played across our flat-screen TV, some CGI comedy with talking penguins and llamas that could drive cars. It was some garbage from Disney I would never have watched in a million years, but Freddie liked it, so I suffered through it for him.
We had turned off all the lights in the house for the movie. Only the TV’s flickering colors illuminated the room, sending dancing shadows that flashed out behind us.
Suddenly, outside the living room window, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, splitting a tree in our front yard in two. Light flooded in through the window as if the flash of a nuclear missile were ripping its way across the town. A crash rang out as the tree split down the middle, its massive branches tumbling down onto the lawn. I jumped as the ground shook. More lightning flashed nearby, hitting other houses and lawns on the street.
“Damn, there wasn’t supposed to be any storms,” I said in surprise. The TV had gone black, and now we sat in darkness. For a long moment, I thought the power had gone out.
Abruptly, it came back on with a roar of white noise and a flickering of static. The volume seemed to be increasing by itself, growing into a rushing cacophony like a waterfall. I saw Iris try to scream something, but I could only see her lips move.
As suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The standard “PLEASE STANDBY” screen with a rainbow of blocky colors behind it appeared. There was a clanging, ringing sound that emanated from the speakers, high-pitched and whining like tinnitus. Then text started appearing across the screen. At the same time, a deep, serious voice spoke in the background, like a radio announcer reporting on the death of a President.
“This is the Demon Emergency Alert Broadcast System,” the voice read grimly. “This is not a test. Level five activity has been reported in your area. Do not go outside. Close all blinds, shutters and windows. Lock all doors and close any attached garages. Do not open your doors except to military or police personnel with the proper insignia. Even if someone appears to be in distress, do not open your door to investigate or try to interfere in any way. A temporary quarantine is in effect for your area. Military and police assistance is on the way.
“To ensure the greatest chances of survival during this time of crisis, please abide by the following rules:

1. If blood begins to pour under your door, go to a higher floor immediately. Avoid physical contact with the blood at all costs.
2. All legitimate military and police personnel will have a special insignia on their helmets and jackets, an eye contained in a double-thumbed fist. Only accompany them if they have this insignia- otherwise, they are imposters.
3. Avoid mirrors for the duration of the emergency.”

The voice cut out abruptly, slowing down in a mechanical whine. Static started flashing across the TV, covering the “PLEASE STANDBY” message that had returned in blocky letters. At that moment, the lights went out. They came back on a couple seconds later, brightening and dimming, before the power failed again. This time, the electricity did not come back on.
“What the fuck?” Iris whispered next to me, taking out her phone and shining the light across the dark living room. “That was pretty weird. Everything looks different outside, too. I was just outside an hour ago and the Moon didn’t look anything like that.” She pointed. I got up, realizing she was right. The nighttime sky outside looked strange. I looked out the front window, seeing the Moon was cast in a fluorescent orange light. The cloudless sky had a dark red glow to it, as if some kind of eerie smog had covered everything. I had seen similar things happen after massive forest fires in the past.
“What happened, Dad?” Freddie asked in his small voice. “Where’s the movie?”
“I think we lost power, little man,” I said, ruffling his hair in a nonchalant manner. I didn’t really believe the emergency broadcast, after all. I figured some teenager had hacked the TV station and decided to play a prank, or perhaps some disgruntled employee had done it on his last day as a kind of “Fuck you” to the station. I had heard of similar things happening before. It was somewhat strange how the power had gone out and the sky had changed, but I felt sure that it could all be logically explained.
Someone shrieked outside. I looked out onto the dark street, seeing the silhouette of someone running frantically down the middle of the street, zigzagging wildly. As the figure got closer, I realized it was a young woman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a white shirt and khakis. Her clothes were soaked in streams of blood that made the fabric cling to her trembling body. I saw a vicious gash bitten into her left shoulder, a wound so deep that the white bone peeked out through the ragged patches of flesh.
“Help me!” she wailed, her eyes wild and panicked. “Why won’t anyone help me?!” She staggered and fell forward, crying and bleeding all over the road. I was about to run outside to see what was wrong with the young woman when I saw another silhouette creeping up behind her.
It looked like the body of a man, but something was wrong. As he drew closer, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face through the dim light. The left side of it was rotted and decayed, while the right looked muscular and healthy. He wore a black suit that looked like little more than tatters. Pieces of it fell off in ragged strips. I could see his left hand was also decomposing. Whatever kind of sickness it was, it seemed to extend to the whole left side of his body.
The stiff, skeletal leg cracked as he dragged it behind him, silently drawing nearer to the young woman. The living side of his face split into an insane rictus grin as he looked down at her. He carried a blood-stained ax that dragged on the pavement behind him with a harsh, metallic groan.
“Get away from me!” the woman screamed at the abomination, trying to kick at him. But she looked weakened from blood loss, and her attempts were feeble and slow. The man laughed, a sound that rang out like the gurgling of blood. He spat squirming maggots from his mouth onto the dark street below. He knelt down before the gasping woman and gave a low whisper. It carried on the dead, silent air.
“So warm,” he murmured, wiping his dead, putrefying fingers across the streams of blood that spurted from her left shoulder. He stuck an inhumanly long, pointed tongue out of his chattering lips and began to lick the blood off his hands. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”
He stuck the bony, decaying fingers of his left hand into the wound and started pulling at the ragged wound. Blood bubbled out in increasing quantities, covering her body in its wet sheen. The woman jerked, her face turning pale and bloodless. She tried to kick at him, but he only laughed again, gurgling like a man with a slit throat. In horror, I watched him raise the ax above his head. It stood there for a long moment, trembling in his shaking hands like a guillotine blade.
“Please, don’t…” the woman pleaded as he grinned down at her. In a blur, he swung the ax down into her forehead. There was a wet cracking of bone and a ringing of metal. She sat there with her mouth open for what felt like a very long moment. Then, limply, she collapsed to the pavement. A dull thud echoed down the street as her skull smacked the pavement.
Sickened, I closed the blinds on the window and turned away, realizing that Freddie and Iris had been standing right behind me the entire time, watching the horrific display. Freddie was crying quietly into his hands, while Iris looked pale, her green eyes wide and unbelieving. The woman exhaled one last time, a long, drawn-out death gasp, and then everything went silent.
I felt sick and weak. Staggering, I put my hand out against the wall. A wave of nausea rose up my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, shining the light from my cell phone to light the way. Iris started crying. I heard her frantically try to dial 911 over and over again.
“Dammit, nothing’s working!” she cried. I stumbled into the bathroom and threw up all the popcorn and soda I had consumed that night into the toilet. Covered in sweat, I started wiping my face with toilet paper. I pushed myself up, glancing into the mirror.
A cadaverous version of myself stood there, the dead face showing horror and surprise just like my own. I saw the same high cheekbones, the same shaved head, but in the mirror image, maggots writhed and squirmed in the rancid flesh. I backpedaled into the wall, stuttering something incomprehensible. The reflected image did the same, his lipless mouth opening and closing with silent curses. He wore the same clothes as myself, a black T-shirt and blue jeans, but they were rotted and tattered, as if they had been dug out of a grave.
“What the fuck?” I swore, raising my right hand experimentally. The mirror image did the same, matching every single movement perfectly. At that moment, Iris came running into the bathroom, her soft footsteps thudding gently against the marble floor. I jumped, turning to her.
“There’s someone outside the door,” she whispered, her face pale. I glanced back at the reflection, seeing that the other version was no longer following my movements.
“Watch out!” I cried, but it was too late.
The skull-like face came forward in a blur. His arm shot out towards Iris. The surface of the mirror swirled as if it were made of water when his pale flesh made contact with it. The sharp points of bone of his fingers wrapped around Iris’ neck. Stunned and silent, I watched in horror as he started dragging her into that other world.
“Stop him!” she screamed. “God, make him stop!” I ran forward, grabbing her legs as her head and chest was sucked through. There was a slight popping sound when her body entered the liquid-like surface. I tried to hold on with all of my strength, but whatever abomination was on the other side was strong, stronger than me. His iron grip yanked her out of my hands.
“Dad?” Freddie asked, slinking into the bathroom. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked around, confused. “Where’s Mom? Who’s screaming?” I had to make a decision instantly, I knew. I could either stay with my son, or try to get my wife back. I knew I couldn’t just leave Iris, though. I felt mentally torn. I looked between him and the mirror, my heart quivering with anxiety.
“Freddie, go wait in the living room,” I said. “Hide behind the couch. Don’t answer the door or say anything to anyone, no matter what. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not. Before I turned to the mirror, I patted his head. “Remember the rules they read us on the TV.” He nodded, but he was only a seven-year-old boy. How much did he really understand? Hell, how much did I even understand? I hadn’t followed the rules, and now Iris was kidnapped.
I turned back to the mirror, seeing that I had no reflection now. There was no sign of Iris or the rotted corpse with my face, either. Slowly, I walked forward, putting my trembling hand out towards its silvery surface. My fingers went through the mirror as if it were mere air, but I felt something freezing cold ripple around my skin. Pins and needles rushed up my arm. Taking a deep breath in, I pushed myself up on the counter and went all the way through.
***
I fell forward onto the marble surface of the bathroom floor, putting my hands out to break the fall. As I glanced up, I realized how strange everything looked. The world here was in constant motion, as if a fog-like void shimmered over the world. The floor’s surface danced with whorls of shadow. They felt as freezing cold as liquid nitrogen as they passed over my body.
Shivering and hugging myself, I pushed myself up off the floor. The walls and ceilings, too, rippled in the same black currents. I glanced around, seeing the white bathtub filled to the brim with dark blood. It bubbled constantly, as if someone were drowning under its surface. Bloody handprints of all sizes smeared the sides of the tub. The smell of copper grew strong, mixing with the strange smell that emanated from the shadows, a pungent, chemical odor like ammonia.
I passed by the mirror, seeing that here, too, I had no reflection. I felt like a vampire, staring into that blank emptiness. Feeling sick and disoriented, I stumbled forward, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I heard Iris crying and shrieking somewhere nearby.
“Nooo…” she wailed. “Please, stop…” Her voice seemed to be growing fainter and weaker, as if she were being dragged away by a tsunami. I peeked around the corner. Everything looked like nightmarish and strange. The living room looked much longer, stretching out for hundreds of feet. It had the same blue carpet and white walls as the one in my world, but now it was the size of a football stadium. The dark red couch had lengthened to an absurd size, stretching wide enough to fit a hundred people in it. The TV loomed across the room like the screen of a movie theater. It flickered constantly, showing a cacophony of white noise and static interspersed with horrible images: naked corpses with their throats sliced from ear to ear, burning bodies, people falling to their deaths from burning buildings.
But none of that was what made an involuntary gasp of horror rise up my throat. It was the enormous spiderweb spanning the length of the ceiling, fluttering softly in the breeze. In the center of the symmetrical web, I saw Iris, covered in silky thread up to her neck. She was hanging horizontally facing down, her body parallel to the floor. She struggled against the webbing that bound her like steel chains. Her eyes bulged from her head as she stared fixedly at the cadaver approaching her.
Crawling upside-down towards Iris was the monstrous image of myself I had seen in the mirror, but he had transformed into something spidery and eldritch. He skittered along with four arms and four legs now. The emaciated limbs poked out of his tattered rags of clothes, forked and elongated, the skin pale and covered in purple sores and deep gashes. Iris continued to plead and shriek in horror as it drew near. The creature’s chattering fangs and blackened gums approached her neck.
At the penultimate moment, Iris saw me, peeking around the corner of the bathroom. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I thought of trying to scream out, to throw something at the creature, but then what? We would both die, and then who would be left alive to protect Freddie? I didn’t know what to do. These thoughts passed through my head in the space of a single moment as we stared at each other. Her eyes shone with a moment of clarity, even as waves of mortal terror shook her body like a hurricane.
“Save Freddie!” she screamed. “Run! Go, Jack!” The creature noticed her staring at me instantly. He curved his long neck and twisted his spidery limbs, clutching the thick strands of silk with his skeletal limbs. The creature turned to me. He had a face like a skull. His filmy eyes regarded me intently. Silver streams of saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a wide, insane smile, then turned back to Iris, unhinging his jaw. The pale, dead skin tore with a wet ripping sound. The yellow, sharp points of teeth gleamed darkly in the currents of rippling shadow.
I turned, sprinting back into the darkness of the bathroom as the crunching of bone and the shrieking of my wife followed me out. I had to repress an urge to vomit. With all of the speed I could muster, I staggered forward to the counter, where the mirror sat revealing the image of my house, an image that still lacked my reflection inside. Iris’ pleas and screams rapidly weakened. I heard her choking and gasping. A few moments later, I heard a rapid skittering of many legs approaching the bathroom. I started to pull myself up on the counter to escape this hellish mirror world.
Something creaked in the doorway behind me. I glanced back in fright, seeing the abomination with the eight limbs creeping up behind me. He stood only a few feet away from me now. As my eyes met his white, dead ones, his cadaverous face split into a sickly grin.
***
A wave of adrenaline shook my body. My vision turned white in the darkness. With a pounding heart, I pushed myself up and lunged through the mirror. The eight-limbed abomination with my rotting face gave an insane shriek. I felt a freezing cold hand wrap around my ankle and begin to drag me back.
“No!” I shrieked, trying to kick blindly at the mirror creature’s dead face. “I’ll never go with you! Never!” I smashed my sneaker into his jaw. There was a shattering sound, as if a ceramic vase had been dropped. The chattering of sharp teeth and the shrieking cut off abruptly. Looking back, I saw the corpse’s broken jaw hanging on by only a few shreds of tendons and muscle. The eyes went slack and I felt the grip loosen for the briefest moment. I pushed myself forward and slid through the mirror.
The freezing cold, pins-and-needles sensation returned, running over my body like water. I collapsed head-first onto the sink, rolling onto the floor with a jarring thud. The shrieking of the eight-limbed corpse continued behind me. I saw him trying to force his elongated body through the mirror. The long arms with their sharp fingers reached through, swiping wildly at the air. Before I could escape, one of them came through and cut four deep gashes into my chest. My shirt instantly became soaked in blood as a burning pain ran up my body.
I heard someone pounding at the front door, but in the panic of the moment, I could barely think. As the rest of the cadaverous body tried to push his way through the mirror, I dragged myself out of the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, even as the sounds of breaking and shattering followed me out of the bathroom. Ignoring the pain radiating through my body, I ran over to the couch and began shoving it towards the door.
The door shuddered in its frame. The house and the floor shook as the corpse threw his enormous body into the wood over and over again. Cracks spiderwebbed down the front of it, and I knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple more seconds.
“Freddie!” I screamed, looking around frantically. My heart dropped when I remembered I had told him to hide behind the couch. He was not here, not anywhere in the living room. “Freddie! Where the hell are you?”
“Dad?!” a voice responded from outside. It sounded like Freddie’s voice, but it was eerie, as if his voice had gotten caught between stations on the radio. It sputtered with static. It fell and rose in an ear-splitting scream. “Dad, let me in! Please! They’re going to hurt me!”
I ran to the front door, looking outside, but I saw no sign of Freddie. The sky had changed, though. The Moon had changed from orange to a dark red, the color of a burst blood blister. The rest of the sky was such a dark shade of crimson that it looked almost black. Around my feet, I felt something warm and wet.
“Where are you?” I yelled. “I don’t see…” At that moment, the bathroom door exploded outwards in a shower of nails and splinters, covering my face and body in the debris. The cadaverous face peeked around the corner, as if he were playing hide-and-seek rather than hunting and killing people.
“Fuck!” I swore as I looked down, seeing blood streaming in from under the door. It covered my sneakers up to the tops of the soles as more and more flooded in.
I ran for the stairs as the eight-limbed corpse skittered across the ceiling like a spider. He hung upside-down, the jaw hanging askew on his putrefying skull, the filmy eyes flashing with bloodlust. I was already half-way up the stairs when the corpse jumped down into the lake of blood at the bottom of the stairs. With his elongated, twisted limbs, he began pulling himself towards the first step in a blur, covering his body in the thick, putrid blood that continuously poured in through the bottom of every door.
But something was in the blood, I saw to my horror. I froze in place near the top of the stairs, watching the creature as he struggled to pull himself out of the blood, which was already at knee-height and still rising. There were dark silhouettes slithering through the blood. I saw the head of a black snake peer out at the eight-limbed cadaver. The snake had no eyelids, and its eyes looked as red as the blood it lived in. It wrapped its muscular body around his torso, rising up towards the cadaver’s face. The blood-red eyes met those dead, rotted ones of the corpse as they stared at each other. Then the eldritch snake lunged forward and bit off the corpse’s face.
Other snakes started to rise out of the surface, wrapping around his four legs and slithering up his back. The corpse wailed like a banshee, running blindly into the walls to try to smash the many snakes that suffocated and bit him from all sides. But this only seemed to heighten their hunger and bloodlust.
The sound of shredding flesh and snapping bone followed me as I ran into Freddie’s room and hid. His room was the only one without mirrors in it, I knew, and I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
***
In the thick curtains of shadow, a small voice rang out, terrified and searching.
“Dad? Is that really you?” Freddie asked, hiding behind his chest of toys. I saw his small body, contorted and pale. His little head poked above the lid.
“Freddie! You’re alive!” I cried, running over and hugging him. Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were outside. I heard you screaming out there.”
“I heard you and Mom yelling outside, too,” Freddie whispered, his small body trembling as I held him. “I got scared and ran up here. I’m sorry, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“It’s OK. Thank God you did,” I murmured, remembering the lake of blood downstairs and all those strange, black snakes. “Mom isn’t coming, Freddie.” He went silent then and didn’t ask any more questions. A sick, heavy weight covered my heart.
In the darkness, we hid and waited, though I knew not for what. The smell of copper and iron from all the blood downstairs had become overwhelming. After a few minutes of this, I took my phone out and shone it around experimentally.
I saw a thin layer of blood streaming into the room, rising up the stairs like the waves of a tsunami. It covered the hallway’s hardwood floor, a half-inch thick deep already and growing fast. Dark shapes slithered and writhed in it. Small waves pushed the lake of blood towards us, and within seconds, my shoes were submerged in it.
“Dad?” Freddie asked in a panicked voice. “What’s that? There’s things inside of it…” Without thinking, I picked Freddie up and held him above my body.
“We need to get to the attic!” I whispered to him, sprinting through the rising pool of blood with my son in my arms. “Don’t be afraid, Freddie. We’ll make it.” I had nearly reached the hallway where the pull-cord for the attic stairs hung when something wrapped around my feet. I went flying forwards, dropping Freddie in the pool of blood. He was submerged up to his waist instantly. His small body writhed in terror.
“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, flailing his arms as black snakes circled him like hungry sharks. The one wrapping around my legs continued slithering up my body. A rising sense of horror and panic filled me. At that moment, I knew I was doomed. I only hoped I would see Iris again. Then I noticed spotlights turn on outside, filling the inside of the house with a radiance like the Sun.
All of the windows upstairs suddenly smashed inwards. A spotlight shone through the nearest of them, illuminating me and Freddie in our frantic struggles against the snakes. Men in SWAT gear crawled through the shattered windows. With their gas masks, their faces looked like insects with too many compound eyes.
On their helmets and jackets, I saw a strange symbol: a double-fisted thumb holding a staring, lidless eye. Dozens of them streamed in, shooting the snakes that circled Freddie and me. As the one wrapping around its body slowly wound its way towards my face, one of the black-clad men came up behind it and shot it in the skull. The snake’s body collapsed all around me, its muscles loosening in death. With relief washing over me, I ran to our saviors.
“Get us out of here!” I pleaded. “There’s horrible things happening!” The man nodded in his black military gear, his mask revealing nothing.
“Follow me,” he said dispassionately, starting towards the roof. “You two are the only survivors we’ve found so far. It truly is a miracle anyone’s still alive.” I could only agree silently.
"This must be all over every news channel," I said. The masked man shook his head.
"No one knows about this," he responded. "No one but you two and our group. The media won't say shit. They do what we tell them."
***
I followed the men out onto the roof. Helicopters crisscrossed the skies, illuminating the houses and streets with many bright spotlights. As a helicopter slowly lowered itself down to take Freddie and me away from that pit of nightmares, dropping a rope for us to ascend, I glanced around my town one last time.
Many of the houses were destroyed or burning, sending thick clouds of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Men in full SWAT gear zoomed around the blood flooding the streets in boats, the whirring of the motors echoing like angry hornets. Turning away, I followed Freddie into the helicopter and never returned.
Iris is dead, and Freddie and I have seen enough horrors to scar us for a thousand years. In my heart, I know it is my fault my wife died. I didn’t follow the rules, and she paid the price.
I will hear those dying, panicked screams until my final breath.

My wife, Iris, sat on the couch next to me, holding the bowl of popcorn in her thin hands. On her other side, our little boy, Freddie, sat. He looked just like his mother, with the same dirty blonde hair and faraway eyes, like the eyes of a dreamer. The movie played across our flat-screen TV, some CGI comedy with talking penguins and llamas that could drive cars. It was some garbage from Disney I would never have watched in a million years, but Freddie liked it, so I suffered through it for him.
We had turned off all the lights in the house for the movie. Only the TV’s flickering colors illuminated the room, sending dancing shadows that flashed out behind us.
Suddenly, outside the living room window, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, splitting a tree in our front yard in two. Light flooded in through the window as if the flash of a nuclear missile were ripping its way across the town. A crash rang out as the tree split down the middle, its massive branches tumbling down onto the lawn. I jumped as the ground shook. More lightning flashed nearby, hitting other houses and lawns on the street.
“Damn, there wasn’t supposed to be any storms,” I said in surprise. The TV had gone black, and now we sat in darkness. For a long moment, I thought the power had gone out.
Abruptly, it came back on with a roar of white noise and a flickering of static. The volume seemed to be increasing by itself, growing into a rushing cacophony like a waterfall. I saw Iris try to scream something, but I could only see her lips move.
As suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The standard “PLEASE STANDBY” screen with a rainbow of blocky colors behind it appeared. There was a clanging, ringing sound that emanated from the speakers, high-pitched and whining like tinnitus. Then text started appearing across the screen. At the same time, a deep, serious voice spoke in the background, like a radio announcer reporting on the death of a President.
“This is the Demon Emergency Alert Broadcast System,” the voice read grimly. “This is not a test. Level five activity has been reported in your area. Do not go outside. Close all blinds, shutters and windows. Lock all doors and close any attached garages. Do not open your doors except to military or police personnel with the proper insignia. Even if someone appears to be in distress, do not open your door to investigate or try to interfere in any way. A temporary quarantine is in effect for your area. Military and police assistance is on the way.
“To ensure the greatest chances of survival during this time of crisis, please abide by the following rules:

1. If blood begins to pour under your door, go to a higher floor immediately. Avoid physical contact with the blood at all costs.
2. All legitimate military and police personnel will have a special insignia on their helmets and jackets, an eye contained in a double-thumbed fist. Only accompany them if they have this insignia- otherwise, they are imposters.
3. Avoid mirrors for the duration of the emergency.”

The voice cut out abruptly, slowing down in a mechanical whine. Static started flashing across the TV, covering the “PLEASE STANDBY” message that had returned in blocky letters. At that moment, the lights went out. They came back on a couple seconds later, brightening and dimming, before the power failed again. This time, the electricity did not come back on.
“What the fuck?” Iris whispered next to me, taking out her phone and shining the light across the dark living room. “That was pretty weird. Everything looks different outside, too. I was just outside an hour ago and the Moon didn’t look anything like that.” She pointed. I got up, realizing she was right. The nighttime sky outside looked strange. I looked out the front window, seeing the Moon was cast in a fluorescent orange light. The cloudless sky had a dark red glow to it, as if some kind of eerie smog had covered everything. I had seen similar things happen after massive forest fires in the past.
“What happened, Dad?” Freddie asked in his small voice. “Where’s the movie?”
“I think we lost power, little man,” I said, ruffling his hair in a nonchalant manner. I didn’t really believe the emergency broadcast, after all. I figured some teenager had hacked the TV station and decided to play a prank, or perhaps some disgruntled employee had done it on his last day as a kind of “Fuck you” to the station. I had heard of similar things happening before. It was somewhat strange how the power had gone out and the sky had changed, but I felt sure that it could all be logically explained.
Someone shrieked outside. I looked out onto the dark street, seeing the silhouette of someone running frantically down the middle of the street, zigzagging wildly. As the figure got closer, I realized it was a young woman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a white shirt and khakis. Her clothes were soaked in streams of blood that made the fabric cling to her trembling body. I saw a vicious gash bitten into her left shoulder, a wound so deep that the white bone peeked out through the ragged patches of flesh.
“Help me!” she wailed, her eyes wild and panicked. “Why won’t anyone help me?!” She staggered and fell forward, crying and bleeding all over the road. I was about to run outside to see what was wrong with the young woman when I saw another silhouette creeping up behind her.
It looked like the body of a man, but something was wrong. As he drew closer, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face through the dim light. The left side of it was rotted and decayed, while the right looked muscular and healthy. He wore a black suit that looked like little more than tatters. Pieces of it fell off in ragged strips. I could see his left hand was also decomposing. Whatever kind of sickness it was, it seemed to extend to the whole left side of his body.
The stiff, skeletal leg cracked as he dragged it behind him, silently drawing nearer to the young woman. The living side of his face split into an insane rictus grin as he looked down at her. He carried a blood-stained ax that dragged on the pavement behind him with a harsh, metallic groan.
“Get away from me!” the woman screamed at the abomination, trying to kick at him. But she looked weakened from blood loss, and her attempts were feeble and slow. The man laughed, a sound that rang out like the gurgling of blood. He spat squirming maggots from his mouth onto the dark street below. He knelt down before the gasping woman and gave a low whisper. It carried on the dead, silent air.
“So warm,” he murmured, wiping his dead, putrefying fingers across the streams of blood that spurted from her left shoulder. He stuck an inhumanly long, pointed tongue out of his chattering lips and began to lick the blood off his hands. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”
He stuck the bony, decaying fingers of his left hand into the wound and started pulling at the ragged wound. Blood bubbled out in increasing quantities, covering her body in its wet sheen. The woman jerked, her face turning pale and bloodless. She tried to kick at him, but he only laughed again, gurgling like a man with a slit throat. In horror, I watched him raise the ax above his head. It stood there for a long moment, trembling in his shaking hands like a guillotine blade.
“Please, don’t…” the woman pleaded as he grinned down at her. In a blur, he swung the ax down into her forehead. There was a wet cracking of bone and a ringing of metal. She sat there with her mouth open for what felt like a very long moment. Then, limply, she collapsed to the pavement. A dull thud echoed down the street as her skull smacked the pavement.
Sickened, I closed the blinds on the window and turned away, realizing that Freddie and Iris had been standing right behind me the entire time, watching the horrific display. Freddie was crying quietly into his hands, while Iris looked pale, her green eyes wide and unbelieving. The woman exhaled one last time, a long, drawn-out death gasp, and then everything went silent.
I felt sick and weak. Staggering, I put my hand out against the wall. A wave of nausea rose up my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, shining the light from my cell phone to light the way. Iris started crying. I heard her frantically try to dial 911 over and over again.
“Dammit, nothing’s working!” she cried. I stumbled into the bathroom and threw up all the popcorn and soda I had consumed that night into the toilet. Covered in sweat, I started wiping my face with toilet paper. I pushed myself up, glancing into the mirror.
A cadaverous version of myself stood there, the dead face showing horror and surprise just like my own. I saw the same high cheekbones, the same shaved head, but in the mirror image, maggots writhed and squirmed in the rancid flesh. I backpedaled into the wall, stuttering something incomprehensible. The reflected image did the same, his lipless mouth opening and closing with silent curses. He wore the same clothes as myself, a black T-shirt and blue jeans, but they were rotted and tattered, as if they had been dug out of a grave.
“What the fuck?” I swore, raising my right hand experimentally. The mirror image did the same, matching every single movement perfectly. At that moment, Iris came running into the bathroom, her soft footsteps thudding gently against the marble floor. I jumped, turning to her.
“There’s someone outside the door,” she whispered, her face pale. I glanced back at the reflection, seeing that the other version was no longer following my movements.
“Watch out!” I cried, but it was too late.
The skull-like face came forward in a blur. His arm shot out towards Iris. The surface of the mirror swirled as if it were made of water when his pale flesh made contact with it. The sharp points of bone of his fingers wrapped around Iris’ neck. Stunned and silent, I watched in horror as he started dragging her into that other world.
“Stop him!” she screamed. “God, make him stop!” I ran forward, grabbing her legs as her head and chest was sucked through. There was a slight popping sound when her body entered the liquid-like surface. I tried to hold on with all of my strength, but whatever abomination was on the other side was strong, stronger than me. His iron grip yanked her out of my hands.
“Dad?” Freddie asked, slinking into the bathroom. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked around, confused. “Where’s Mom? Who’s screaming?” I had to make a decision instantly, I knew. I could either stay with my son, or try to get my wife back. I knew I couldn’t just leave Iris, though. I felt mentally torn. I looked between him and the mirror, my heart quivering with anxiety.
“Freddie, go wait in the living room,” I said. “Hide behind the couch. Don’t answer the door or say anything to anyone, no matter what. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not. Before I turned to the mirror, I patted his head. “Remember the rules they read us on the TV.” He nodded, but he was only a seven-year-old boy. How much did he really understand? Hell, how much did I even understand? I hadn’t followed the rules, and now Iris was kidnapped.
I turned back to the mirror, seeing that I had no reflection now. There was no sign of Iris or the rotted corpse with my face, either. Slowly, I walked forward, putting my trembling hand out towards its silvery surface. My fingers went through the mirror as if it were mere air, but I felt something freezing cold ripple around my skin. Pins and needles rushed up my arm. Taking a deep breath in, I pushed myself up on the counter and went all the way through.
***
I fell forward onto the marble surface of the bathroom floor, putting my hands out to break the fall. As I glanced up, I realized how strange everything looked. The world here was in constant motion, as if a fog-like void shimmered over the world. The floor’s surface danced with whorls of shadow. They felt as freezing cold as liquid nitrogen as they passed over my body.
Shivering and hugging myself, I pushed myself up off the floor. The walls and ceilings, too, rippled in the same black currents. I glanced around, seeing the white bathtub filled to the brim with dark blood. It bubbled constantly, as if someone were drowning under its surface. Bloody handprints of all sizes smeared the sides of the tub. The smell of copper grew strong, mixing with the strange smell that emanated from the shadows, a pungent, chemical odor like ammonia.
I passed by the mirror, seeing that here, too, I had no reflection. I felt like a vampire, staring into that blank emptiness. Feeling sick and disoriented, I stumbled forward, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I heard Iris crying and shrieking somewhere nearby.
“Nooo…” she wailed. “Please, stop…” Her voice seemed to be growing fainter and weaker, as if she were being dragged away by a tsunami. I peeked around the corner. Everything looked like nightmarish and strange. The living room looked much longer, stretching out for hundreds of feet. It had the same blue carpet and white walls as the one in my world, but now it was the size of a football stadium. The dark red couch had lengthened to an absurd size, stretching wide enough to fit a hundred people in it. The TV loomed across the room like the screen of a movie theater. It flickered constantly, showing a cacophony of white noise and static interspersed with horrible images: naked corpses with their throats sliced from ear to ear, burning bodies, people falling to their deaths from burning buildings.
But none of that was what made an involuntary gasp of horror rise up my throat. It was the enormous spiderweb spanning the length of the ceiling, fluttering softly in the breeze. In the center of the symmetrical web, I saw Iris, covered in silky thread up to her neck. She was hanging horizontally facing down, her body parallel to the floor. She struggled against the webbing that bound her like steel chains. Her eyes bulged from her head as she stared fixedly at the cadaver approaching her.
Crawling upside-down towards Iris was the monstrous image of myself I had seen in the mirror, but he had transformed into something spidery and eldritch. He skittered along with four arms and four legs now. The emaciated limbs poked out of his tattered rags of clothes, forked and elongated, the skin pale and covered in purple sores and deep gashes. Iris continued to plead and shriek in horror as it drew near. The creature’s chattering fangs and blackened gums approached her neck.
At the penultimate moment, Iris saw me, peeking around the corner of the bathroom. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I thought of trying to scream out, to throw something at the creature, but then what? We would both die, and then who would be left alive to protect Freddie? I didn’t know what to do. These thoughts passed through my head in the space of a single moment as we stared at each other. Her eyes shone with a moment of clarity, even as waves of mortal terror shook her body like a hurricane.
“Save Freddie!” she screamed. “Run! Go, Jack!” The creature noticed her staring at me instantly. He curved his long neck and twisted his spidery limbs, clutching the thick strands of silk with his skeletal limbs. The creature turned to me. He had a face like a skull. His filmy eyes regarded me intently. Silver streams of saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a wide, insane smile, then turned back to Iris, unhinging his jaw. The pale, dead skin tore with a wet ripping sound. The yellow, sharp points of teeth gleamed darkly in the currents of rippling shadow.
I turned, sprinting back into the darkness of the bathroom as the crunching of bone and the shrieking of my wife followed me out. I had to repress an urge to vomit. With all of the speed I could muster, I staggered forward to the counter, where the mirror sat revealing the image of my house, an image that still lacked my reflection inside. Iris’ pleas and screams rapidly weakened. I heard her choking and gasping. A few moments later, I heard a rapid skittering of many legs approaching the bathroom. I started to pull myself up on the counter to escape this hellish mirror world.
Something creaked in the doorway behind me. I glanced back in fright, seeing the abomination with the eight limbs creeping up behind me. He stood only a few feet away from me now. As my eyes met his white, dead ones, his cadaverous face split into a sickly grin.
***
A wave of adrenaline shook my body. My vision turned white in the darkness. With a pounding heart, I pushed myself up and lunged through the mirror. The eight-limbed abomination with my rotting face gave an insane shriek. I felt a freezing cold hand wrap around my ankle and begin to drag me back.
“No!” I shrieked, trying to kick blindly at the mirror creature’s dead face. “I’ll never go with you! Never!” I smashed my sneaker into his jaw. There was a shattering sound, as if a ceramic vase had been dropped. The chattering of sharp teeth and the shrieking cut off abruptly. Looking back, I saw the corpse’s broken jaw hanging on by only a few shreds of tendons and muscle. The eyes went slack and I felt the grip loosen for the briefest moment. I pushed myself forward and slid through the mirror.
The freezing cold, pins-and-needles sensation returned, running over my body like water. I collapsed head-first onto the sink, rolling onto the floor with a jarring thud. The shrieking of the eight-limbed corpse continued behind me. I saw him trying to force his elongated body through the mirror. The long arms with their sharp fingers reached through, swiping wildly at the air. Before I could escape, one of them came through and cut four deep gashes into my chest. My shirt instantly became soaked in blood as a burning pain ran up my body.
I heard someone pounding at the front door, but in the panic of the moment, I could barely think. As the rest of the cadaverous body tried to push his way through the mirror, I dragged myself out of the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, even as the sounds of breaking and shattering followed me out of the bathroom. Ignoring the pain radiating through my body, I ran over to the couch and began shoving it towards the door.
The door shuddered in its frame. The house and the floor shook as the corpse threw his enormous body into the wood over and over again. Cracks spiderwebbed down the front of it, and I knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple more seconds.
“Freddie!” I screamed, looking around frantically. My heart dropped when I remembered I had told him to hide behind the couch. He was not here, not anywhere in the living room. “Freddie! Where the hell are you?”
“Dad?!” a voice responded from outside. It sounded like Freddie’s voice, but it was eerie, as if his voice had gotten caught between stations on the radio. It sputtered with static. It fell and rose in an ear-splitting scream. “Dad, let me in! Please! They’re going to hurt me!”
I ran to the front door, looking outside, but I saw no sign of Freddie. The sky had changed, though. The Moon had changed from orange to a dark red, the color of a burst blood blister. The rest of the sky was such a dark shade of crimson that it looked almost black. Around my feet, I felt something warm and wet.
“Where are you?” I yelled. “I don’t see…” At that moment, the bathroom door exploded outwards in a shower of nails and splinters, covering my face and body in the debris. The cadaverous face peeked around the corner, as if he were playing hide-and-seek rather than hunting and killing people.
“Fuck!” I swore as I looked down, seeing blood streaming in from under the door. It covered my sneakers up to the tops of the soles as more and more flooded in.
I ran for the stairs as the eight-limbed corpse skittered across the ceiling like a spider. He hung upside-down, the jaw hanging askew on his putrefying skull, the filmy eyes flashing with bloodlust. I was already half-way up the stairs when the corpse jumped down into the lake of blood at the bottom of the stairs. With his elongated, twisted limbs, he began pulling himself towards the first step in a blur, covering his body in the thick, putrid blood that continuously poured in through the bottom of every door.
But something was in the blood, I saw to my horror. I froze in place near the top of the stairs, watching the creature as he struggled to pull himself out of the blood, which was already at knee-height and still rising. There were dark silhouettes slithering through the blood. I saw the head of a black snake peer out at the eight-limbed cadaver. The snake had no eyelids, and its eyes looked as red as the blood it lived in. It wrapped its muscular body around his torso, rising up towards the cadaver’s face. The blood-red eyes met those dead, rotted ones of the corpse as they stared at each other. Then the eldritch snake lunged forward and bit off the corpse’s face.
Other snakes started to rise out of the surface, wrapping around his four legs and slithering up his back. The corpse wailed like a banshee, running blindly into the walls to try to smash the many snakes that suffocated and bit him from all sides. But this only seemed to heighten their hunger and bloodlust.
The sound of shredding flesh and snapping bone followed me as I ran into Freddie’s room and hid. His room was the only one without mirrors in it, I knew, and I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
***
In the thick curtains of shadow, a small voice rang out, terrified and searching.
“Dad? Is that really you?” Freddie asked, hiding behind his chest of toys. I saw his small body, contorted and pale. His little head poked above the lid.
“Freddie! You’re alive!” I cried, running over and hugging him. Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were outside. I heard you screaming out there.”
“I heard you and Mom yelling outside, too,” Freddie whispered, his small body trembling as I held him. “I got scared and ran up here. I’m sorry, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“It’s OK. Thank God you did,” I murmured, remembering the lake of blood downstairs and all those strange, black snakes. “Mom isn’t coming, Freddie.” He went silent then and didn’t ask any more questions. A sick, heavy weight covered my heart.
In the darkness, we hid and waited, though I knew not for what. The smell of copper and iron from all the blood downstairs had become overwhelming. After a few minutes of this, I took my phone out and shone it around experimentally.
I saw a thin layer of blood streaming into the room, rising up the stairs like the waves of a tsunami. It covered the hallway’s hardwood floor, a half-inch thick deep already and growing fast. Dark shapes slithered and writhed in it. Small waves pushed the lake of blood towards us, and within seconds, my shoes were submerged in it.
“Dad?” Freddie asked in a panicked voice. “What’s that? There’s things inside of it…” Without thinking, I picked Freddie up and held him above my body.
“We need to get to the attic!” I whispered to him, sprinting through the rising pool of blood with my son in my arms. “Don’t be afraid, Freddie. We’ll make it.” I had nearly reached the hallway where the pull-cord for the attic stairs hung when something wrapped around my feet. I went flying forwards, dropping Freddie in the pool of blood. He was submerged up to his waist instantly. His small body writhed in terror.
“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, flailing his arms as black snakes circled him like hungry sharks. The one wrapping around my legs continued slithering up my body. A rising sense of horror and panic filled me. At that moment, I knew I was doomed. I only hoped I would see Iris again. Then I noticed spotlights turn on outside, filling the inside of the house with a radiance like the Sun.
All of the windows upstairs suddenly smashed inwards. A spotlight shone through the nearest of them, illuminating me and Freddie in our frantic struggles against the snakes. Men in SWAT gear crawled through the shattered windows. With their gas masks, their faces looked like insects with too many compound eyes.
On their helmets and jackets, I saw a strange symbol: a double-fisted thumb holding a staring, lidless eye. Dozens of them streamed in, shooting the snakes that circled Freddie and me. As the one wrapping around its body slowly wound its way towards my face, one of the black-clad men came up behind it and shot it in the skull. The snake’s body collapsed all around me, its muscles loosening in death. With relief washing over me, I ran to our saviors.
“Get us out of here!” I pleaded. “There’s horrible things happening!” The man nodded in his black military gear, his mask revealing nothing.
“Follow me,” he said dispassionately, starting towards the roof. “You two are the only survivors we’ve found so far. It truly is a miracle anyone’s still alive.” I could only agree silently.
"This must be all over every news channel," I said. The masked man shook his head.
"No one knows about this," he responded. "No one but you two and our group. The media won't say shit. They do what we tell them."
***
I followed the men out onto the roof. Helicopters crisscrossed the skies, illuminating the houses and streets with many bright spotlights. As a helicopter slowly lowered itself down to take Freddie and me away from that pit of nightmares, dropping a rope for us to ascend, I glanced around my town one last time.
Many of the houses were destroyed or burning, sending thick clouds of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Men in full SWAT gear zoomed around the blood flooding the streets in boats, the whirring of the motors echoing like angry hornets. Turning away, I followed Freddie into the helicopter and never returned.
Iris is dead, and Freddie and I have seen enough horrors to scar us for a thousand years. In my heart, I know it is my fault my wife died. I didn’t follow the rules, and she paid the price.
I will hear those dying, panicked screams until my final breath.

My wife, Iris, sat on the couch next to me, holding the bowl of popcorn in her thin hands. On her other side, our little boy, Freddie, sat. He looked just like his mother, with the same dirty blonde hair and faraway eyes, like the eyes of a dreamer. The movie played across our flat-screen TV, some CGI comedy with talking penguins and llamas that could drive cars. It was some garbage from Disney I would never have watched in a million years, but Freddie liked it, so I suffered through it for him.
We had turned off all the lights in the house for the movie. Only the TV’s flickering colors illuminated the room, sending dancing shadows that flashed out behind us.
Suddenly, outside the living room window, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, splitting a tree in our front yard in two. Light flooded in through the window as if the flash of a nuclear missile were ripping its way across the town. A crash rang out as the tree split down the middle, its massive branches tumbling down onto the lawn. I jumped as the ground shook. More lightning flashed nearby, hitting other houses and lawns on the street.
“Damn, there wasn’t supposed to be any storms,” I said in surprise. The TV had gone black, and now we sat in darkness. For a long moment, I thought the power had gone out.
Abruptly, it came back on with a roar of white noise and a flickering of static. The volume seemed to be increasing by itself, growing into a rushing cacophony like a waterfall. I saw Iris try to scream something, but I could only see her lips move.
As suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The standard “PLEASE STANDBY” screen with a rainbow of blocky colors behind it appeared. There was a clanging, ringing sound that emanated from the speakers, high-pitched and whining like tinnitus. Then text started appearing across the screen. At the same time, a deep, serious voice spoke in the background, like a radio announcer reporting on the death of a President.
“This is the Demon Emergency Alert Broadcast System,” the voice read grimly. “This is not a test. Level five activity has been reported in your area. Do not go outside. Close all blinds, shutters and windows. Lock all doors and close any attached garages. Do not open your doors except to military or police personnel with the proper insignia. Even if someone appears to be in distress, do not open your door to investigate or try to interfere in any way. A temporary quarantine is in effect for your area. Military and police assistance is on the way.
“To ensure the greatest chances of survival during this time of crisis, please abide by the following rules:

1. If blood begins to pour under your door, go to a higher floor immediately. Avoid physical contact with the blood at all costs.
2. All legitimate military and police personnel will have a special insignia on their helmets and jackets, an eye contained in a double-thumbed fist. Only accompany them if they have this insignia- otherwise, they are imposters.
3. Avoid mirrors for the duration of the emergency.”

The voice cut out abruptly, slowing down in a mechanical whine. Static started flashing across the TV, covering the “PLEASE STANDBY” message that had returned in blocky letters. At that moment, the lights went out. They came back on a couple seconds later, brightening and dimming, before the power failed again. This time, the electricity did not come back on.
“What the fuck?” Iris whispered next to me, taking out her phone and shining the light across the dark living room. “That was pretty weird. Everything looks different outside, too. I was just outside an hour ago and the Moon didn’t look anything like that.” She pointed. I got up, realizing she was right. The nighttime sky outside looked strange. I looked out the front window, seeing the Moon was cast in a fluorescent orange light. The cloudless sky had a dark red glow to it, as if some kind of eerie smog had covered everything. I had seen similar things happen after massive forest fires in the past.
“What happened, Dad?” Freddie asked in his small voice. “Where’s the movie?”
“I think we lost power, little man,” I said, ruffling his hair in a nonchalant manner. I didn’t really believe the emergency broadcast, after all. I figured some teenager had hacked the TV station and decided to play a prank, or perhaps some disgruntled employee had done it on his last day as a kind of “Fuck you” to the station. I had heard of similar things happening before. It was somewhat strange how the power had gone out and the sky had changed, but I felt sure that it could all be logically explained.
Someone shrieked outside. I looked out onto the dark street, seeing the silhouette of someone running frantically down the middle of the street, zigzagging wildly. As the figure got closer, I realized it was a young woman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a white shirt and khakis. Her clothes were soaked in streams of blood that made the fabric cling to her trembling body. I saw a vicious gash bitten into her left shoulder, a wound so deep that the white bone peeked out through the ragged patches of flesh.
“Help me!” she wailed, her eyes wild and panicked. “Why won’t anyone help me?!” She staggered and fell forward, crying and bleeding all over the road. I was about to run outside to see what was wrong with the young woman when I saw another silhouette creeping up behind her.
It looked like the body of a man, but something was wrong. As he drew closer, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face through the dim light. The left side of it was rotted and decayed, while the right looked muscular and healthy. He wore a black suit that looked like little more than tatters. Pieces of it fell off in ragged strips. I could see his left hand was also decomposing. Whatever kind of sickness it was, it seemed to extend to the whole left side of his body.
The stiff, skeletal leg cracked as he dragged it behind him, silently drawing nearer to the young woman. The living side of his face split into an insane rictus grin as he looked down at her. He carried a blood-stained ax that dragged on the pavement behind him with a harsh, metallic groan.
“Get away from me!” the woman screamed at the abomination, trying to kick at him. But she looked weakened from blood loss, and her attempts were feeble and slow. The man laughed, a sound that rang out like the gurgling of blood. He spat squirming maggots from his mouth onto the dark street below. He knelt down before the gasping woman and gave a low whisper. It carried on the dead, silent air.
“So warm,” he murmured, wiping his dead, putrefying fingers across the streams of blood that spurted from her left shoulder. He stuck an inhumanly long, pointed tongue out of his chattering lips and began to lick the blood off his hands. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”
He stuck the bony, decaying fingers of his left hand into the wound and started pulling at the ragged wound. Blood bubbled out in increasing quantities, covering her body in its wet sheen. The woman jerked, her face turning pale and bloodless. She tried to kick at him, but he only laughed again, gurgling like a man with a slit throat. In horror, I watched him raise the ax above his head. It stood there for a long moment, trembling in his shaking hands like a guillotine blade.
“Please, don’t…” the woman pleaded as he grinned down at her. In a blur, he swung the ax down into her forehead. There was a wet cracking of bone and a ringing of metal. She sat there with her mouth open for what felt like a very long moment. Then, limply, she collapsed to the pavement. A dull thud echoed down the street as her skull smacked the pavement.
Sickened, I closed the blinds on the window and turned away, realizing that Freddie and Iris had been standing right behind me the entire time, watching the horrific display. Freddie was crying quietly into his hands, while Iris looked pale, her green eyes wide and unbelieving. The woman exhaled one last time, a long, drawn-out death gasp, and then everything went silent.
I felt sick and weak. Staggering, I put my hand out against the wall. A wave of nausea rose up my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, shining the light from my cell phone to light the way. Iris started crying. I heard her frantically try to dial 911 over and over again.
“Dammit, nothing’s working!” she cried. I stumbled into the bathroom and threw up all the popcorn and soda I had consumed that night into the toilet. Covered in sweat, I started wiping my face with toilet paper. I pushed myself up, glancing into the mirror.
A cadaverous version of myself stood there, the dead face showing horror and surprise just like my own. I saw the same high cheekbones, the same shaved head, but in the mirror image, maggots writhed and squirmed in the rancid flesh. I backpedaled into the wall, stuttering something incomprehensible. The reflected image did the same, his lipless mouth opening and closing with silent curses. He wore the same clothes as myself, a black T-shirt and blue jeans, but they were rotted and tattered, as if they had been dug out of a grave.
“What the fuck?” I swore, raising my right hand experimentally. The mirror image did the same, matching every single movement perfectly. At that moment, Iris came running into the bathroom, her soft footsteps thudding gently against the marble floor. I jumped, turning to her.
“There’s someone outside the door,” she whispered, her face pale. I glanced back at the reflection, seeing that the other version was no longer following my movements.
“Watch out!” I cried, but it was too late.
The skull-like face came forward in a blur. His arm shot out towards Iris. The surface of the mirror swirled as if it were made of water when his pale flesh made contact with it. The sharp points of bone of his fingers wrapped around Iris’ neck. Stunned and silent, I watched in horror as he started dragging her into that other world.
“Stop him!” she screamed. “God, make him stop!” I ran forward, grabbing her legs as her head and chest was sucked through. There was a slight popping sound when her body entered the liquid-like surface. I tried to hold on with all of my strength, but whatever abomination was on the other side was strong, stronger than me. His iron grip yanked her out of my hands.
“Dad?” Freddie asked, slinking into the bathroom. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked around, confused. “Where’s Mom? Who’s screaming?” I had to make a decision instantly, I knew. I could either stay with my son, or try to get my wife back. I knew I couldn’t just leave Iris, though. I felt mentally torn. I looked between him and the mirror, my heart quivering with anxiety.
“Freddie, go wait in the living room,” I said. “Hide behind the couch. Don’t answer the door or say anything to anyone, no matter what. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not. Before I turned to the mirror, I patted his head. “Remember the rules they read us on the TV.” He nodded, but he was only a seven-year-old boy. How much did he really understand? Hell, how much did I even understand? I hadn’t followed the rules, and now Iris was kidnapped.
I turned back to the mirror, seeing that I had no reflection now. There was no sign of Iris or the rotted corpse with my face, either. Slowly, I walked forward, putting my trembling hand out towards its silvery surface. My fingers went through the mirror as if it were mere air, but I felt something freezing cold ripple around my skin. Pins and needles rushed up my arm. Taking a deep breath in, I pushed myself up on the counter and went all the way through.
***
I fell forward onto the marble surface of the bathroom floor, putting my hands out to break the fall. As I glanced up, I realized how strange everything looked. The world here was in constant motion, as if a fog-like void shimmered over the world. The floor’s surface danced with whorls of shadow. They felt as freezing cold as liquid nitrogen as they passed over my body.
Shivering and hugging myself, I pushed myself up off the floor. The walls and ceilings, too, rippled in the same black currents. I glanced around, seeing the white bathtub filled to the brim with dark blood. It bubbled constantly, as if someone were drowning under its surface. Bloody handprints of all sizes smeared the sides of the tub. The smell of copper grew strong, mixing with the strange smell that emanated from the shadows, a pungent, chemical odor like ammonia.
I passed by the mirror, seeing that here, too, I had no reflection. I felt like a vampire, staring into that blank emptiness. Feeling sick and disoriented, I stumbled forward, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I heard Iris crying and shrieking somewhere nearby.
“Nooo…” she wailed. “Please, stop…” Her voice seemed to be growing fainter and weaker, as if she were being dragged away by a tsunami. I peeked around the corner. Everything looked like nightmarish and strange. The living room looked much longer, stretching out for hundreds of feet. It had the same blue carpet and white walls as the one in my world, but now it was the size of a football stadium. The dark red couch had lengthened to an absurd size, stretching wide enough to fit a hundred people in it. The TV loomed across the room like the screen of a movie theater. It flickered constantly, showing a cacophony of white noise and static interspersed with horrible images: naked corpses with their throats sliced from ear to ear, burning bodies, people falling to their deaths from burning buildings.
But none of that was what made an involuntary gasp of horror rise up my throat. It was the enormous spiderweb spanning the length of the ceiling, fluttering softly in the breeze. In the center of the symmetrical web, I saw Iris, covered in silky thread up to her neck. She was hanging horizontally facing down, her body parallel to the floor. She struggled against the webbing that bound her like steel chains. Her eyes bulged from her head as she stared fixedly at the cadaver approaching her.
Crawling upside-down towards Iris was the monstrous image of myself I had seen in the mirror, but he had transformed into something spidery and eldritch. He skittered along with four arms and four legs now. The emaciated limbs poked out of his tattered rags of clothes, forked and elongated, the skin pale and covered in purple sores and deep gashes. Iris continued to plead and shriek in horror as it drew near. The creature’s chattering fangs and blackened gums approached her neck.
At the penultimate moment, Iris saw me, peeking around the corner of the bathroom. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I thought of trying to scream out, to throw something at the creature, but then what? We would both die, and then who would be left alive to protect Freddie? I didn’t know what to do. These thoughts passed through my head in the space of a single moment as we stared at each other. Her eyes shone with a moment of clarity, even as waves of mortal terror shook her body like a hurricane.
“Save Freddie!” she screamed. “Run! Go, Jack!” The creature noticed her staring at me instantly. He curved his long neck and twisted his spidery limbs, clutching the thick strands of silk with his skeletal limbs. The creature turned to me. He had a face like a skull. His filmy eyes regarded me intently. Silver streams of saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a wide, insane smile, then turned back to Iris, unhinging his jaw. The pale, dead skin tore with a wet ripping sound. The yellow, sharp points of teeth gleamed darkly in the currents of rippling shadow.
I turned, sprinting back into the darkness of the bathroom as the crunching of bone and the shrieking of my wife followed me out. I had to repress an urge to vomit. With all of the speed I could muster, I staggered forward to the counter, where the mirror sat revealing the image of my house, an image that still lacked my reflection inside. Iris’ pleas and screams rapidly weakened. I heard her choking and gasping. A few moments later, I heard a rapid skittering of many legs approaching the bathroom. I started to pull myself up on the counter to escape this hellish mirror world.
Something creaked in the doorway behind me. I glanced back in fright, seeing the abomination with the eight limbs creeping up behind me. He stood only a few feet away from me now. As my eyes met his white, dead ones, his cadaverous face split into a sickly grin.
***
A wave of adrenaline shook my body. My vision turned white in the darkness. With a pounding heart, I pushed myself up and lunged through the mirror. The eight-limbed abomination with my rotting face gave an insane shriek. I felt a freezing cold hand wrap around my ankle and begin to drag me back.
“No!” I shrieked, trying to kick blindly at the mirror creature’s dead face. “I’ll never go with you! Never!” I smashed my sneaker into his jaw. There was a shattering sound, as if a ceramic vase had been dropped. The chattering of sharp teeth and the shrieking cut off abruptly. Looking back, I saw the corpse’s broken jaw hanging on by only a few shreds of tendons and muscle. The eyes went slack and I felt the grip loosen for the briefest moment. I pushed myself forward and slid through the mirror.
The freezing cold, pins-and-needles sensation returned, running over my body like water. I collapsed head-first onto the sink, rolling onto the floor with a jarring thud. The shrieking of the eight-limbed corpse continued behind me. I saw him trying to force his elongated body through the mirror. The long arms with their sharp fingers reached through, swiping wildly at the air. Before I could escape, one of them came through and cut four deep gashes into my chest. My shirt instantly became soaked in blood as a burning pain ran up my body.
I heard someone pounding at the front door, but in the panic of the moment, I could barely think. As the rest of the cadaverous body tried to push his way through the mirror, I dragged myself out of the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, even as the sounds of breaking and shattering followed me out of the bathroom. Ignoring the pain radiating through my body, I ran over to the couch and began shoving it towards the door.
The door shuddered in its frame. The house and the floor shook as the corpse threw his enormous body into the wood over and over again. Cracks spiderwebbed down the front of it, and I knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple more seconds.
“Freddie!” I screamed, looking around frantically. My heart dropped when I remembered I had told him to hide behind the couch. He was not here, not anywhere in the living room. “Freddie! Where the hell are you?”
“Dad?!” a voice responded from outside. It sounded like Freddie’s voice, but it was eerie, as if his voice had gotten caught between stations on the radio. It sputtered with static. It fell and rose in an ear-splitting scream. “Dad, let me in! Please! They’re going to hurt me!”
I ran to the front door, looking outside, but I saw no sign of Freddie. The sky had changed, though. The Moon had changed from orange to a dark red, the color of a burst blood blister. The rest of the sky was such a dark shade of crimson that it looked almost black. Around my feet, I felt something warm and wet.
“Where are you?” I yelled. “I don’t see…” At that moment, the bathroom door exploded outwards in a shower of nails and splinters, covering my face and body in the debris. The cadaverous face peeked around the corner, as if he were playing hide-and-seek rather than hunting and killing people.
“Fuck!” I swore as I looked down, seeing blood streaming in from under the door. It covered my sneakers up to the tops of the soles as more and more flooded in.
I ran for the stairs as the eight-limbed corpse skittered across the ceiling like a spider. He hung upside-down, the jaw hanging askew on his putrefying skull, the filmy eyes flashing with bloodlust. I was already half-way up the stairs when the corpse jumped down into the lake of blood at the bottom of the stairs. With his elongated, twisted limbs, he began pulling himself towards the first step in a blur, covering his body in the thick, putrid blood that continuously poured in through the bottom of every door.
But something was in the blood, I saw to my horror. I froze in place near the top of the stairs, watching the creature as he struggled to pull himself out of the blood, which was already at knee-height and still rising. There were dark silhouettes slithering through the blood. I saw the head of a black snake peer out at the eight-limbed cadaver. The snake had no eyelids, and its eyes looked as red as the blood it lived in. It wrapped its muscular body around his torso, rising up towards the cadaver’s face. The blood-red eyes met those dead, rotted ones of the corpse as they stared at each other. Then the eldritch snake lunged forward and bit off the corpse’s face.
Other snakes started to rise out of the surface, wrapping around his four legs and slithering up his back. The corpse wailed like a banshee, running blindly into the walls to try to smash the many snakes that suffocated and bit him from all sides. But this only seemed to heighten their hunger and bloodlust.
The sound of shredding flesh and snapping bone followed me as I ran into Freddie’s room and hid. His room was the only one without mirrors in it, I knew, and I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
***
In the thick curtains of shadow, a small voice rang out, terrified and searching.
“Dad? Is that really you?” Freddie asked, hiding behind his chest of toys. I saw his small body, contorted and pale. His little head poked above the lid.
“Freddie! You’re alive!” I cried, running over and hugging him. Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were outside. I heard you screaming out there.”
“I heard you and Mom yelling outside, too,” Freddie whispered, his small body trembling as I held him. “I got scared and ran up here. I’m sorry, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“It’s OK. Thank God you did,” I murmured, remembering the lake of blood downstairs and all those strange, black snakes. “Mom isn’t coming, Freddie.” He went silent then and didn’t ask any more questions. A sick, heavy weight covered my heart.
In the darkness, we hid and waited, though I knew not for what. The smell of copper and iron from all the blood downstairs had become overwhelming. After a few minutes of this, I took my phone out and shone it around experimentally.
I saw a thin layer of blood streaming into the room, rising up the stairs like the waves of a tsunami. It covered the hallway’s hardwood floor, a half-inch thick deep already and growing fast. Dark shapes slithered and writhed in it. Small waves pushed the lake of blood towards us, and within seconds, my shoes were submerged in it.
“Dad?” Freddie asked in a panicked voice. “What’s that? There’s things inside of it…” Without thinking, I picked Freddie up and held him above my body.
“We need to get to the attic!” I whispered to him, sprinting through the rising pool of blood with my son in my arms. “Don’t be afraid, Freddie. We’ll make it.” I had nearly reached the hallway where the pull-cord for the attic stairs hung when something wrapped around my feet. I went flying forwards, dropping Freddie in the pool of blood. He was submerged up to his waist instantly. His small body writhed in terror.
“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, flailing his arms as black snakes circled him like hungry sharks. The one wrapping around my legs continued slithering up my body. A rising sense of horror and panic filled me. At that moment, I knew I was doomed. I only hoped I would see Iris again. Then I noticed spotlights turn on outside, filling the inside of the house with a radiance like the Sun.
All of the windows upstairs suddenly smashed inwards. A spotlight shone through the nearest of them, illuminating me and Freddie in our frantic struggles against the snakes. Men in SWAT gear crawled through the shattered windows. With their gas masks, their faces looked like insects with too many compound eyes.
On their helmets and jackets, I saw a strange symbol: a double-fisted thumb holding a staring, lidless eye. Dozens of them streamed in, shooting the snakes that circled Freddie and me. As the one wrapping around its body slowly wound its way towards my face, one of the black-clad men came up behind it and shot it in the skull. The snake’s body collapsed all around me, its muscles loosening in death. With relief washing over me, I ran to our saviors.
“Get us out of here!” I pleaded. “There’s horrible things happening!” The man nodded in his black military gear, his mask revealing nothing.
“Follow me,” he said dispassionately, starting towards the roof. “You two are the only survivors we’ve found so far. It truly is a miracle anyone’s still alive.” I could only agree silently.
"This must be all over every news channel," I said. The masked man shook his head.
"No one knows about this," he responded. "No one but you two and our group. The media won't say shit. They do what we tell them."
***
I followed the men out onto the roof. Helicopters crisscrossed the skies, illuminating the houses and streets with many bright spotlights. As a helicopter slowly lowered itself down to take Freddie and me away from that pit of nightmares, dropping a rope for us to ascend, I glanced around my town one last time.
Many of the houses were destroyed or burning, sending thick clouds of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Men in full SWAT gear zoomed around the blood flooding the streets in boats, the whirring of the motors echoing like angry hornets. Turning away, I followed Freddie into the helicopter and never returned.
Iris is dead, and Freddie and I have seen enough horrors to scar us for a thousand years. In my heart, I know it is my fault my wife died. I didn’t follow the rules, and she paid the price.
I will hear those dying, panicked screams until my final breath.

My wife, Iris, sat on the couch next to me, holding the bowl of popcorn in her thin hands. On her other side, our little boy, Freddie, sat. He looked just like his mother, with the same dirty blonde hair and faraway eyes, like the eyes of a dreamer. The movie played across our flat-screen TV, some CGI comedy with talking penguins and llamas that could drive cars. It was some garbage from Disney I would never have watched in a million years, but Freddie liked it, so I suffered through it for him.
We had turned off all the lights in the house for the movie. Only the TV’s flickering colors illuminated the room, sending dancing shadows that flashed out behind us.
Suddenly, outside the living room window, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, splitting a tree in our front yard in two. Light flooded in through the window as if the flash of a nuclear missile were ripping its way across the town. A crash rang out as the tree split down the middle, its massive branches tumbling down onto the lawn. I jumped as the ground shook. More lightning flashed nearby, hitting other houses and lawns on the street.
“Damn, there wasn’t supposed to be any storms,” I said in surprise. The TV had gone black, and now we sat in darkness. For a long moment, I thought the power had gone out.
Abruptly, it came back on with a roar of white noise and a flickering of static. The volume seemed to be increasing by itself, growing into a rushing cacophony like a waterfall. I saw Iris try to scream something, but I could only see her lips move.
As suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The standard “PLEASE STANDBY” screen with a rainbow of blocky colors behind it appeared. There was a clanging, ringing sound that emanated from the speakers, high-pitched and whining like tinnitus. Then text started appearing across the screen. At the same time, a deep, serious voice spoke in the background, like a radio announcer reporting on the death of a President.
“This is the Demon Emergency Alert Broadcast System,” the voice read grimly. “This is not a test. Level five activity has been reported in your area. Do not go outside. Close all blinds, shutters and windows. Lock all doors and close any attached garages. Do not open your doors except to military or police personnel with the proper insignia. Even if someone appears to be in distress, do not open your door to investigate or try to interfere in any way. A temporary quarantine is in effect for your area. Military and police assistance is on the way.
“To ensure the greatest chances of survival during this time of crisis, please abide by the following rules:

1. If blood begins to pour under your door, go to a higher floor immediately. Avoid physical contact with the blood at all costs.
2. All legitimate military and police personnel will have a special insignia on their helmets and jackets, an eye contained in a double-thumbed fist. Only accompany them if they have this insignia- otherwise, they are imposters.
3. Avoid mirrors for the duration of the emergency.”

The voice cut out abruptly, slowing down in a mechanical whine. Static started flashing across the TV, covering the “PLEASE STANDBY” message that had returned in blocky letters. At that moment, the lights went out. They came back on a couple seconds later, brightening and dimming, before the power failed again. This time, the electricity did not come back on.
“What the fuck?” Iris whispered next to me, taking out her phone and shining the light across the dark living room. “That was pretty weird. Everything looks different outside, too. I was just outside an hour ago and the Moon didn’t look anything like that.” She pointed. I got up, realizing she was right. The nighttime sky outside looked strange. I looked out the front window, seeing the Moon was cast in a fluorescent orange light. The cloudless sky had a dark red glow to it, as if some kind of eerie smog had covered everything. I had seen similar things happen after massive forest fires in the past.
“What happened, Dad?” Freddie asked in his small voice. “Where’s the movie?”
“I think we lost power, little man,” I said, ruffling his hair in a nonchalant manner. I didn’t really believe the emergency broadcast, after all. I figured some teenager had hacked the TV station and decided to play a prank, or perhaps some disgruntled employee had done it on his last day as a kind of “Fuck you” to the station. I had heard of similar things happening before. It was somewhat strange how the power had gone out and the sky had changed, but I felt sure that it could all be logically explained.
Someone shrieked outside. I looked out onto the dark street, seeing the silhouette of someone running frantically down the middle of the street, zigzagging wildly. As the figure got closer, I realized it was a young woman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a white shirt and khakis. Her clothes were soaked in streams of blood that made the fabric cling to her trembling body. I saw a vicious gash bitten into her left shoulder, a wound so deep that the white bone peeked out through the ragged patches of flesh.
“Help me!” she wailed, her eyes wild and panicked. “Why won’t anyone help me?!” She staggered and fell forward, crying and bleeding all over the road. I was about to run outside to see what was wrong with the young woman when I saw another silhouette creeping up behind her.
It looked like the body of a man, but something was wrong. As he drew closer, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face through the dim light. The left side of it was rotted and decayed, while the right looked muscular and healthy. He wore a black suit that looked like little more than tatters. Pieces of it fell off in ragged strips. I could see his left hand was also decomposing. Whatever kind of sickness it was, it seemed to extend to the whole left side of his body.
The stiff, skeletal leg cracked as he dragged it behind him, silently drawing nearer to the young woman. The living side of his face split into an insane rictus grin as he looked down at her. He carried a blood-stained ax that dragged on the pavement behind him with a harsh, metallic groan.
“Get away from me!” the woman screamed at the abomination, trying to kick at him. But she looked weakened from blood loss, and her attempts were feeble and slow. The man laughed, a sound that rang out like the gurgling of blood. He spat squirming maggots from his mouth onto the dark street below. He knelt down before the gasping woman and gave a low whisper. It carried on the dead, silent air.
“So warm,” he murmured, wiping his dead, putrefying fingers across the streams of blood that spurted from her left shoulder. He stuck an inhumanly long, pointed tongue out of his chattering lips and began to lick the blood off his hands. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”
He stuck the bony, decaying fingers of his left hand into the wound and started pulling at the ragged wound. Blood bubbled out in increasing quantities, covering her body in its wet sheen. The woman jerked, her face turning pale and bloodless. She tried to kick at him, but he only laughed again, gurgling like a man with a slit throat. In horror, I watched him raise the ax above his head. It stood there for a long moment, trembling in his shaking hands like a guillotine blade.
“Please, don’t…” the woman pleaded as he grinned down at her. In a blur, he swung the ax down into her forehead. There was a wet cracking of bone and a ringing of metal. She sat there with her mouth open for what felt like a very long moment. Then, limply, she collapsed to the pavement. A dull thud echoed down the street as her skull smacked the pavement.
Sickened, I closed the blinds on the window and turned away, realizing that Freddie and Iris had been standing right behind me the entire time, watching the horrific display. Freddie was crying quietly into his hands, while Iris looked pale, her green eyes wide and unbelieving. The woman exhaled one last time, a long, drawn-out death gasp, and then everything went silent.
I felt sick and weak. Staggering, I put my hand out against the wall. A wave of nausea rose up my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, shining the light from my cell phone to light the way. Iris started crying. I heard her frantically try to dial 911 over and over again.
“Dammit, nothing’s working!” she cried. I stumbled into the bathroom and threw up all the popcorn and soda I had consumed that night into the toilet. Covered in sweat, I started wiping my face with toilet paper. I pushed myself up, glancing into the mirror.
A cadaverous version of myself stood there, the dead face showing horror and surprise just like my own. I saw the same high cheekbones, the same shaved head, but in the mirror image, maggots writhed and squirmed in the rancid flesh. I backpedaled into the wall, stuttering something incomprehensible. The reflected image did the same, his lipless mouth opening and closing with silent curses. He wore the same clothes as myself, a black T-shirt and blue jeans, but they were rotted and tattered, as if they had been dug out of a grave.
“What the fuck?” I swore, raising my right hand experimentally. The mirror image did the same, matching every single movement perfectly. At that moment, Iris came running into the bathroom, her soft footsteps thudding gently against the marble floor. I jumped, turning to her.
“There’s someone outside the door,” she whispered, her face pale. I glanced back at the reflection, seeing that the other version was no longer following my movements.
“Watch out!” I cried, but it was too late.
The skull-like face came forward in a blur. His arm shot out towards Iris. The surface of the mirror swirled as if it were made of water when his pale flesh made contact with it. The sharp points of bone of his fingers wrapped around Iris’ neck. Stunned and silent, I watched in horror as he started dragging her into that other world.
“Stop him!” she screamed. “God, make him stop!” I ran forward, grabbing her legs as her head and chest was sucked through. There was a slight popping sound when her body entered the liquid-like surface. I tried to hold on with all of my strength, but whatever abomination was on the other side was strong, stronger than me. His iron grip yanked her out of my hands.
“Dad?” Freddie asked, slinking into the bathroom. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked around, confused. “Where’s Mom? Who’s screaming?” I had to make a decision instantly, I knew. I could either stay with my son, or try to get my wife back. I knew I couldn’t just leave Iris, though. I felt mentally torn. I looked between him and the mirror, my heart quivering with anxiety.
“Freddie, go wait in the living room,” I said. “Hide behind the couch. Don’t answer the door or say anything to anyone, no matter what. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not. Before I turned to the mirror, I patted his head. “Remember the rules they read us on the TV.” He nodded, but he was only a seven-year-old boy. How much did he really understand? Hell, how much did I even understand? I hadn’t followed the rules, and now Iris was kidnapped.
I turned back to the mirror, seeing that I had no reflection now. There was no sign of Iris or the rotted corpse with my face, either. Slowly, I walked forward, putting my trembling hand out towards its silvery surface. My fingers went through the mirror as if it were mere air, but I felt something freezing cold ripple around my skin. Pins and needles rushed up my arm. Taking a deep breath in, I pushed myself up on the counter and went all the way through.
***
I fell forward onto the marble surface of the bathroom floor, putting my hands out to break the fall. As I glanced up, I realized how strange everything looked. The world here was in constant motion, as if a fog-like void shimmered over the world. The floor’s surface danced with whorls of shadow. They felt as freezing cold as liquid nitrogen as they passed over my body.
Shivering and hugging myself, I pushed myself up off the floor. The walls and ceilings, too, rippled in the same black currents. I glanced around, seeing the white bathtub filled to the brim with dark blood. It bubbled constantly, as if someone were drowning under its surface. Bloody handprints of all sizes smeared the sides of the tub. The smell of copper grew strong, mixing with the strange smell that emanated from the shadows, a pungent, chemical odor like ammonia.
I passed by the mirror, seeing that here, too, I had no reflection. I felt like a vampire, staring into that blank emptiness. Feeling sick and disoriented, I stumbled forward, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I heard Iris crying and shrieking somewhere nearby.
“Nooo…” she wailed. “Please, stop…” Her voice seemed to be growing fainter and weaker, as if she were being dragged away by a tsunami. I peeked around the corner. Everything looked like nightmarish and strange. The living room looked much longer, stretching out for hundreds of feet. It had the same blue carpet and white walls as the one in my world, but now it was the size of a football stadium. The dark red couch had lengthened to an absurd size, stretching wide enough to fit a hundred people in it. The TV loomed across the room like the screen of a movie theater. It flickered constantly, showing a cacophony of white noise and static interspersed with horrible images: naked corpses with their throats sliced from ear to ear, burning bodies, people falling to their deaths from burning buildings.
But none of that was what made an involuntary gasp of horror rise up my throat. It was the enormous spiderweb spanning the length of the ceiling, fluttering softly in the breeze. In the center of the symmetrical web, I saw Iris, covered in silky thread up to her neck. She was hanging horizontally facing down, her body parallel to the floor. She struggled against the webbing that bound her like steel chains. Her eyes bulged from her head as she stared fixedly at the cadaver approaching her.
Crawling upside-down towards Iris was the monstrous image of myself I had seen in the mirror, but he had transformed into something spidery and eldritch. He skittered along with four arms and four legs now. The emaciated limbs poked out of his tattered rags of clothes, forked and elongated, the skin pale and covered in purple sores and deep gashes. Iris continued to plead and shriek in horror as it drew near. The creature’s chattering fangs and blackened gums approached her neck.
At the penultimate moment, Iris saw me, peeking around the corner of the bathroom. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I thought of trying to scream out, to throw something at the creature, but then what? We would both die, and then who would be left alive to protect Freddie? I didn’t know what to do. These thoughts passed through my head in the space of a single moment as we stared at each other. Her eyes shone with a moment of clarity, even as waves of mortal terror shook her body like a hurricane.
“Save Freddie!” she screamed. “Run! Go, Jack!” The creature noticed her staring at me instantly. He curved his long neck and twisted his spidery limbs, clutching the thick strands of silk with his skeletal limbs. The creature turned to me. He had a face like a skull. His filmy eyes regarded me intently. Silver streams of saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a wide, insane smile, then turned back to Iris, unhinging his jaw. The pale, dead skin tore with a wet ripping sound. The yellow, sharp points of teeth gleamed darkly in the currents of rippling shadow.
I turned, sprinting back into the darkness of the bathroom as the crunching of bone and the shrieking of my wife followed me out. I had to repress an urge to vomit. With all of the speed I could muster, I staggered forward to the counter, where the mirror sat revealing the image of my house, an image that still lacked my reflection inside. Iris’ pleas and screams rapidly weakened. I heard her choking and gasping. A few moments later, I heard a rapid skittering of many legs approaching the bathroom. I started to pull myself up on the counter to escape this hellish mirror world.
Something creaked in the doorway behind me. I glanced back in fright, seeing the abomination with the eight limbs creeping up behind me. He stood only a few feet away from me now. As my eyes met his white, dead ones, his cadaverous face split into a sickly grin.
***
A wave of adrenaline shook my body. My vision turned white in the darkness. With a pounding heart, I pushed myself up and lunged through the mirror. The eight-limbed abomination with my rotting face gave an insane shriek. I felt a freezing cold hand wrap around my ankle and begin to drag me back.
“No!” I shrieked, trying to kick blindly at the mirror creature’s dead face. “I’ll never go with you! Never!” I smashed my sneaker into his jaw. There was a shattering sound, as if a ceramic vase had been dropped. The chattering of sharp teeth and the shrieking cut off abruptly. Looking back, I saw the corpse’s broken jaw hanging on by only a few shreds of tendons and muscle. The eyes went slack and I felt the grip loosen for the briefest moment. I pushed myself forward and slid through the mirror.
The freezing cold, pins-and-needles sensation returned, running over my body like water. I collapsed head-first onto the sink, rolling onto the floor with a jarring thud. The shrieking of the eight-limbed corpse continued behind me. I saw him trying to force his elongated body through the mirror. The long arms with their sharp fingers reached through, swiping wildly at the air. Before I could escape, one of them came through and cut four deep gashes into my chest. My shirt instantly became soaked in blood as a burning pain ran up my body.
I heard someone pounding at the front door, but in the panic of the moment, I could barely think. As the rest of the cadaverous body tried to push his way through the mirror, I dragged myself out of the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, even as the sounds of breaking and shattering followed me out of the bathroom. Ignoring the pain radiating through my body, I ran over to the couch and began shoving it towards the door.
The door shuddered in its frame. The house and the floor shook as the corpse threw his enormous body into the wood over and over again. Cracks spiderwebbed down the front of it, and I knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple more seconds.
“Freddie!” I screamed, looking around frantically. My heart dropped when I remembered I had told him to hide behind the couch. He was not here, not anywhere in the living room. “Freddie! Where the hell are you?”
“Dad?!” a voice responded from outside. It sounded like Freddie’s voice, but it was eerie, as if his voice had gotten caught between stations on the radio. It sputtered with static. It fell and rose in an ear-splitting scream. “Dad, let me in! Please! They’re going to hurt me!”
I ran to the front door, looking outside, but I saw no sign of Freddie. The sky had changed, though. The Moon had changed from orange to a dark red, the color of a burst blood blister. The rest of the sky was such a dark shade of crimson that it looked almost black. Around my feet, I felt something warm and wet.
“Where are you?” I yelled. “I don’t see…” At that moment, the bathroom door exploded outwards in a shower of nails and splinters, covering my face and body in the debris. The cadaverous face peeked around the corner, as if he were playing hide-and-seek rather than hunting and killing people.
“Fuck!” I swore as I looked down, seeing blood streaming in from under the door. It covered my sneakers up to the tops of the soles as more and more flooded in.
I ran for the stairs as the eight-limbed corpse skittered across the ceiling like a spider. He hung upside-down, the jaw hanging askew on his putrefying skull, the filmy eyes flashing with bloodlust. I was already half-way up the stairs when the corpse jumped down into the lake of blood at the bottom of the stairs. With his elongated, twisted limbs, he began pulling himself towards the first step in a blur, covering his body in the thick, putrid blood that continuously poured in through the bottom of every door.
But something was in the blood, I saw to my horror. I froze in place near the top of the stairs, watching the creature as he struggled to pull himself out of the blood, which was already at knee-height and still rising. There were dark silhouettes slithering through the blood. I saw the head of a black snake peer out at the eight-limbed cadaver. The snake had no eyelids, and its eyes looked as red as the blood it lived in. It wrapped its muscular body around his torso, rising up towards the cadaver’s face. The blood-red eyes met those dead, rotted ones of the corpse as they stared at each other. Then the eldritch snake lunged forward and bit off the corpse’s face.
Other snakes started to rise out of the surface, wrapping around his four legs and slithering up his back. The corpse wailed like a banshee, running blindly into the walls to try to smash the many snakes that suffocated and bit him from all sides. But this only seemed to heighten their hunger and bloodlust.
The sound of shredding flesh and snapping bone followed me as I ran into Freddie’s room and hid. His room was the only one without mirrors in it, I knew, and I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
***
In the thick curtains of shadow, a small voice rang out, terrified and searching.
“Dad? Is that really you?” Freddie asked, hiding behind his chest of toys. I saw his small body, contorted and pale. His little head poked above the lid.
“Freddie! You’re alive!” I cried, running over and hugging him. Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were outside. I heard you screaming out there.”
“I heard you and Mom yelling outside, too,” Freddie whispered, his small body trembling as I held him. “I got scared and ran up here. I’m sorry, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“It’s OK. Thank God you did,” I murmured, remembering the lake of blood downstairs and all those strange, black snakes. “Mom isn’t coming, Freddie.” He went silent then and didn’t ask any more questions. A sick, heavy weight covered my heart.
In the darkness, we hid and waited, though I knew not for what. The smell of copper and iron from all the blood downstairs had become overwhelming. After a few minutes of this, I took my phone out and shone it around experimentally.
I saw a thin layer of blood streaming into the room, rising up the stairs like the waves of a tsunami. It covered the hallway’s hardwood floor, a half-inch thick deep already and growing fast. Dark shapes slithered and writhed in it. Small waves pushed the lake of blood towards us, and within seconds, my shoes were submerged in it.
“Dad?” Freddie asked in a panicked voice. “What’s that? There’s things inside of it…” Without thinking, I picked Freddie up and held him above my body.
“We need to get to the attic!” I whispered to him, sprinting through the rising pool of blood with my son in my arms. “Don’t be afraid, Freddie. We’ll make it.” I had nearly reached the hallway where the pull-cord for the attic stairs hung when something wrapped around my feet. I went flying forwards, dropping Freddie in the pool of blood. He was submerged up to his waist instantly. His small body writhed in terror.
“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, flailing his arms as black snakes circled him like hungry sharks. The one wrapping around my legs continued slithering up my body. A rising sense of horror and panic filled me. At that moment, I knew I was doomed. I only hoped I would see Iris again. Then I noticed spotlights turn on outside, filling the inside of the house with a radiance like the Sun.
All of the windows upstairs suddenly smashed inwards. A spotlight shone through the nearest of them, illuminating me and Freddie in our frantic struggles against the snakes. Men in SWAT gear crawled through the shattered windows. With their gas masks, their faces looked like insects with too many compound eyes.
On their helmets and jackets, I saw a strange symbol: a double-fisted thumb holding a staring, lidless eye. Dozens of them streamed in, shooting the snakes that circled Freddie and me. As the one wrapping around its body slowly wound its way towards my face, one of the black-clad men came up behind it and shot it in the skull. The snake’s body collapsed all around me, its muscles loosening in death. With relief washing over me, I ran to our saviors.
“Get us out of here!” I pleaded. “There’s horrible things happening!” The man nodded in his black military gear, his mask revealing nothing.
“Follow me,” he said dispassionately, starting towards the roof. “You two are the only survivors we’ve found so far. It truly is a miracle anyone’s still alive.” I could only agree silently.
"This must be all over every news channel," I said. The masked man shook his head.
"No one knows about this," he responded. "No one but you two and our group. The media won't say shit. They do what we tell them."
***
I followed the men out onto the roof. Helicopters crisscrossed the skies, illuminating the houses and streets with many bright spotlights. As a helicopter slowly lowered itself down to take Freddie and me away from that pit of nightmares, dropping a rope for us to ascend, I glanced around my town one last time.
Many of the houses were destroyed or burning, sending thick clouds of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Men in full SWAT gear zoomed around the blood flooding the streets in boats, the whirring of the motors echoing like angry hornets. Turning away, I followed Freddie into the helicopter and never returned.
Iris is dead, and Freddie and I have seen enough horrors to scar us for a thousand years. In my heart, I know it is my fault my wife died. I didn’t follow the rules, and she paid the price.
I will hear those dying, panicked screams until my final breath.

My wife, Iris, sat on the couch next to me, holding the bowl of popcorn in her thin hands. On her other side, our little boy, Freddie, sat. He looked just like his mother, with the same dirty blonde hair and faraway eyes, like the eyes of a dreamer. The movie played across our flat-screen TV, some CGI comedy with talking penguins and llamas that could drive cars. It was some garbage from Disney I would never have watched in a million years, but Freddie liked it, so I suffered through it for him.
We had turned off all the lights in the house for the movie. Only the TV’s flickering colors illuminated the room, sending dancing shadows that flashed out behind us.
Suddenly, outside the living room window, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, splitting a tree in our front yard in two. Light flooded in through the window as if the flash of a nuclear missile were ripping its way across the town. A crash rang out as the tree split down the middle, its massive branches tumbling down onto the lawn. I jumped as the ground shook. More lightning flashed nearby, hitting other houses and lawns on the street.
“Damn, there wasn’t supposed to be any storms,” I said in surprise. The TV had gone black, and now we sat in darkness. For a long moment, I thought the power had gone out.
Abruptly, it came back on with a roar of white noise and a flickering of static. The volume seemed to be increasing by itself, growing into a rushing cacophony like a waterfall. I saw Iris try to scream something, but I could only see her lips move.
As suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The standard “PLEASE STANDBY” screen with a rainbow of blocky colors behind it appeared. There was a clanging, ringing sound that emanated from the speakers, high-pitched and whining like tinnitus. Then text started appearing across the screen. At the same time, a deep, serious voice spoke in the background, like a radio announcer reporting on the death of a President.
“This is the Demon Emergency Alert Broadcast System,” the voice read grimly. “This is not a test. Level five activity has been reported in your area. Do not go outside. Close all blinds, shutters and windows. Lock all doors and close any attached garages. Do not open your doors except to military or police personnel with the proper insignia. Even if someone appears to be in distress, do not open your door to investigate or try to interfere in any way. A temporary quarantine is in effect for your area. Military and police assistance is on the way.
“To ensure the greatest chances of survival during this time of crisis, please abide by the following rules:

1. If blood begins to pour under your door, go to a higher floor immediately. Avoid physical contact with the blood at all costs.
2. All legitimate military and police personnel will have a special insignia on their helmets and jackets, an eye contained in a double-thumbed fist. Only accompany them if they have this insignia- otherwise, they are imposters.
3. Avoid mirrors for the duration of the emergency.”

The voice cut out abruptly, slowing down in a mechanical whine. Static started flashing across the TV, covering the “PLEASE STANDBY” message that had returned in blocky letters. At that moment, the lights went out. They came back on a couple seconds later, brightening and dimming, before the power failed again. This time, the electricity did not come back on.
“What the fuck?” Iris whispered next to me, taking out her phone and shining the light across the dark living room. “That was pretty weird. Everything looks different outside, too. I was just outside an hour ago and the Moon didn’t look anything like that.” She pointed. I got up, realizing she was right. The nighttime sky outside looked strange. I looked out the front window, seeing the Moon was cast in a fluorescent orange light. The cloudless sky had a dark red glow to it, as if some kind of eerie smog had covered everything. I had seen similar things happen after massive forest fires in the past.
“What happened, Dad?” Freddie asked in his small voice. “Where’s the movie?”
“I think we lost power, little man,” I said, ruffling his hair in a nonchalant manner. I didn’t really believe the emergency broadcast, after all. I figured some teenager had hacked the TV station and decided to play a prank, or perhaps some disgruntled employee had done it on his last day as a kind of “Fuck you” to the station. I had heard of similar things happening before. It was somewhat strange how the power had gone out and the sky had changed, but I felt sure that it could all be logically explained.
Someone shrieked outside. I looked out onto the dark street, seeing the silhouette of someone running frantically down the middle of the street, zigzagging wildly. As the figure got closer, I realized it was a young woman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a white shirt and khakis. Her clothes were soaked in streams of blood that made the fabric cling to her trembling body. I saw a vicious gash bitten into her left shoulder, a wound so deep that the white bone peeked out through the ragged patches of flesh.
“Help me!” she wailed, her eyes wild and panicked. “Why won’t anyone help me?!” She staggered and fell forward, crying and bleeding all over the road. I was about to run outside to see what was wrong with the young woman when I saw another silhouette creeping up behind her.
It looked like the body of a man, but something was wrong. As he drew closer, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face through the dim light. The left side of it was rotted and decayed, while the right looked muscular and healthy. He wore a black suit that looked like little more than tatters. Pieces of it fell off in ragged strips. I could see his left hand was also decomposing. Whatever kind of sickness it was, it seemed to extend to the whole left side of his body.
The stiff, skeletal leg cracked as he dragged it behind him, silently drawing nearer to the young woman. The living side of his face split into an insane rictus grin as he looked down at her. He carried a blood-stained ax that dragged on the pavement behind him with a harsh, metallic groan.
“Get away from me!” the woman screamed at the abomination, trying to kick at him. But she looked weakened from blood loss, and her attempts were feeble and slow. The man laughed, a sound that rang out like the gurgling of blood. He spat squirming maggots from his mouth onto the dark street below. He knelt down before the gasping woman and gave a low whisper. It carried on the dead, silent air.
“So warm,” he murmured, wiping his dead, putrefying fingers across the streams of blood that spurted from her left shoulder. He stuck an inhumanly long, pointed tongue out of his chattering lips and began to lick the blood off his hands. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”
He stuck the bony, decaying fingers of his left hand into the wound and started pulling at the ragged wound. Blood bubbled out in increasing quantities, covering her body in its wet sheen. The woman jerked, her face turning pale and bloodless. She tried to kick at him, but he only laughed again, gurgling like a man with a slit throat. In horror, I watched him raise the ax above his head. It stood there for a long moment, trembling in his shaking hands like a guillotine blade.
“Please, don’t…” the woman pleaded as he grinned down at her. In a blur, he swung the ax down into her forehead. There was a wet cracking of bone and a ringing of metal. She sat there with her mouth open for what felt like a very long moment. Then, limply, she collapsed to the pavement. A dull thud echoed down the street as her skull smacked the pavement.
Sickened, I closed the blinds on the window and turned away, realizing that Freddie and Iris had been standing right behind me the entire time, watching the horrific display. Freddie was crying quietly into his hands, while Iris looked pale, her green eyes wide and unbelieving. The woman exhaled one last time, a long, drawn-out death gasp, and then everything went silent.
I felt sick and weak. Staggering, I put my hand out against the wall. A wave of nausea rose up my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, shining the light from my cell phone to light the way. Iris started crying. I heard her frantically try to dial 911 over and over again.
“Dammit, nothing’s working!” she cried. I stumbled into the bathroom and threw up all the popcorn and soda I had consumed that night into the toilet. Covered in sweat, I started wiping my face with toilet paper. I pushed myself up, glancing into the mirror.
A cadaverous version of myself stood there, the dead face showing horror and surprise just like my own. I saw the same high cheekbones, the same shaved head, but in the mirror image, maggots writhed and squirmed in the rancid flesh. I backpedaled into the wall, stuttering something incomprehensible. The reflected image did the same, his lipless mouth opening and closing with silent curses. He wore the same clothes as myself, a black T-shirt and blue jeans, but they were rotted and tattered, as if they had been dug out of a grave.
“What the fuck?” I swore, raising my right hand experimentally. The mirror image did the same, matching every single movement perfectly. At that moment, Iris came running into the bathroom, her soft footsteps thudding gently against the marble floor. I jumped, turning to her.
“There’s someone outside the door,” she whispered, her face pale. I glanced back at the reflection, seeing that the other version was no longer following my movements.
“Watch out!” I cried, but it was too late.
The skull-like face came forward in a blur. His arm shot out towards Iris. The surface of the mirror swirled as if it were made of water when his pale flesh made contact with it. The sharp points of bone of his fingers wrapped around Iris’ neck. Stunned and silent, I watched in horror as he started dragging her into that other world.
“Stop him!” she screamed. “God, make him stop!” I ran forward, grabbing her legs as her head and chest was sucked through. There was a slight popping sound when her body entered the liquid-like surface. I tried to hold on with all of my strength, but whatever abomination was on the other side was strong, stronger than me. His iron grip yanked her out of my hands.
“Dad?” Freddie asked, slinking into the bathroom. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked around, confused. “Where’s Mom? Who’s screaming?” I had to make a decision instantly, I knew. I could either stay with my son, or try to get my wife back. I knew I couldn’t just leave Iris, though. I felt mentally torn. I looked between him and the mirror, my heart quivering with anxiety.
“Freddie, go wait in the living room,” I said. “Hide behind the couch. Don’t answer the door or say anything to anyone, no matter what. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not. Before I turned to the mirror, I patted his head. “Remember the rules they read us on the TV.” He nodded, but he was only a seven-year-old boy. How much did he really understand? Hell, how much did I even understand? I hadn’t followed the rules, and now Iris was kidnapped.
I turned back to the mirror, seeing that I had no reflection now. There was no sign of Iris or the rotted corpse with my face, either. Slowly, I walked forward, putting my trembling hand out towards its silvery surface. My fingers went through the mirror as if it were mere air, but I felt something freezing cold ripple around my skin. Pins and needles rushed up my arm. Taking a deep breath in, I pushed myself up on the counter and went all the way through.
***
I fell forward onto the marble surface of the bathroom floor, putting my hands out to break the fall. As I glanced up, I realized how strange everything looked. The world here was in constant motion, as if a fog-like void shimmered over the world. The floor’s surface danced with whorls of shadow. They felt as freezing cold as liquid nitrogen as they passed over my body.
Shivering and hugging myself, I pushed myself up off the floor. The walls and ceilings, too, rippled in the same black currents. I glanced around, seeing the white bathtub filled to the brim with dark blood. It bubbled constantly, as if someone were drowning under its surface. Bloody handprints of all sizes smeared the sides of the tub. The smell of copper grew strong, mixing with the strange smell that emanated from the shadows, a pungent, chemical odor like ammonia.
I passed by the mirror, seeing that here, too, I had no reflection. I felt like a vampire, staring into that blank emptiness. Feeling sick and disoriented, I stumbled forward, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I heard Iris crying and shrieking somewhere nearby.
“Nooo…” she wailed. “Please, stop…” Her voice seemed to be growing fainter and weaker, as if she were being dragged away by a tsunami. I peeked around the corner. Everything looked like nightmarish and strange. The living room looked much longer, stretching out for hundreds of feet. It had the same blue carpet and white walls as the one in my world, but now it was the size of a football stadium. The dark red couch had lengthened to an absurd size, stretching wide enough to fit a hundred people in it. The TV loomed across the room like the screen of a movie theater. It flickered constantly, showing a cacophony of white noise and static interspersed with horrible images: naked corpses with their throats sliced from ear to ear, burning bodies, people falling to their deaths from burning buildings.
But none of that was what made an involuntary gasp of horror rise up my throat. It was the enormous spiderweb spanning the length of the ceiling, fluttering softly in the breeze. In the center of the symmetrical web, I saw Iris, covered in silky thread up to her neck. She was hanging horizontally facing down, her body parallel to the floor. She struggled against the webbing that bound her like steel chains. Her eyes bulged from her head as she stared fixedly at the cadaver approaching her.
Crawling upside-down towards Iris was the monstrous image of myself I had seen in the mirror, but he had transformed into something spidery and eldritch. He skittered along with four arms and four legs now. The emaciated limbs poked out of his tattered rags of clothes, forked and elongated, the skin pale and covered in purple sores and deep gashes. Iris continued to plead and shriek in horror as it drew near. The creature’s chattering fangs and blackened gums approached her neck.
At the penultimate moment, Iris saw me, peeking around the corner of the bathroom. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I thought of trying to scream out, to throw something at the creature, but then what? We would both die, and then who would be left alive to protect Freddie? I didn’t know what to do. These thoughts passed through my head in the space of a single moment as we stared at each other. Her eyes shone with a moment of clarity, even as waves of mortal terror shook her body like a hurricane.
“Save Freddie!” she screamed. “Run! Go, Jack!” The creature noticed her staring at me instantly. He curved his long neck and twisted his spidery limbs, clutching the thick strands of silk with his skeletal limbs. The creature turned to me. He had a face like a skull. His filmy eyes regarded me intently. Silver streams of saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a wide, insane smile, then turned back to Iris, unhinging his jaw. The pale, dead skin tore with a wet ripping sound. The yellow, sharp points of teeth gleamed darkly in the currents of rippling shadow.
I turned, sprinting back into the darkness of the bathroom as the crunching of bone and the shrieking of my wife followed me out. I had to repress an urge to vomit. With all of the speed I could muster, I staggered forward to the counter, where the mirror sat revealing the image of my house, an image that still lacked my reflection inside. Iris’ pleas and screams rapidly weakened. I heard her choking and gasping. A few moments later, I heard a rapid skittering of many legs approaching the bathroom. I started to pull myself up on the counter to escape this hellish mirror world.
Something creaked in the doorway behind me. I glanced back in fright, seeing the abomination with the eight limbs creeping up behind me. He stood only a few feet away from me now. As my eyes met his white, dead ones, his cadaverous face split into a sickly grin.
***
A wave of adrenaline shook my body. My vision turned white in the darkness. With a pounding heart, I pushed myself up and lunged through the mirror. The eight-limbed abomination with my rotting face gave an insane shriek. I felt a freezing cold hand wrap around my ankle and begin to drag me back.
“No!” I shrieked, trying to kick blindly at the mirror creature’s dead face. “I’ll never go with you! Never!” I smashed my sneaker into his jaw. There was a shattering sound, as if a ceramic vase had been dropped. The chattering of sharp teeth and the shrieking cut off abruptly. Looking back, I saw the corpse’s broken jaw hanging on by only a few shreds of tendons and muscle. The eyes went slack and I felt the grip loosen for the briefest moment. I pushed myself forward and slid through the mirror.
The freezing cold, pins-and-needles sensation returned, running over my body like water. I collapsed head-first onto the sink, rolling onto the floor with a jarring thud. The shrieking of the eight-limbed corpse continued behind me. I saw him trying to force his elongated body through the mirror. The long arms with their sharp fingers reached through, swiping wildly at the air. Before I could escape, one of them came through and cut four deep gashes into my chest. My shirt instantly became soaked in blood as a burning pain ran up my body.
I heard someone pounding at the front door, but in the panic of the moment, I could barely think. As the rest of the cadaverous body tried to push his way through the mirror, I dragged myself out of the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, even as the sounds of breaking and shattering followed me out of the bathroom. Ignoring the pain radiating through my body, I ran over to the couch and began shoving it towards the door.
The door shuddered in its frame. The house and the floor shook as the corpse threw his enormous body into the wood over and over again. Cracks spiderwebbed down the front of it, and I knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple more seconds.
“Freddie!” I screamed, looking around frantically. My heart dropped when I remembered I had told him to hide behind the couch. He was not here, not anywhere in the living room. “Freddie! Where the hell are you?”
“Dad?!” a voice responded from outside. It sounded like Freddie’s voice, but it was eerie, as if his voice had gotten caught between stations on the radio. It sputtered with static. It fell and rose in an ear-splitting scream. “Dad, let me in! Please! They’re going to hurt me!”
I ran to the front door, looking outside, but I saw no sign of Freddie. The sky had changed, though. The Moon had changed from orange to a dark red, the color of a burst blood blister. The rest of the sky was such a dark shade of crimson that it looked almost black. Around my feet, I felt something warm and wet.
“Where are you?” I yelled. “I don’t see…” At that moment, the bathroom door exploded outwards in a shower of nails and splinters, covering my face and body in the debris. The cadaverous face peeked around the corner, as if he were playing hide-and-seek rather than hunting and killing people.
“Fuck!” I swore as I looked down, seeing blood streaming in from under the door. It covered my sneakers up to the tops of the soles as more and more flooded in.
I ran for the stairs as the eight-limbed corpse skittered across the ceiling like a spider. He hung upside-down, the jaw hanging askew on his putrefying skull, the filmy eyes flashing with bloodlust. I was already half-way up the stairs when the corpse jumped down into the lake of blood at the bottom of the stairs. With his elongated, twisted limbs, he began pulling himself towards the first step in a blur, covering his body in the thick, putrid blood that continuously poured in through the bottom of every door.
But something was in the blood, I saw to my horror. I froze in place near the top of the stairs, watching the creature as he struggled to pull himself out of the blood, which was already at knee-height and still rising. There were dark silhouettes slithering through the blood. I saw the head of a black snake peer out at the eight-limbed cadaver. The snake had no eyelids, and its eyes looked as red as the blood it lived in. It wrapped its muscular body around his torso, rising up towards the cadaver’s face. The blood-red eyes met those dead, rotted ones of the corpse as they stared at each other. Then the eldritch snake lunged forward and bit off the corpse’s face.
Other snakes started to rise out of the surface, wrapping around his four legs and slithering up his back. The corpse wailed like a banshee, running blindly into the walls to try to smash the many snakes that suffocated and bit him from all sides. But this only seemed to heighten their hunger and bloodlust.
The sound of shredding flesh and snapping bone followed me as I ran into Freddie’s room and hid. His room was the only one without mirrors in it, I knew, and I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
***
In the thick curtains of shadow, a small voice rang out, terrified and searching.
“Dad? Is that really you?” Freddie asked, hiding behind his chest of toys. I saw his small body, contorted and pale. His little head poked above the lid.
“Freddie! You’re alive!” I cried, running over and hugging him. Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were outside. I heard you screaming out there.”
“I heard you and Mom yelling outside, too,” Freddie whispered, his small body trembling as I held him. “I got scared and ran up here. I’m sorry, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“It’s OK. Thank God you did,” I murmured, remembering the lake of blood downstairs and all those strange, black snakes. “Mom isn’t coming, Freddie.” He went silent then and didn’t ask any more questions. A sick, heavy weight covered my heart.
In the darkness, we hid and waited, though I knew not for what. The smell of copper and iron from all the blood downstairs had become overwhelming. After a few minutes of this, I took my phone out and shone it around experimentally.
I saw a thin layer of blood streaming into the room, rising up the stairs like the waves of a tsunami. It covered the hallway’s hardwood floor, a half-inch thick deep already and growing fast. Dark shapes slithered and writhed in it. Small waves pushed the lake of blood towards us, and within seconds, my shoes were submerged in it.
“Dad?” Freddie asked in a panicked voice. “What’s that? There’s things inside of it…” Without thinking, I picked Freddie up and held him above my body.
“We need to get to the attic!” I whispered to him, sprinting through the rising pool of blood with my son in my arms. “Don’t be afraid, Freddie. We’ll make it.” I had nearly reached the hallway where the pull-cord for the attic stairs hung when something wrapped around my feet. I went flying forwards, dropping Freddie in the pool of blood. He was submerged up to his waist instantly. His small body writhed in terror.
“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, flailing his arms as black snakes circled him like hungry sharks. The one wrapping around my legs continued slithering up my body. A rising sense of horror and panic filled me. At that moment, I knew I was doomed. I only hoped I would see Iris again. Then I noticed spotlights turn on outside, filling the inside of the house with a radiance like the Sun.
All of the windows upstairs suddenly smashed inwards. A spotlight shone through the nearest of them, illuminating me and Freddie in our frantic struggles against the snakes. Men in SWAT gear crawled through the shattered windows. With their gas masks, their faces looked like insects with too many compound eyes.
On their helmets and jackets, I saw a strange symbol: a double-fisted thumb holding a staring, lidless eye. Dozens of them streamed in, shooting the snakes that circled Freddie and me. As the one wrapping around its body slowly wound its way towards my face, one of the black-clad men came up behind it and shot it in the skull. The snake’s body collapsed all around me, its muscles loosening in death. With relief washing over me, I ran to our saviors.
“Get us out of here!” I pleaded. “There’s horrible things happening!” The man nodded in his black military gear, his mask revealing nothing.
“Follow me,” he said dispassionately, starting towards the roof. “You two are the only survivors we’ve found so far. It truly is a miracle anyone’s still alive.” I could only agree silently.
"This must be all over every news channel," I said. The masked man shook his head.
"No one knows about this," he responded. "No one but you two and our group. The media won't say shit. They do what we tell them."
***
I followed the men out onto the roof. Helicopters crisscrossed the skies, illuminating the houses and streets with many bright spotlights. As a helicopter slowly lowered itself down to take Freddie and me away from that pit of nightmares, dropping a rope for us to ascend, I glanced around my town one last time.
Many of the houses were destroyed or burning, sending thick clouds of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Men in full SWAT gear zoomed around the blood flooding the streets in boats, the whirring of the motors echoing like angry hornets. Turning away, I followed Freddie into the helicopter and never returned.
Iris is dead, and Freddie and I have seen enough horrors to scar us for a thousand years. In my heart, I know it is my fault my wife died. I didn’t follow the rules, and she paid the price.
I will hear those dying, panicked screams until my final breath.

My wife, Iris, sat on the couch next to me, holding the bowl of popcorn in her thin hands. On her other side, our little boy, Freddie, sat. He looked just like his mother, with the same dirty blonde hair and faraway eyes, like the eyes of a dreamer. The movie played across our flat-screen TV, some CGI comedy with talking penguins and llamas that could drive cars. It was some garbage from Disney I would never have watched in a million years, but Freddie liked it, so I suffered through it for him.
We had turned off all the lights in the house for the movie. Only the TV’s flickering colors illuminated the room, sending dancing shadows that flashed out behind us.
Suddenly, outside the living room window, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, splitting a tree in our front yard in two. Light flooded in through the window as if the flash of a nuclear missile were ripping its way across the town. A crash rang out as the tree split down the middle, its massive branches tumbling down onto the lawn. I jumped as the ground shook. More lightning flashed nearby, hitting other houses and lawns on the street.
“Damn, there wasn’t supposed to be any storms,” I said in surprise. The TV had gone black, and now we sat in darkness. For a long moment, I thought the power had gone out.
Abruptly, it came back on with a roar of white noise and a flickering of static. The volume seemed to be increasing by itself, growing into a rushing cacophony like a waterfall. I saw Iris try to scream something, but I could only see her lips move.
As suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The standard “PLEASE STANDBY” screen with a rainbow of blocky colors behind it appeared. There was a clanging, ringing sound that emanated from the speakers, high-pitched and whining like tinnitus. Then text started appearing across the screen. At the same time, a deep, serious voice spoke in the background, like a radio announcer reporting on the death of a President.
“This is the Demon Emergency Alert Broadcast System,” the voice read grimly. “This is not a test. Level five activity has been reported in your area. Do not go outside. Close all blinds, shutters and windows. Lock all doors and close any attached garages. Do not open your doors except to military or police personnel with the proper insignia. Even if someone appears to be in distress, do not open your door to investigate or try to interfere in any way. A temporary quarantine is in effect for your area. Military and police assistance is on the way.
“To ensure the greatest chances of survival during this time of crisis, please abide by the following rules:

1. If blood begins to pour under your door, go to a higher floor immediately. Avoid physical contact with the blood at all costs.
2. All legitimate military and police personnel will have a special insignia on their helmets and jackets, an eye contained in a double-thumbed fist. Only accompany them if they have this insignia- otherwise, they are imposters.
3. Avoid mirrors for the duration of the emergency.”

The voice cut out abruptly, slowing down in a mechanical whine. Static started flashing across the TV, covering the “PLEASE STANDBY” message that had returned in blocky letters. At that moment, the lights went out. They came back on a couple seconds later, brightening and dimming, before the power failed again. This time, the electricity did not come back on.
“What the fuck?” Iris whispered next to me, taking out her phone and shining the light across the dark living room. “That was pretty weird. Everything looks different outside, too. I was just outside an hour ago and the Moon didn’t look anything like that.” She pointed. I got up, realizing she was right. The nighttime sky outside looked strange. I looked out the front window, seeing the Moon was cast in a fluorescent orange light. The cloudless sky had a dark red glow to it, as if some kind of eerie smog had covered everything. I had seen similar things happen after massive forest fires in the past.
“What happened, Dad?” Freddie asked in his small voice. “Where’s the movie?”
“I think we lost power, little man,” I said, ruffling his hair in a nonchalant manner. I didn’t really believe the emergency broadcast, after all. I figured some teenager had hacked the TV station and decided to play a prank, or perhaps some disgruntled employee had done it on his last day as a kind of “Fuck you” to the station. I had heard of similar things happening before. It was somewhat strange how the power had gone out and the sky had changed, but I felt sure that it could all be logically explained.
Someone shrieked outside. I looked out onto the dark street, seeing the silhouette of someone running frantically down the middle of the street, zigzagging wildly. As the figure got closer, I realized it was a young woman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a white shirt and khakis. Her clothes were soaked in streams of blood that made the fabric cling to her trembling body. I saw a vicious gash bitten into her left shoulder, a wound so deep that the white bone peeked out through the ragged patches of flesh.
“Help me!” she wailed, her eyes wild and panicked. “Why won’t anyone help me?!” She staggered and fell forward, crying and bleeding all over the road. I was about to run outside to see what was wrong with the young woman when I saw another silhouette creeping up behind her.
It looked like the body of a man, but something was wrong. As he drew closer, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face through the dim light. The left side of it was rotted and decayed, while the right looked muscular and healthy. He wore a black suit that looked like little more than tatters. Pieces of it fell off in ragged strips. I could see his left hand was also decomposing. Whatever kind of sickness it was, it seemed to extend to the whole left side of his body.
The stiff, skeletal leg cracked as he dragged it behind him, silently drawing nearer to the young woman. The living side of his face split into an insane rictus grin as he looked down at her. He carried a blood-stained ax that dragged on the pavement behind him with a harsh, metallic groan.
“Get away from me!” the woman screamed at the abomination, trying to kick at him. But she looked weakened from blood loss, and her attempts were feeble and slow. The man laughed, a sound that rang out like the gurgling of blood. He spat squirming maggots from his mouth onto the dark street below. He knelt down before the gasping woman and gave a low whisper. It carried on the dead, silent air.
“So warm,” he murmured, wiping his dead, putrefying fingers across the streams of blood that spurted from her left shoulder. He stuck an inhumanly long, pointed tongue out of his chattering lips and began to lick the blood off his hands. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”
He stuck the bony, decaying fingers of his left hand into the wound and started pulling at the ragged wound. Blood bubbled out in increasing quantities, covering her body in its wet sheen. The woman jerked, her face turning pale and bloodless. She tried to kick at him, but he only laughed again, gurgling like a man with a slit throat. In horror, I watched him raise the ax above his head. It stood there for a long moment, trembling in his shaking hands like a guillotine blade.
“Please, don’t…” the woman pleaded as he grinned down at her. In a blur, he swung the ax down into her forehead. There was a wet cracking of bone and a ringing of metal. She sat there with her mouth open for what felt like a very long moment. Then, limply, she collapsed to the pavement. A dull thud echoed down the street as her skull smacked the pavement.
Sickened, I closed the blinds on the window and turned away, realizing that Freddie and Iris had been standing right behind me the entire time, watching the horrific display. Freddie was crying quietly into his hands, while Iris looked pale, her green eyes wide and unbelieving. The woman exhaled one last time, a long, drawn-out death gasp, and then everything went silent.
I felt sick and weak. Staggering, I put my hand out against the wall. A wave of nausea rose up my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, shining the light from my cell phone to light the way. Iris started crying. I heard her frantically try to dial 911 over and over again.
“Dammit, nothing’s working!” she cried. I stumbled into the bathroom and threw up all the popcorn and soda I had consumed that night into the toilet. Covered in sweat, I started wiping my face with toilet paper. I pushed myself up, glancing into the mirror.
A cadaverous version of myself stood there, the dead face showing horror and surprise just like my own. I saw the same high cheekbones, the same shaved head, but in the mirror image, maggots writhed and squirmed in the rancid flesh. I backpedaled into the wall, stuttering something incomprehensible. The reflected image did the same, his lipless mouth opening and closing with silent curses. He wore the same clothes as myself, a black T-shirt and blue jeans, but they were rotted and tattered, as if they had been dug out of a grave.
“What the fuck?” I swore, raising my right hand experimentally. The mirror image did the same, matching every single movement perfectly. At that moment, Iris came running into the bathroom, her soft footsteps thudding gently against the marble floor. I jumped, turning to her.
“There’s someone outside the door,” she whispered, her face pale. I glanced back at the reflection, seeing that the other version was no longer following my movements.
“Watch out!” I cried, but it was too late.
The skull-like face came forward in a blur. His arm shot out towards Iris. The surface of the mirror swirled as if it were made of water when his pale flesh made contact with it. The sharp points of bone of his fingers wrapped around Iris’ neck. Stunned and silent, I watched in horror as he started dragging her into that other world.
“Stop him!” she screamed. “God, make him stop!” I ran forward, grabbing her legs as her head and chest was sucked through. There was a slight popping sound when her body entered the liquid-like surface. I tried to hold on with all of my strength, but whatever abomination was on the other side was strong, stronger than me. His iron grip yanked her out of my hands.
“Dad?” Freddie asked, slinking into the bathroom. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked around, confused. “Where’s Mom? Who’s screaming?” I had to make a decision instantly, I knew. I could either stay with my son, or try to get my wife back. I knew I couldn’t just leave Iris, though. I felt mentally torn. I looked between him and the mirror, my heart quivering with anxiety.
“Freddie, go wait in the living room,” I said. “Hide behind the couch. Don’t answer the door or say anything to anyone, no matter what. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not. Before I turned to the mirror, I patted his head. “Remember the rules they read us on the TV.” He nodded, but he was only a seven-year-old boy. How much did he really understand? Hell, how much did I even understand? I hadn’t followed the rules, and now Iris was kidnapped.
I turned back to the mirror, seeing that I had no reflection now. There was no sign of Iris or the rotted corpse with my face, either. Slowly, I walked forward, putting my trembling hand out towards its silvery surface. My fingers went through the mirror as if it were mere air, but I felt something freezing cold ripple around my skin. Pins and needles rushed up my arm. Taking a deep breath in, I pushed myself up on the counter and went all the way through.
***
I fell forward onto the marble surface of the bathroom floor, putting my hands out to break the fall. As I glanced up, I realized how strange everything looked. The world here was in constant motion, as if a fog-like void shimmered over the world. The floor’s surface danced with whorls of shadow. They felt as freezing cold as liquid nitrogen as they passed over my body.
Shivering and hugging myself, I pushed myself up off the floor. The walls and ceilings, too, rippled in the same black currents. I glanced around, seeing the white bathtub filled to the brim with dark blood. It bubbled constantly, as if someone were drowning under its surface. Bloody handprints of all sizes smeared the sides of the tub. The smell of copper grew strong, mixing with the strange smell that emanated from the shadows, a pungent, chemical odor like ammonia.
I passed by the mirror, seeing that here, too, I had no reflection. I felt like a vampire, staring into that blank emptiness. Feeling sick and disoriented, I stumbled forward, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I heard Iris crying and shrieking somewhere nearby.
“Nooo…” she wailed. “Please, stop…” Her voice seemed to be growing fainter and weaker, as if she were being dragged away by a tsunami. I peeked around the corner. Everything looked like nightmarish and strange. The living room looked much longer, stretching out for hundreds of feet. It had the same blue carpet and white walls as the one in my world, but now it was the size of a football stadium. The dark red couch had lengthened to an absurd size, stretching wide enough to fit a hundred people in it. The TV loomed across the room like the screen of a movie theater. It flickered constantly, showing a cacophony of white noise and static interspersed with horrible images: naked corpses with their throats sliced from ear to ear, burning bodies, people falling to their deaths from burning buildings.
But none of that was what made an involuntary gasp of horror rise up my throat. It was the enormous spiderweb spanning the length of the ceiling, fluttering softly in the breeze. In the center of the symmetrical web, I saw Iris, covered in silky thread up to her neck. She was hanging horizontally facing down, her body parallel to the floor. She struggled against the webbing that bound her like steel chains. Her eyes bulged from her head as she stared fixedly at the cadaver approaching her.
Crawling upside-down towards Iris was the monstrous image of myself I had seen in the mirror, but he had transformed into something spidery and eldritch. He skittered along with four arms and four legs now. The emaciated limbs poked out of his tattered rags of clothes, forked and elongated, the skin pale and covered in purple sores and deep gashes. Iris continued to plead and shriek in horror as it drew near. The creature’s chattering fangs and blackened gums approached her neck.
At the penultimate moment, Iris saw me, peeking around the corner of the bathroom. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I thought of trying to scream out, to throw something at the creature, but then what? We would both die, and then who would be left alive to protect Freddie? I didn’t know what to do. These thoughts passed through my head in the space of a single moment as we stared at each other. Her eyes shone with a moment of clarity, even as waves of mortal terror shook her body like a hurricane.
“Save Freddie!” she screamed. “Run! Go, Jack!” The creature noticed her staring at me instantly. He curved his long neck and twisted his spidery limbs, clutching the thick strands of silk with his skeletal limbs. The creature turned to me. He had a face like a skull. His filmy eyes regarded me intently. Silver streams of saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a wide, insane smile, then turned back to Iris, unhinging his jaw. The pale, dead skin tore with a wet ripping sound. The yellow, sharp points of teeth gleamed darkly in the currents of rippling shadow.
I turned, sprinting back into the darkness of the bathroom as the crunching of bone and the shrieking of my wife followed me out. I had to repress an urge to vomit. With all of the speed I could muster, I staggered forward to the counter, where the mirror sat revealing the image of my house, an image that still lacked my reflection inside. Iris’ pleas and screams rapidly weakened. I heard her choking and gasping. A few moments later, I heard a rapid skittering of many legs approaching the bathroom. I started to pull myself up on the counter to escape this hellish mirror world.
Something creaked in the doorway behind me. I glanced back in fright, seeing the abomination with the eight limbs creeping up behind me. He stood only a few feet away from me now. As my eyes met his white, dead ones, his cadaverous face split into a sickly grin.
***
A wave of adrenaline shook my body. My vision turned white in the darkness. With a pounding heart, I pushed myself up and lunged through the mirror. The eight-limbed abomination with my rotting face gave an insane shriek. I felt a freezing cold hand wrap around my ankle and begin to drag me back.
“No!” I shrieked, trying to kick blindly at the mirror creature’s dead face. “I’ll never go with you! Never!” I smashed my sneaker into his jaw. There was a shattering sound, as if a ceramic vase had been dropped. The chattering of sharp teeth and the shrieking cut off abruptly. Looking back, I saw the corpse’s broken jaw hanging on by only a few shreds of tendons and muscle. The eyes went slack and I felt the grip loosen for the briefest moment. I pushed myself forward and slid through the mirror.
The freezing cold, pins-and-needles sensation returned, running over my body like water. I collapsed head-first onto the sink, rolling onto the floor with a jarring thud. The shrieking of the eight-limbed corpse continued behind me. I saw him trying to force his elongated body through the mirror. The long arms with their sharp fingers reached through, swiping wildly at the air. Before I could escape, one of them came through and cut four deep gashes into my chest. My shirt instantly became soaked in blood as a burning pain ran up my body.
I heard someone pounding at the front door, but in the panic of the moment, I could barely think. As the rest of the cadaverous body tried to push his way through the mirror, I dragged myself out of the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, even as the sounds of breaking and shattering followed me out of the bathroom. Ignoring the pain radiating through my body, I ran over to the couch and began shoving it towards the door.
The door shuddered in its frame. The house and the floor shook as the corpse threw his enormous body into the wood over and over again. Cracks spiderwebbed down the front of it, and I knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple more seconds.
“Freddie!” I screamed, looking around frantically. My heart dropped when I remembered I had told him to hide behind the couch. He was not here, not anywhere in the living room. “Freddie! Where the hell are you?”
“Dad?!” a voice responded from outside. It sounded like Freddie’s voice, but it was eerie, as if his voice had gotten caught between stations on the radio. It sputtered with static. It fell and rose in an ear-splitting scream. “Dad, let me in! Please! They’re going to hurt me!”
I ran to the front door, looking outside, but I saw no sign of Freddie. The sky had changed, though. The Moon had changed from orange to a dark red, the color of a burst blood blister. The rest of the sky was such a dark shade of crimson that it looked almost black. Around my feet, I felt something warm and wet.
“Where are you?” I yelled. “I don’t see…” At that moment, the bathroom door exploded outwards in a shower of nails and splinters, covering my face and body in the debris. The cadaverous face peeked around the corner, as if he were playing hide-and-seek rather than hunting and killing people.
“Fuck!” I swore as I looked down, seeing blood streaming in from under the door. It covered my sneakers up to the tops of the soles as more and more flooded in.
I ran for the stairs as the eight-limbed corpse skittered across the ceiling like a spider. He hung upside-down, the jaw hanging askew on his putrefying skull, the filmy eyes flashing with bloodlust. I was already half-way up the stairs when the corpse jumped down into the lake of blood at the bottom of the stairs. With his elongated, twisted limbs, he began pulling himself towards the first step in a blur, covering his body in the thick, putrid blood that continuously poured in through the bottom of every door.
But something was in the blood, I saw to my horror. I froze in place near the top of the stairs, watching the creature as he struggled to pull himself out of the blood, which was already at knee-height and still rising. There were dark silhouettes slithering through the blood. I saw the head of a black snake peer out at the eight-limbed cadaver. The snake had no eyelids, and its eyes looked as red as the blood it lived in. It wrapped its muscular body around his torso, rising up towards the cadaver’s face. The blood-red eyes met those dead, rotted ones of the corpse as they stared at each other. Then the eldritch snake lunged forward and bit off the corpse’s face.
Other snakes started to rise out of the surface, wrapping around his four legs and slithering up his back. The corpse wailed like a banshee, running blindly into the walls to try to smash the many snakes that suffocated and bit him from all sides. But this only seemed to heighten their hunger and bloodlust.
The sound of shredding flesh and snapping bone followed me as I ran into Freddie’s room and hid. His room was the only one without mirrors in it, I knew, and I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
***
In the thick curtains of shadow, a small voice rang out, terrified and searching.
“Dad? Is that really you?” Freddie asked, hiding behind his chest of toys. I saw his small body, contorted and pale. His little head poked above the lid.
“Freddie! You’re alive!” I cried, running over and hugging him. Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were outside. I heard you screaming out there.”
“I heard you and Mom yelling outside, too,” Freddie whispered, his small body trembling as I held him. “I got scared and ran up here. I’m sorry, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“It’s OK. Thank God you did,” I murmured, remembering the lake of blood downstairs and all those strange, black snakes. “Mom isn’t coming, Freddie.” He went silent then and didn’t ask any more questions. A sick, heavy weight covered my heart.
In the darkness, we hid and waited, though I knew not for what. The smell of copper and iron from all the blood downstairs had become overwhelming. After a few minutes of this, I took my phone out and shone it around experimentally.
I saw a thin layer of blood streaming into the room, rising up the stairs like the waves of a tsunami. It covered the hallway’s hardwood floor, a half-inch thick deep already and growing fast. Dark shapes slithered and writhed in it. Small waves pushed the lake of blood towards us, and within seconds, my shoes were submerged in it.
“Dad?” Freddie asked in a panicked voice. “What’s that? There’s things inside of it…” Without thinking, I picked Freddie up and held him above my body.
“We need to get to the attic!” I whispered to him, sprinting through the rising pool of blood with my son in my arms. “Don’t be afraid, Freddie. We’ll make it.” I had nearly reached the hallway where the pull-cord for the attic stairs hung when something wrapped around my feet. I went flying forwards, dropping Freddie in the pool of blood. He was submerged up to his waist instantly. His small body writhed in terror.
“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, flailing his arms as black snakes circled him like hungry sharks. The one wrapping around my legs continued slithering up my body. A rising sense of horror and panic filled me. At that moment, I knew I was doomed. I only hoped I would see Iris again. Then I noticed spotlights turn on outside, filling the inside of the house with a radiance like the Sun.
All of the windows upstairs suddenly smashed inwards. A spotlight shone through the nearest of them, illuminating me and Freddie in our frantic struggles against the snakes. Men in SWAT gear crawled through the shattered windows. With their gas masks, their faces looked like insects with too many compound eyes.
On their helmets and jackets, I saw a strange symbol: a double-fisted thumb holding a staring, lidless eye. Dozens of them streamed in, shooting the snakes that circled Freddie and me. As the one wrapping around its body slowly wound its way towards my face, one of the black-clad men came up behind it and shot it in the skull. The snake’s body collapsed all around me, its muscles loosening in death. With relief washing over me, I ran to our saviors.
“Get us out of here!” I pleaded. “There’s horrible things happening!” The man nodded in his black military gear, his mask revealing nothing.
“Follow me,” he said dispassionately, starting towards the roof. “You two are the only survivors we’ve found so far. It truly is a miracle anyone’s still alive.” I could only agree silently.
"This must be all over every news channel," I said. The masked man shook his head.
"No one knows about this," he responded. "No one but you two and our group. The media won't say shit. They do what we tell them."
***
I followed the men out onto the roof. Helicopters crisscrossed the skies, illuminating the houses and streets with many bright spotlights. As a helicopter slowly lowered itself down to take Freddie and me away from that pit of nightmares, dropping a rope for us to ascend, I glanced around my town one last time.
Many of the houses were destroyed or burning, sending thick clouds of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Men in full SWAT gear zoomed around the blood flooding the streets in boats, the whirring of the motors echoing like angry hornets. Turning away, I followed Freddie into the helicopter and never returned.
Iris is dead, and Freddie and I have seen enough horrors to scar us for a thousand years. In my heart, I know it is my fault my wife died. I didn’t follow the rules, and she paid the price.
I will hear those dying, panicked screams until my final breath.

My wife, Iris, sat on the couch next to me, holding the bowl of popcorn in her thin hands. On her other side, our little boy, Freddie, sat. He looked just like his mother, with the same dirty blonde hair and faraway eyes, like the eyes of a dreamer. The movie played across our flat-screen TV, some CGI comedy with talking penguins and llamas that could drive cars. It was some garbage from Disney I would never have watched in a million years, but Freddie liked it, so I suffered through it for him.
We had turned off all the lights in the house for the movie. Only the TV’s flickering colors illuminated the room, sending dancing shadows that flashed out behind us.
Suddenly, outside the living room window, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, splitting a tree in our front yard in two. Light flooded in through the window as if the flash of a nuclear missile were ripping its way across the town. A crash rang out as the tree split down the middle, its massive branches tumbling down onto the lawn. I jumped as the ground shook. More lightning flashed nearby, hitting other houses and lawns on the street.
“Damn, there wasn’t supposed to be any storms,” I said in surprise. The TV had gone black, and now we sat in darkness. For a long moment, I thought the power had gone out.
Abruptly, it came back on with a roar of white noise and a flickering of static. The volume seemed to be increasing by itself, growing into a rushing cacophony like a waterfall. I saw Iris try to scream something, but I could only see her lips move.
As suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The standard “PLEASE STANDBY” screen with a rainbow of blocky colors behind it appeared. There was a clanging, ringing sound that emanated from the speakers, high-pitched and whining like tinnitus. Then text started appearing across the screen. At the same time, a deep, serious voice spoke in the background, like a radio announcer reporting on the death of a President.
“This is the Demon Emergency Alert Broadcast System,” the voice read grimly. “This is not a test. Level five activity has been reported in your area. Do not go outside. Close all blinds, shutters and windows. Lock all doors and close any attached garages. Do not open your doors except to military or police personnel with the proper insignia. Even if someone appears to be in distress, do not open your door to investigate or try to interfere in any way. A temporary quarantine is in effect for your area. Military and police assistance is on the way.
“To ensure the greatest chances of survival during this time of crisis, please abide by the following rules:

1. If blood begins to pour under your door, go to a higher floor immediately. Avoid physical contact with the blood at all costs.
2. All legitimate military and police personnel will have a special insignia on their helmets and jackets, an eye contained in a double-thumbed fist. Only accompany them if they have this insignia- otherwise, they are imposters.
3. Avoid mirrors for the duration of the emergency.”

The voice cut out abruptly, slowing down in a mechanical whine. Static started flashing across the TV, covering the “PLEASE STANDBY” message that had returned in blocky letters. At that moment, the lights went out. They came back on a couple seconds later, brightening and dimming, before the power failed again. This time, the electricity did not come back on.
“What the fuck?” Iris whispered next to me, taking out her phone and shining the light across the dark living room. “That was pretty weird. Everything looks different outside, too. I was just outside an hour ago and the Moon didn’t look anything like that.” She pointed. I got up, realizing she was right. The nighttime sky outside looked strange. I looked out the front window, seeing the Moon was cast in a fluorescent orange light. The cloudless sky had a dark red glow to it, as if some kind of eerie smog had covered everything. I had seen similar things happen after massive forest fires in the past.
“What happened, Dad?” Freddie asked in his small voice. “Where’s the movie?”
“I think we lost power, little man,” I said, ruffling his hair in a nonchalant manner. I didn’t really believe the emergency broadcast, after all. I figured some teenager had hacked the TV station and decided to play a prank, or perhaps some disgruntled employee had done it on his last day as a kind of “Fuck you” to the station. I had heard of similar things happening before. It was somewhat strange how the power had gone out and the sky had changed, but I felt sure that it could all be logically explained.
Someone shrieked outside. I looked out onto the dark street, seeing the silhouette of someone running frantically down the middle of the street, zigzagging wildly. As the figure got closer, I realized it was a young woman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a white shirt and khakis. Her clothes were soaked in streams of blood that made the fabric cling to her trembling body. I saw a vicious gash bitten into her left shoulder, a wound so deep that the white bone peeked out through the ragged patches of flesh.
“Help me!” she wailed, her eyes wild and panicked. “Why won’t anyone help me?!” She staggered and fell forward, crying and bleeding all over the road. I was about to run outside to see what was wrong with the young woman when I saw another silhouette creeping up behind her.
It looked like the body of a man, but something was wrong. As he drew closer, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face through the dim light. The left side of it was rotted and decayed, while the right looked muscular and healthy. He wore a black suit that looked like little more than tatters. Pieces of it fell off in ragged strips. I could see his left hand was also decomposing. Whatever kind of sickness it was, it seemed to extend to the whole left side of his body.
The stiff, skeletal leg cracked as he dragged it behind him, silently drawing nearer to the young woman. The living side of his face split into an insane rictus grin as he looked down at her. He carried a blood-stained ax that dragged on the pavement behind him with a harsh, metallic groan.
“Get away from me!” the woman screamed at the abomination, trying to kick at him. But she looked weakened from blood loss, and her attempts were feeble and slow. The man laughed, a sound that rang out like the gurgling of blood. He spat squirming maggots from his mouth onto the dark street below. He knelt down before the gasping woman and gave a low whisper. It carried on the dead, silent air.
“So warm,” he murmured, wiping his dead, putrefying fingers across the streams of blood that spurted from her left shoulder. He stuck an inhumanly long, pointed tongue out of his chattering lips and began to lick the blood off his hands. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”
He stuck the bony, decaying fingers of his left hand into the wound and started pulling at the ragged wound. Blood bubbled out in increasing quantities, covering her body in its wet sheen. The woman jerked, her face turning pale and bloodless. She tried to kick at him, but he only laughed again, gurgling like a man with a slit throat. In horror, I watched him raise the ax above his head. It stood there for a long moment, trembling in his shaking hands like a guillotine blade.
“Please, don’t…” the woman pleaded as he grinned down at her. In a blur, he swung the ax down into her forehead. There was a wet cracking of bone and a ringing of metal. She sat there with her mouth open for what felt like a very long moment. Then, limply, she collapsed to the pavement. A dull thud echoed down the street as her skull smacked the pavement.
Sickened, I closed the blinds on the window and turned away, realizing that Freddie and Iris had been standing right behind me the entire time, watching the horrific display. Freddie was crying quietly into his hands, while Iris looked pale, her green eyes wide and unbelieving. The woman exhaled one last time, a long, drawn-out death gasp, and then everything went silent.
I felt sick and weak. Staggering, I put my hand out against the wall. A wave of nausea rose up my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, shining the light from my cell phone to light the way. Iris started crying. I heard her frantically try to dial 911 over and over again.
“Dammit, nothing’s working!” she cried. I stumbled into the bathroom and threw up all the popcorn and soda I had consumed that night into the toilet. Covered in sweat, I started wiping my face with toilet paper. I pushed myself up, glancing into the mirror.
A cadaverous version of myself stood there, the dead face showing horror and surprise just like my own. I saw the same high cheekbones, the same shaved head, but in the mirror image, maggots writhed and squirmed in the rancid flesh. I backpedaled into the wall, stuttering something incomprehensible. The reflected image did the same, his lipless mouth opening and closing with silent curses. He wore the same clothes as myself, a black T-shirt and blue jeans, but they were rotted and tattered, as if they had been dug out of a grave.
“What the fuck?” I swore, raising my right hand experimentally. The mirror image did the same, matching every single movement perfectly. At that moment, Iris came running into the bathroom, her soft footsteps thudding gently against the marble floor. I jumped, turning to her.
“There’s someone outside the door,” she whispered, her face pale. I glanced back at the reflection, seeing that the other version was no longer following my movements.
“Watch out!” I cried, but it was too late.
The skull-like face came forward in a blur. His arm shot out towards Iris. The surface of the mirror swirled as if it were made of water when his pale flesh made contact with it. The sharp points of bone of his fingers wrapped around Iris’ neck. Stunned and silent, I watched in horror as he started dragging her into that other world.
“Stop him!” she screamed. “God, make him stop!” I ran forward, grabbing her legs as her head and chest was sucked through. There was a slight popping sound when her body entered the liquid-like surface. I tried to hold on with all of my strength, but whatever abomination was on the other side was strong, stronger than me. His iron grip yanked her out of my hands.
“Dad?” Freddie asked, slinking into the bathroom. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked around, confused. “Where’s Mom? Who’s screaming?” I had to make a decision instantly, I knew. I could either stay with my son, or try to get my wife back. I knew I couldn’t just leave Iris, though. I felt mentally torn. I looked between him and the mirror, my heart quivering with anxiety.
“Freddie, go wait in the living room,” I said. “Hide behind the couch. Don’t answer the door or say anything to anyone, no matter what. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not. Before I turned to the mirror, I patted his head. “Remember the rules they read us on the TV.” He nodded, but he was only a seven-year-old boy. How much did he really understand? Hell, how much did I even understand? I hadn’t followed the rules, and now Iris was kidnapped.
I turned back to the mirror, seeing that I had no reflection now. There was no sign of Iris or the rotted corpse with my face, either. Slowly, I walked forward, putting my trembling hand out towards its silvery surface. My fingers went through the mirror as if it were mere air, but I felt something freezing cold ripple around my skin. Pins and needles rushed up my arm. Taking a deep breath in, I pushed myself up on the counter and went all the way through.
***
I fell forward onto the marble surface of the bathroom floor, putting my hands out to break the fall. As I glanced up, I realized how strange everything looked. The world here was in constant motion, as if a fog-like void shimmered over the world. The floor’s surface danced with whorls of shadow. They felt as freezing cold as liquid nitrogen as they passed over my body.
Shivering and hugging myself, I pushed myself up off the floor. The walls and ceilings, too, rippled in the same black currents. I glanced around, seeing the white bathtub filled to the brim with dark blood. It bubbled constantly, as if someone were drowning under its surface. Bloody handprints of all sizes smeared the sides of the tub. The smell of copper grew strong, mixing with the strange smell that emanated from the shadows, a pungent, chemical odor like ammonia.
I passed by the mirror, seeing that here, too, I had no reflection. I felt like a vampire, staring into that blank emptiness. Feeling sick and disoriented, I stumbled forward, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I heard Iris crying and shrieking somewhere nearby.
“Nooo…” she wailed. “Please, stop…” Her voice seemed to be growing fainter and weaker, as if she were being dragged away by a tsunami. I peeked around the corner. Everything looked like nightmarish and strange. The living room looked much longer, stretching out for hundreds of feet. It had the same blue carpet and white walls as the one in my world, but now it was the size of a football stadium. The dark red couch had lengthened to an absurd size, stretching wide enough to fit a hundred people in it. The TV loomed across the room like the screen of a movie theater. It flickered constantly, showing a cacophony of white noise and static interspersed with horrible images: naked corpses with their throats sliced from ear to ear, burning bodies, people falling to their deaths from burning buildings.
But none of that was what made an involuntary gasp of horror rise up my throat. It was the enormous spiderweb spanning the length of the ceiling, fluttering softly in the breeze. In the center of the symmetrical web, I saw Iris, covered in silky thread up to her neck. She was hanging horizontally facing down, her body parallel to the floor. She struggled against the webbing that bound her like steel chains. Her eyes bulged from her head as she stared fixedly at the cadaver approaching her.
Crawling upside-down towards Iris was the monstrous image of myself I had seen in the mirror, but he had transformed into something spidery and eldritch. He skittered along with four arms and four legs now. The emaciated limbs poked out of his tattered rags of clothes, forked and elongated, the skin pale and covered in purple sores and deep gashes. Iris continued to plead and shriek in horror as it drew near. The creature’s chattering fangs and blackened gums approached her neck.
At the penultimate moment, Iris saw me, peeking around the corner of the bathroom. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I thought of trying to scream out, to throw something at the creature, but then what? We would both die, and then who would be left alive to protect Freddie? I didn’t know what to do. These thoughts passed through my head in the space of a single moment as we stared at each other. Her eyes shone with a moment of clarity, even as waves of mortal terror shook her body like a hurricane.
“Save Freddie!” she screamed. “Run! Go, Jack!” The creature noticed her staring at me instantly. He curved his long neck and twisted his spidery limbs, clutching the thick strands of silk with his skeletal limbs. The creature turned to me. He had a face like a skull. His filmy eyes regarded me intently. Silver streams of saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a wide, insane smile, then turned back to Iris, unhinging his jaw. The pale, dead skin tore with a wet ripping sound. The yellow, sharp points of teeth gleamed darkly in the currents of rippling shadow.
I turned, sprinting back into the darkness of the bathroom as the crunching of bone and the shrieking of my wife followed me out. I had to repress an urge to vomit. With all of the speed I could muster, I staggered forward to the counter, where the mirror sat revealing the image of my house, an image that still lacked my reflection inside. Iris’ pleas and screams rapidly weakened. I heard her choking and gasping. A few moments later, I heard a rapid skittering of many legs approaching the bathroom. I started to pull myself up on the counter to escape this hellish mirror world.
Something creaked in the doorway behind me. I glanced back in fright, seeing the abomination with the eight limbs creeping up behind me. He stood only a few feet away from me now. As my eyes met his white, dead ones, his cadaverous face split into a sickly grin.
***
A wave of adrenaline shook my body. My vision turned white in the darkness. With a pounding heart, I pushed myself up and lunged through the mirror. The eight-limbed abomination with my rotting face gave an insane shriek. I felt a freezing cold hand wrap around my ankle and begin to drag me back.
“No!” I shrieked, trying to kick blindly at the mirror creature’s dead face. “I’ll never go with you! Never!” I smashed my sneaker into his jaw. There was a shattering sound, as if a ceramic vase had been dropped. The chattering of sharp teeth and the shrieking cut off abruptly. Looking back, I saw the corpse’s broken jaw hanging on by only a few shreds of tendons and muscle. The eyes went slack and I felt the grip loosen for the briefest moment. I pushed myself forward and slid through the mirror.
The freezing cold, pins-and-needles sensation returned, running over my body like water. I collapsed head-first onto the sink, rolling onto the floor with a jarring thud. The shrieking of the eight-limbed corpse continued behind me. I saw him trying to force his elongated body through the mirror. The long arms with their sharp fingers reached through, swiping wildly at the air. Before I could escape, one of them came through and cut four deep gashes into my chest. My shirt instantly became soaked in blood as a burning pain ran up my body.
I heard someone pounding at the front door, but in the panic of the moment, I could barely think. As the rest of the cadaverous body tried to push his way through the mirror, I dragged myself out of the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, even as the sounds of breaking and shattering followed me out of the bathroom. Ignoring the pain radiating through my body, I ran over to the couch and began shoving it towards the door.
The door shuddered in its frame. The house and the floor shook as the corpse threw his enormous body into the wood over and over again. Cracks spiderwebbed down the front of it, and I knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple more seconds.
“Freddie!” I screamed, looking around frantically. My heart dropped when I remembered I had told him to hide behind the couch. He was not here, not anywhere in the living room. “Freddie! Where the hell are you?”
“Dad?!” a voice responded from outside. It sounded like Freddie’s voice, but it was eerie, as if his voice had gotten caught between stations on the radio. It sputtered with static. It fell and rose in an ear-splitting scream. “Dad, let me in! Please! They’re going to hurt me!”
I ran to the front door, looking outside, but I saw no sign of Freddie. The sky had changed, though. The Moon had changed from orange to a dark red, the color of a burst blood blister. The rest of the sky was such a dark shade of crimson that it looked almost black. Around my feet, I felt something warm and wet.
“Where are you?” I yelled. “I don’t see…” At that moment, the bathroom door exploded outwards in a shower of nails and splinters, covering my face and body in the debris. The cadaverous face peeked around the corner, as if he were playing hide-and-seek rather than hunting and killing people.
“Fuck!” I swore as I looked down, seeing blood streaming in from under the door. It covered my sneakers up to the tops of the soles as more and more flooded in.
I ran for the stairs as the eight-limbed corpse skittered across the ceiling like a spider. He hung upside-down, the jaw hanging askew on his putrefying skull, the filmy eyes flashing with bloodlust. I was already half-way up the stairs when the corpse jumped down into the lake of blood at the bottom of the stairs. With his elongated, twisted limbs, he began pulling himself towards the first step in a blur, covering his body in the thick, putrid blood that continuously poured in through the bottom of every door.
But something was in the blood, I saw to my horror. I froze in place near the top of the stairs, watching the creature as he struggled to pull himself out of the blood, which was already at knee-height and still rising. There were dark silhouettes slithering through the blood. I saw the head of a black snake peer out at the eight-limbed cadaver. The snake had no eyelids, and its eyes looked as red as the blood it lived in. It wrapped its muscular body around his torso, rising up towards the cadaver’s face. The blood-red eyes met those dead, rotted ones of the corpse as they stared at each other. Then the eldritch snake lunged forward and bit off the corpse’s face.
Other snakes started to rise out of the surface, wrapping around his four legs and slithering up his back. The corpse wailed like a banshee, running blindly into the walls to try to smash the many snakes that suffocated and bit him from all sides. But this only seemed to heighten their hunger and bloodlust.
The sound of shredding flesh and snapping bone followed me as I ran into Freddie’s room and hid. His room was the only one without mirrors in it, I knew, and I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
***
In the thick curtains of shadow, a small voice rang out, terrified and searching.
“Dad? Is that really you?” Freddie asked, hiding behind his chest of toys. I saw his small body, contorted and pale. His little head poked above the lid.
“Freddie! You’re alive!” I cried, running over and hugging him. Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were outside. I heard you screaming out there.”
“I heard you and Mom yelling outside, too,” Freddie whispered, his small body trembling as I held him. “I got scared and ran up here. I’m sorry, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“It’s OK. Thank God you did,” I murmured, remembering the lake of blood downstairs and all those strange, black snakes. “Mom isn’t coming, Freddie.” He went silent then and didn’t ask any more questions. A sick, heavy weight covered my heart.
In the darkness, we hid and waited, though I knew not for what. The smell of copper and iron from all the blood downstairs had become overwhelming. After a few minutes of this, I took my phone out and shone it around experimentally.
I saw a thin layer of blood streaming into the room, rising up the stairs like the waves of a tsunami. It covered the hallway’s hardwood floor, a half-inch thick deep already and growing fast. Dark shapes slithered and writhed in it. Small waves pushed the lake of blood towards us, and within seconds, my shoes were submerged in it.
“Dad?” Freddie asked in a panicked voice. “What’s that? There’s things inside of it…” Without thinking, I picked Freddie up and held him above my body.
“We need to get to the attic!” I whispered to him, sprinting through the rising pool of blood with my son in my arms. “Don’t be afraid, Freddie. We’ll make it.” I had nearly reached the hallway where the pull-cord for the attic stairs hung when something wrapped around my feet. I went flying forwards, dropping Freddie in the pool of blood. He was submerged up to his waist instantly. His small body writhed in terror.
“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, flailing his arms as black snakes circled him like hungry sharks. The one wrapping around my legs continued slithering up my body. A rising sense of horror and panic filled me. At that moment, I knew I was doomed. I only hoped I would see Iris again. Then I noticed spotlights turn on outside, filling the inside of the house with a radiance like the Sun.
All of the windows upstairs suddenly smashed inwards. A spotlight shone through the nearest of them, illuminating me and Freddie in our frantic struggles against the snakes. Men in SWAT gear crawled through the shattered windows. With their gas masks, their faces looked like insects with too many compound eyes.
On their helmets and jackets, I saw a strange symbol: a double-fisted thumb holding a staring, lidless eye. Dozens of them streamed in, shooting the snakes that circled Freddie and me. As the one wrapping around its body slowly wound its way towards my face, one of the black-clad men came up behind it and shot it in the skull. The snake’s body collapsed all around me, its muscles loosening in death. With relief washing over me, I ran to our saviors.
“Get us out of here!” I pleaded. “There’s horrible things happening!” The man nodded in his black military gear, his mask revealing nothing.
“Follow me,” he said dispassionately, starting towards the roof. “You two are the only survivors we’ve found so far. It truly is a miracle anyone’s still alive.” I could only agree silently.
"This must be all over every news channel," I said. The masked man shook his head.
"No one knows about this," he responded. "No one but you two and our group. The media won't say shit. They do what we tell them."
***
I followed the men out onto the roof. Helicopters crisscrossed the skies, illuminating the houses and streets with many bright spotlights. As a helicopter slowly lowered itself down to take Freddie and me away from that pit of nightmares, dropping a rope for us to ascend, I glanced around my town one last time.
Many of the houses were destroyed or burning, sending thick clouds of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Men in full SWAT gear zoomed around the blood flooding the streets in boats, the whirring of the motors echoing like angry hornets. Turning away, I followed Freddie into the helicopter and never returned.
Iris is dead, and Freddie and I have seen enough horrors to scar us for a thousand years. In my heart, I know it is my fault my wife died. I didn’t follow the rules, and she paid the price.
I will hear those dying, panicked screams until my final breath.

Discovering bumps on the tongue, especially on its sides or back, often goes unnoticed as they typically blend in with the tongue's color. However, when these bumps grow larger or become bothersome, they may signal underlying health concerns. Bumps at the back of the tongue can be particularly concerning, potentially indicating oral infections or injuries. Understanding the symptoms, causes, and treatments for these blisters is crucial for maintaining oral health and overall well-being.
What are Blisters at the Back of the Tongue?
Blisters at the back of the tongue are fluid-filled sacs that develop on the posterior part of the tongue. They may present as white lesions or canker sores, causing discomfort and soreness. These blisters can arise from various factors, including trauma, infections, immune system disorders, or nutritional deficiencies.
Symptoms
Common symptoms of blisters at the back of the tongue include:

• Altered taste perception
  
• Discomfort while eating, especially with acidic foods
  
• Irritation during speech
  
• Soreness at the back of the tongue, ranging from mild discomfort to sharp pain
  

White Blister on the Back of the Tongue
Oral thrush, canker sores, and leukoplakia are some conditions that can cause white blisters on the back of the tongue. These blisters may appear white or yellowish due to pus or dead cell accumulation.
Canker Sores on the Back of the Tongue
Canker sores often manifest as round or oval-shaped lesions with a white or yellow center and a red border on the back of the tongue. These sores can be particularly painful, especially while eating or speaking.
Treatment Options
Several treatment options can help alleviate discomfort and promote healing:

• Topical Treatments: Over-the-counter ointments or gels containing benzocaine or lidocaine can provide temporary pain relief and facilitate blister healing.
  
• Oral Rinses: Mouthwashes with antiseptic properties or rinses with seawater can reduce inflammation and prevent infections.
  
• Pain Relief Medications: Nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs) like acetaminophen or ibuprofen can reduce pain and inflammation.
  
• Avoiding Irritants: Refraining from consuming rough-textured, acidic, or spicy foods can prevent irritation and aid in blister healing.
  
• Hydration and Nutrition: Maintaining hydration and consuming a soft diet can alleviate discomfort and accelerate healing.
  

Home Remedies
In addition to medical treatments, several home remedies can provide relief:

• Saltwater Rinse: Gargling with a mixture of salt and warm water several times a day can reduce inflammation and prevent bacterial growth.
  
• Hydration: Staying hydrated promotes saliva production, aiding in tongue irritation reduction.
  
• Honey: Applying raw honey directly to tongue bumps can reduce inflammation and promote healing.
  
• Aloe Vera: Aloe Vera gel has anti-inflammatory properties that can reduce discomfort and swelling.
  
• Cold Compress: Applying a cold compress can numb the area, reducing pain and swelling.
  
• Gentle Brushing: Brushing the tongue softly with a toothbrush helps remove bacteria and debris.
  
• Avoiding Irritants: Avoiding hot, acidic, or rough foods can prevent further irritation and promote healing.
  

Takeaway
While blisters on the back of the tongue often resolve on their own within a week or two with proper care, persistent or worsening symptoms warrant medical attention. Consulting a healthcare provider is essential for accurate diagnosis and appropriate treatment, especially if symptoms persist or worsen. Prioritizing oral health and seeking timely medical care can prevent complications and promote overall well-being.
FOR MORE INFO VISIT: https://www.suryadentalcare.com/blisters-on-the-back-of-the-tongue-symptoms-treatments-and-causes/

First Prev Next
Star Crossed [Multiple Free Sample Chapters] Patreon Subreddit Discord Paperback NOP2 Species Lore
---
Memory Transcription Subject: Taylor Trench, Human Colonist
Date [standardized human time]: June 25, 2160
I remembered hours ago, when Mafani had thrown my immobilized body out of the truck and sped off. Movement came back in the form of being able to flex my fingers, though it did little good; struggling against the bindings only made the heat punish me quicker. Sweat soaked my forehead under the scalding sun, and I began to understand what it meant to be desperate for a drop of water. I had the presence of mind not to scream for help with my parched throat—there was no one to call to. There was just my brain baking within its skull, and all the time in the world to think. As I accepted my slow death as inevitable, I reflected on my life.
It was difficult to make out what my parents’ faces had looked like, when I thought of the sorrowful sendoff. Trapped in that generation ship for months, only understanding the ramification of my parents being gone—that I was utterly alone in this new place. I remembered the desperate rush to build up the cavern, to carve out a new life with just the machines and resources we had on the ship. There were no summer breaks in school on Tellus; I remembered what a shock that had been to a nine-year-old. Everything was designed to hurry us off to the mines, without a care for whatever more I wanted from life. It took a long time before this place felt like home, or that I accepted my reality of being locked underground as part of a dying race.
That was the bitter childhood I saw looking back at my life, cut off at fifteen when we were deemed old enough to help out part-time. Had I accomplished anything aside from work and hatred? My adult life was consumed throwing myself at Mayor Hathaway to earn his favor, in the hopes that there might be something more one day; then, it was taking the most unappealing job on the colony, giving sweet words to the Krev rent collectors. My legacy was one of self-ambition, revenge fantasies never actualized, and ungratifying work for our mere survival. I had done nothing but hurt this world, and never had the opportunity to redeem myself.
Gress cared about me in spite of everything I’ve done, and how much of a fraud I am at my core. We were going to protect humanity, and contribute to the end of the Federation. I wanted to see that through—to be better for him. He’s the one happy memory I have.
“Gress…gets me,” I croaked aloud, as delirium began to create mirages in the distance. “The guilt. The shame. The awful dreams that seem so real.”
I wished that the Krev was here now, but there was only the sand of the untamed world. Whatever remarks Mafani had thrown at Quana, I never expected him to be a raging psychopath, who’d take me out in spite of how honor-bound Reskets were; he ignored a direct order from his supervisor, and tried to drag out my cruel fate. The heat, however, was strong enough that it might finish me off sooner. My muscles felt so weak, and it wasn’t just from boot camp running me down. Nausea toyed with my stomach, and my head felt like it was filled with helium: it could float away in a second. My eyes watered, wishing for mercy.
Gress told me about putting his first obor to sleep, and crying as the vet injected him with the euthanasia serum. Pets received a more humane end than I did; that alone proved that my friend wasn’t a monster on par with Mafani. Quana was deranged to call him a kit killer, or to act like he’d wanted that outcome when it clearly tore him up. I hoped that he could escape the past that haunted him better than I did. I prayed that my death—finding my body like this, shriveled up in the sun—wouldn’t hurt him too deeply. Causing him pain wasn’t my intention.
My eyes turned toward the shimmering horizon, spotting Gress and a Jaslip in a spacesuit for some reason, with a fully-geared up Cherise wielding a rifle. A hallucination, showing me my heart’s desire.
“Gress, how I wish you were here!” I sang, parodying a 2130s hit from Earth; a loopy smile crossed my face, as I scarcely knew what I was saying. “Just like that my Krev did appear. Now the world has no power, Mafani will cower—”
Cherise’s voice cut through the desert. “I know you’re delirious, Taylor, but no one wants to fucking hear you sing.”
“Now that is not true,” Gress protested, as he bolted to my side and slashed the ropes with the claws. The Krev pressed a paw to my cheek, concern alight in his sparkling eyes. Wait, is he real? “Easy. I’ve got you. Are you okay? What fucking happened?”
“Gress,” I coughed, hurling my arms around his smooth scales. “I’m sorry…for everything. I’m…no good. Wasted life.”
“That’s not true. The best part of your life is ahead of you. Quana, summon the automated rover to our location! Now. He needs a doctor.”
The Jaslip’s eye movements suggested her usage of an augmented reality lens. “On it. Good thinking, Gress; I couldn’t have found him without you.”
“Back at you. Your tracking and keen eyes: he would’ve died alone without you.”
“Nobody deserves to die like that. If I have to go, I’d want to go out on my own terms. Not as some…victim in some tragedy that earns pity. I know Taylor gets that.”
“Whether Taylor wants pity or not, he has mine! My heart hurts something awful, seeing him like this. I can’t bear to think how he must’ve suffered here. Cherise, quit standing there. Give me your fucking helmet.”
She recoiled. “I beg your pardon?”
“It has cooling and water built in. Taylor needs that for the heat exhaustion ASAP. I can hear him slurring his words, and his skin is blistering to the touch; I’ve never seen him this red.”
“Yeah, that’s gonna be a nasty sunburn.” Cherise removed her helmet with the water carrier attached; she passed it to Gress while still keeping a hand on her rifle. “Good thing he has an actual head of hair now, or his scalp would be lit up too.”
“But I liked the fuzz.” Gress slid the helmet over my head, and I gluttonously activated the water button with my chin. The fluids tasted so refreshing that a relieved shiver passed down my spine; the cold air was a literal oasis in the desert as well. “You mean so much to me, Taylor. You have no idea. I was worried sick when I realized you were gone. Who did this to you?”
I kept chugging water for several more seconds, worried I might never get another sip. “Mafani drugged me and left me out here to die. How…how did you find me? And you two…are playing nice?
“I noticed that Resket skulking around us for weeks, so I had a sneaking suspicion when you didn’t come back. For all of our issues with each other, the one thing Gress and I have in common is that we care about you,” Quana answered. “It’s my fault Mafani was sniffing in your business; you got involved to protect me. That’s not someone ‘no good’, Taylor.”
“I couldn’t stand by. It’s…Mafani’s fault for his own actions. He is a madman: a menace to society. We have to tell someone.”
“Already reported our suspicions before we left, and we’ll be sure General Radai hears your story. Let us get you back safely. If you ingested an unknown substance, you definitely need to see a doctor. Alien chemicals with your anatomy: needless to say, that requires a checkup.”
“Okay. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
The Krev lashed his tail. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Up you go.”
My legs refused to cooperate when Gress and Cherise hoisted me to my feet, but the two caught me as my weak knees gave in. They hauled me to a newly arrived automated vehicle, and I relished the shade of its trunk space. Mafani had succeeded in killing my desire to feel the sun on my face, ever again. I latched onto the Krev’s scaly arm as if my life depended on it, despite how the touch scalded my skin further, and he gently settled my head into the crook of his arm. The terror of my near-death experience hadn’t left me, so I clung to the familiar divorced dad like a koala. Being coddled by an alien suddenly sounded like the exact prescription I needed from a doctor, for comfort if nothing else.
I owe Gress, and all of them, my life. Mafani is still out there though; I don’t want to go anywhere on the base if he’s there, and certainly not alone. Who knows what he’s capable of?
“Why don’t you treat me?” I asked the melty-eyed Krev. “You have medical training…you said so. And I trust you.”
Gress’ tongue flitted out thoughtfully. “I’m not a doctor. My training is more about stopping blood loss.”
“Don’t look at me; I’m even less qualified,” Quana commented. “I worked as a deliveryperson back in Esquo’s Fighters. I can haul you around in a bigass wagon, but not much else.”
“I one-hundred percent volunteer to get pulled in a wagon by you. Where do I sign?” I shot back.
The Krev pouted. “Only Quana? Why can’t I pull you around in a wagon? I’ll do it with a much better attitude than her.”
“Because I want to ride on your tail like Lecca, and I’m way too big. Also, none of you answered my question about how you found me—only how you figured I was missing.”
“I found Resket prints near your scent, and also discovered that they stopped by what looked like tire tracks. I realized I’d need backup to take on Mafani, and evidence to rope in a proper search party,” Quana explained. “With Gress being a hostage negotiator, he was the obvious one to handle a…dangerous situation. No way of knowing Trainer Kibblarhan was long gone.”
Gress flicked his claws in assent. “I’m grateful Quana put our differences aside so that I could help. We have location sharing on—mostly so that you can interrogate me about places on Avor—so I saw you were speeding way off into the middle of the desert. Somehow, in spite of Radai’s gauntlet of late, I didn’t think you were running.”
“General Radai won’t get rid of me that easily,” I murmured. “I’m here to stay.”
“I’m glad you’re in good spirits, Taylor, but don’t feel like you need to put on a happy face for us. What you just went through would be a lot for anyone. Nobody will blame you for being shaken up.”
“I’m frazzled, but I’m also really pissed the fuck off at that kibblarhan. Wanting Mafani to pay will keep me going. You wallow in pity and fear, or you do something about it. I won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking me, Gress.”
Cherise cleared her throat. “Taylor, you’re already dealing with lots of residual trauma.”
“And you’re not? Like Quana said, I don’t want to be a victim.”
“My point is, this machismo deal causes more harm than good. You were drugged, kidnapped, and exposed to the elements to the brink of death. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. We all want to see you bounce back from this ordeal, but don’t rush yourself—and go flying off on some emotion-fueled revenge quest.”
“It’s almost as if you want me to drop out of boot camp. You thought I’d be too weak.”
Quana flicked her ear. “She’s just looking out for you. Don’t take your stress out on her.”
“Whatever. I don’t care what any of you not doctors—your words—try to diagnose me with. I’m fine. Period. Back on topic, I wonder how Gress found my location. Mafani thought of that…he took my holopad.”
Gress cleared his throat. “For soldiers, it’s tied to your translator implant, so they find you if you desert. Same for diplomats and important figures, but it’s more so they know where you were taken in case of kidnappings. I still have connections in…certain departments of law enforcement, who can access those…secret functions.”
“It was news to me that you can track anyone, even outside Avor or facial recognition checkpoints,” Quana hissed, pawing at the locale of her implant with discomfort. “I shudder to think how you might be monitoring us.”
“Truthfully, I’m sure they do keep an eye on your movements. The less I expand on this system, the better. It’s classified: not something I’m supposed to be sharing. It did what it needed to, and Quana came through. Why don’t you tell him?”
The Jaslip’s whiskers twitched. “Gress couldn’t pinpoint your exact location outside of a grid, so we left the vehicle so I could track you. Too hot for an arctic carnivore like me, hence the suit. I picked up your scent, just a little while before you broke out in that horrid song.”
“You can only berate my singing if you can carry a tune after being drugged and left in the desert for hours. It’s not a fair test of my abilities!” I objected.
“His rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ on video to Lecca was much better,” Gress piped up in my defense.
Cherise eyed him doubtfully. “Show me?”
“Maybe later.”
“That wasn’t for her ears,” I commented. “She wants to make fun of me, because I did something nice for a child.”
“Don’t listen to him,” she countered. “I’m a nice person. I’d never mock Taylor to his face.”
Gress chuckled. “I’ll consider it later, but we’re back at base. Let’s get him to the medical office for blood tests and treatment; Radai is waiting for us there. I recorded this entire mission in my lens, and shared it with him.”
As the vehicle stopped back on the familiar hillside, having sped away from that God-forsaken desert, I allowed myself to process that the Krev had the ability to track Tellus’ citizens at will. Whatever their reasons, I wasn’t fond of a foreign government knowing my whereabouts at all times; given that it saved my life, I wasn’t going to pick a fight over it. I steeled myself as my friends helped me onto a waiting stretcher, and I was carted back to the medical office. This felt like when I collapsed due to my mining accident injuries, after bludgeoning a certain emerald-scaled Krev with my cane. I could see the dirt pouring in on my head from the ceiling, while also hearing Mafani’s gloating register.
What was it that he said about Radai not being here to save me? If the Reskets are serious about honor, I expect the general to make his kinsman pay for what he did.
The medics removed Cherise’s helmet, and after a brief discussion, she retook the accessory she’d given me—grumbling about it smelling like “Taylor sweat.” Honestly, her giving me shit as usual was helping keep me sane right now. I was grateful for all of my friends. If I’d accomplished one thing worthwhile in my lackluster existence, it was finding people who’d put in the effort to bring me back. They risked their own lives, not knowing if Mafani was keeping an eye on me. In Quana and Gress’ case, they cooperated with someone who, in their mind, disturbed them because of an unforgettable instance of child butchery. I latched onto those positive thoughts, pushing back the dread that threatened to consume me.
General Radai followed alongside the gurney, a cold look in his eyes. “I heard what Mafani did. I can’t believe that he not only defied my orders, but did something so dishonorable as to shame his repute and family name across all Tanet. Every Resket will hear what he’s done, and he’ll have no safe haven with our people. What an absolute disgrace.”
“What Mafani did needs a lot more than dishonor and gossip…sir,” I hissed. “I want him to pay for what he did. Where is he? Lock that animal the fuck up!”
“Trench, I’m going to let that slide once because of what you’ve been through. Trainer Mafani went AWOL, but we’re looking high and low for him. We know his tactics and his delight in your suffering; we have every intent to charge him with High Dishonor. You don’t want to know the punishment that carries on Tanet.”
“Actually, I do, sir.”
“Then you can look it up on your own time. Mafani definitely knows the sentence that charge carries, so I imagine he’ll go down fighting. I’m sorry this happened to you, human. I never thought…even with his prior posting…”
“What prior posting?” Quana demanded.
“Mafani was part of The Underscales before he was transferred. It’s quite rare to see a Resket in the…branch that does the military’s dirty work. I heard he was stationed at Omnol Valley.”
“Those people torture ‘suspected extremists.’ It’s infamous across the Consortium, beyond even us Jaslips! The tactics they use are—”
“Most dishonorable. I admit, I assumed a Resket Underscale wouldn’t participate in such methods, but now, I’m not so sure. Clearly, Mafani revels in the suffering of anyone he deems an enemy.”
“Mafani needs to be put down like a rabid dog.” I curled my hand into a fist. The Krev have their own interstellar Guantanamo Bay to throw Jaslips in. Delightful. “Find that fucker. He’s not worth the air he breathes.”
“I second that,” Quana said.
Radai lowered his head. “We’re doing everything we can to find him. There’s only one spaceport on this planet, so he couldn’t have gotten off Tellus. Mafani will have to show his face eventually, and we’ll be waiting. I have only one question for Taylor.”
“Ask away,” I encouraged the Resket.
“When we figure out where he went…and assuming the doctors clear you for action…do you want to be part of the team that goes after him? I think it’d be a worthy first field mission.”
“Absolutely. I want nothing more than to bring him down, sir.”
“We all want in on this; at least, I think I speak for us all.” Gress turned to Quana, worried about agreeing on her behalf. The Jaslip flicked her ear with eagerness, fired up even more at the news of the trainer’s history. Cherise gave a nod as soon as as the Krev’s eyes landed on her. “Mafani hurt our friend, and we all have a score to settle now. Taylor won’t do this alone.”
“Then it’s settled,” Radai squawked. “Be ready to go on short notice. I’ll let you know as soon as we have a lead. For now, rest up; I’ll leave Taylor in the doctor’s care.”
As the Resket departed from the medical office, I turned my eyes to the ceiling. Once I was patched up and back on my feet, I’d be revved up to go after Mafani; it was enough to know that my friends stood with me, ensuring that I wouldn’t be heading into danger alone. Tellus would be at risk as long as a trainer lacking a moral compass was on the loose, so the sooner I put a bullet through his skull, the better. I’d also be keeping an eager ear attuned to news of the war, and the impending strike on the Federation. With the Krakotl and Mafani hopefully going down in short order, our missions would be a literal two birds with one stone.
---
First Prev Next
Star Crossed [Multiple Free Sample Chapters] Patreon Subreddit Discord Paperback NOP2 Species Lore

First/Previous/Next
“I never should have taken you back there,” I said to Andrew, “Should’ve just left that place to rot.” I shook my head.
It was morning and the saferoom was small, but quiet—I’d taken the precaution of planting a large metal sheet across the only door and relaxing with my weight against it. Gemma slept soundly with Trouble lying alongside her while I sat cross legged on the floor at her feet in the dark and Andrew stood in the corner opposite me, arms crossed, seemingly lost in some deep thought. “No one knew what was happening.” There was a long pause where he shuffled his feet and the growl of Gemma’s snore resounded off the walls of the small closet. Then he added, “Do you think it was overrun?”
“Golgotha?” I asked. Gemma shifted in her sleep but was unaware beyond.
“Sure.”
“It’s doubtful. I think the wall men probably handled the situation the same way they always do—with enthusiastic violence.” I pointed to the hanging shelf by his shoulder and asked, “Hand me one of them books of matches, would you?” Andrew reached out with the hand that was missing and froze, stared at the spot the appendage had once been, and then grimly smiled before reaching with his other. He tossed me the matches and I lit the cigarette I’d only just rolled from a tin I’d stored in the safehouse ages ago and shook the match till it had a smoke tail. “Stale.” But I continued puffing till the fire was constant and the small room smelled completely of it. “I imagine there’s a lot of dead folks this morning, but I doubt the walls are gone. Though,” I thought of Dave, “If that explosion was anything to go off—the underground’s destroyed. Hard to say what’s happened to the place they manufacture munitions.” The young man looked old in the dark room with exaggerated creases in his face. “How’re you feeling?”
“In general?”
“No. How’s the wounds?”
“I still hurt all the time.”
“You might have chronic aches from here on.”
“Chronic?”
“You might have pains that’ll never stop. For the rest of your life. But I couldn’t say for sure. We’ll ask in Babylon. Not my expertise. They know better than me.”
“You said you should’ve left that place to rot. So, why didn’t you? If I could move like you, I’d go anywhere else. I would’ve done it a long time ago too.” Andrew rubbed his cheek while he spoke then planted his chin in his right palm, casually glancing to Gemma, perhaps fantasizing over the life they might’ve lived; the expression he wore was distant and the young man—as I’d learned in caring after him—could seemingly dissociate at will.
The girl’s snoring ceased and was replaced by a heavy breath, and I watched her shift on the makeshift bedding.
“Reasons come and go as they do,” I answered then shrugged.
“I’ve never seen her like that,” he said, eyes still locked on Gemma’s sleeping form, “She used to be so kind, so gentle.” He shook his head. “You think she did it? You really think she killed him?”
“Harold?”
Andrew nodded.
Gemma wasn’t sleeping any longer and answered abruptly, raising herself up to a sit, rubbing her eyes then looking incredulously through them in slits. “Why not just ask me?” She displayed hands still stained dull red from the previous night. “What’s this say then?” Trouble shifted nervously beside her.
“I don’t know,” said Andrew.
“What’s it say?” she repeated.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you right now—I’d do it again.” She was immediately lucid and nearly frightening; there was a thing in her eyes I couldn’t read. “Think you can just go off and talk about me like I’m not here, huh? That’s total nonsense. I can’t believe it.”
I stared at the space between my crossed legs on the floor.
“That’s not how I meant it at all,” said Andrew, “It just worries me.”
“You said you didn’t love me anymore,” a hitch seemed to catch in her throat (there was the humanity), but she muscled through it, “So worry about yourself and keep me out of it!”
Trouble let go of a small whine and Gemma was there to the dog, rubbing her hand across its brow, and the dog caught my eyes from the corner of its own and I looked away.
“There, there,” said the girl to the dog.
“I’m sorry,” said Andrew.
“Keep it.”
I coughed into my fist and whispered dryly, “If you two keep at it, you’ll wake the whole city to us.”
Andrew nodded and Gemma watched the dog.
“So, you wanted to see the wizards so badly?” I asked them. “You wanted to see where they live? How they live?”
“We’ve seen the wizards,” said Gemma bluntly.
“Sure, but you’ve never seen a library, have you?”
“The Bosses have their books all stacked on shelves too, if that’s what you mean.” Gemma’s tone was far off somewhere and she did not remove her eyes from the dog.
“Sure, but it ain’t just shelves of books—there’s loads. Halls, walkways of them stacked so high you’d need a ladder to reach the tops of them.”
“You were the one that tried talking me out of leaving home,” said Gemma, “Remember?”
I watched her blood-stained hands pet the dog and she finally looked up from the mutt to me. “It doesn’t seem you’d be welcome home anymore.” I offered a crude grin. “Maybe be excited for it then.”
Andrew hunkered and leaned his curved back against the wall opposite and scratched his cheek. “How long’s it take?”
“If I was on my own,” I stared at the dark ceiling overhead where I watched dust collect in swirls over our heads, “It’d be two weeks and a day or more depending. With ya’ll too? I don’t know.”
“I’m thirsty,” said Gemma, moving to stand in the mess of blankets; the closet was not enough room for the four of us and the dampness of our collective breathing created a mugginess.
Andrew, who had the foresight to pack small rations, passed her his water gourd and she gulped some back without a word and Trouble looked up from across her paws where she laid her head. Upon Gemma returning the water, the boy took a bowl from his pack and poured a few drinks for the dog and rubbed its ear.
“I’m going out to scout. No fighting while I’m away.” I said and began rising, “You,” I pointed to the boy, “Put this metal sheet against the door and your weight against the sheet and don’t open for anyone but me.”
Andrew stared at me then nodded and I slipped out from the safehouse, into a mostly destroyed storefront which harbored the closet we hid in, into the street with shadows of cyclopean structures which towered seemingly to heaven and my mind went to Dave again and how I’d been overtop that industrial building, how I possibly might’ve ‘slipped’ and fallen to an early demise. Was Dave still alive? He was cunning and brave in doing what he’d done, but certainly dead. It was again the story of heroes. The primeval consequence for any person with goodness left in them; it could and would wring them dry—whether it be demons or fellows of their kind, it comes for heroes all the same.
I’d not slept the previous night and my senses were dulled by it and every long shadow in the periphery felt as though it might reach out and snatch me; it was not so much paranoia, but merely a standard reflex of sleep deprivation. Still, I hugged the walls where I could and crept through moldering vehicles which stood in the way. There I came to Fif Aven and I recalled Aggie but briefly and crawled into a corroded pickup truck with its passenger door missing; I slid onto the bench seat, disturbing so many years of dust and it choked me, but I lay there on the seat and stared at the cab’s roof and inhaled the stuff of the old world—certainly there was trouble then too, but what could be worse?
I rested shortly and listened to the dead silence and at times I caught my breath for it was overwhelming.
The thought of leaving those children to their demise arose—I could move quickly enough on my own.
After resting a while, I scooted from the truck and carried on, more tired than before, but I moved through the narrow avenues of rubble, going as quietly as ever until I came to the open field which encompassed Golgotha. There the city stood still, and prone bodies were taken before the exterior of the gate where they burned on pyre piles, flames melting the horizon in their spots. I held my breath for a moment, caught in the far-off presence of those fires and I wondered if Dave was there, burning. If not that, then it would be worse. If not that, then they’d make a spectacle of it in the square. The figures which lugged the others from the city gates were small pinpricks across the skyline and I breathed deep and could almost taste ash in the air, then I returned to the closet where I’d left Gemma and Andrew.
Each of them looked on at me with questioning brows without words and I told them to shimmy around in the small room so I could take account of the supplies. Sleep would be no issue as long as no one minded the hot breath of the person next to them.
“We’ll stay here tonight then move on,” I said. I scanned the hanging shelf; there were canned foods and a bit of tobacco lined there and a single lantern. I shook the lantern and a bit of oil swished within it. “No light tonight. No talking either.” I put my hand to my head and rubbed my forehead.
Andrew remained over my shoulder and said, “I’ve got some water—a little food too.”
“Good.”
That night, we ate from cans without words and when Trouble messed in the corner, Gemma scooped it and removed it from our miniscule dwelling; the smell of blood was strong on her and though I expected the two children’s bickering to continue, it was gone entirely and we arranged ourselves haphazardly in the closet, our collective legs like slats parallel and our backs against walls and Trouble took to Gemma.
Before it went full dark, Andrew examined the discoloring around his empty wrist and then I saw him remove the jar which contained his hand from his small knapsack—the thing was full on rotting with a congealing ooze forming along the base of the jar, but no smell escaped the container—he sat there with it, holding it inches from his face and he frowned.
“Why don’t you throw it out?” asked Gemma; she idly patted Trouble’s neck.
“It’s mine, isn’t it?” said the boy.
“So? It’s nasty.”
“If it was yours, would you keep it?” he asked.
Gemma shook her head.
“Well, it’s mine.”
She made a face.
We slept in terrible discomfort and Trouble awoke more than once in the night, letting go of little growls or whines—she was stuck with nightmares. Sometimes, Andrew might offer a comment about how Gemma should keep the dog quiet, but it was otherwise quiet.
At daybreak, we ate then arranged what could be gathered for the march onward; I put the shotgun sling over my shoulder, and we took into the ruins where the sun came through destruction in buildings in splintered rays and the dog kept to Gemma’s side with a bit of improvised twine as a lead.
“What’s it like out here all the time? You come out here all the time—you probably know more freedom than most, huh?” said Gemma.
“If you need to talk, you should whisper it. That said, you shouldn’t talk,” I hushed the words as I took to a nearby wall and the troupe followed, remaining in the relative shade of the buildings which towered over.
“Fine,” said Gemma, taking the center with the dog while Andrew trailed at the rear, “Then what’s all these?”
“What’s what?”
“These big tall buildings everywhere.”
“It’s our history,” I said.
“Of course, but why are they here?”
“It’s hard to imagine there was ever so many people for these.”
“There were billions at a time,” I said.
We came to an intersection of streets where vehicles were piled high, and we cut through a corner structure where all but the supports of the ground floor had long ago been blown away; arrangements of jagged rebar bent from exposed flooring like stalks and Gemma lifted the dog to not tangle the leash. Our footsteps were swift but not silent from all the debris.
“What’s that?” asked Andrew, joining in.
“What’s what? And whisper it for Christ sake.” I hissed the words, taking through a wide threshold into the street once more.
“You said billions. What’s that?”
“It’s a lot—a really big number.” I let go of a sigh and pivoted; the children froze in their walking and bumbled into one another. I put my forefinger to my lips. “No more,” I said.
And there was no more as we went.
The sun beat down on us more and as we angled through wreckages, through those pathways which took us our way, we sweated, and steam rose off our heads and the dog’s panting was the only noise, save our footfalls. There in that place, there in the plains beyond or in the mountains behind and yonder was where the souls of the dying were and we were with them and as I led, I felt aimless because leading was never my game.
A sky of rust domineered, and we took a moment in the shade of a brutal façade; within the emptied holes of a windowless storefront were long dark shadows, and the places where light met, I spied clothes on lines and spirals of racks and the clothes were so insect picked and dried one could assume they’d fall to dust if they were lifted from their stations.
We drained what freshwater we had Gemma hunkered down, first to pat Trouble then to tear strips from the hem of her robes. She created terrible scarves and handed one to both me and Andrew; the boy looked at her curiously while she wrapped a garland of the material around her own head.
“For your heads,” she shrugged as though it didn’t matter, “The sun might blister your skin.”
We pushed on, each of us peering through the slits of our makeshift headgear and when the time came and when plants—as green as dreams and more foreign—began to gather on either side of the place we walked, I motioned for another brief pause and they gathered there, Gemma’s eyes were serious, perhaps furious, and Andrew looked on at the vegetation which sprung through the overwhelming concrete with no less wonder than should be expected.
I first looked to Gemma, “It’s ahead. Not far now.”
She nodded that she knew where I meant.
“You know then?” I asked the girl.
Another nod followed.
Andrew put his hand to his brow and peered through the high light and whispered, “I think there’s fruits ahead. We hardly get fruits back home. They look big too. Trees like I’ve never seen.”
I put my hand to his shoulder. “Don’t eat them. Don’t even touch them. Alright?”
“Alright.” Andrew’s attention went to Gemma there next to him and he asked, “What’s the matter with you? You know this place?”
“It’s a garden ahead,” Her eyes moved from his to mine, “Right?”
“Right.”
“Why?” she asked.
“A garden? That’s incredible!” said Andrew.
“It is not,” said Gemma.
I took them in closer so that we were whispers away and we curled our bodies partially into the black storefront. “Ya’ll need to stay close me,” I said, “Stay close—Gemma, you carry the mutt. Andrew, you stay close too. Don’t speak. Don’t speak with what you see there.”
“What?” asked the boy.
“Shh,” said the girl, reaching out with one of those red stained hands to touch me, “Do we need to?”
Did we? I nodded. “Don’t touch anything. I reckon you two still have that holy spirit of Golgotha in you so if you feel it then pray and Gemma, I know you know some from Lady so say them quick and make it right and let’s go.”
They prayed for Jesus, for Elohim, for safety. I watched and Trouble watched them too.
We went to the garden and there was no flute playing, no sound of hooves—there was no sound at all but the baking of the earth and the small rhythm of fresh leaves caught in whatever dismal wind there was there in that place. Taking through the garden, there were trees which arched overhead—indeed the fruits that hung from those branches were moistened like with rain and bright and multicolored—and the shrubbery too was thick among our ankles and then there was Baphomet’s cobblestone yard with a throne and the well and there on a risen tablet by the throne, Baphomet sat, chest glistening in the sunlight, legs crossed, head arched back so that its head could see the sky.
So, you’ve come again. This time you’ve brought thrice the power to bargain with. Harlan, oh—don’t look at me like that and come closer and tell me what it is you wish. Baphoment shifted to catch me in its eye and then slid to sit with its legs off the edge of the great stone. You look tired. Is it perhaps that you have come to keep me company? Have you given in to those curious desires which compel humankind? I can take you to those places far and gaping. There are limits to your form, but form is changed easily of course—with time and pressure. Curious that you would arrive with tampered merchandise. That should be discounted. Still. The demon took note of Gemma flanking so closely to my left that we were touching; she carried Trouble and the dog shivered—the girl shivered too.
In a puff of smoke, Baphomet disappeared then reappeared directly in front of me; a hot breath escaped its snout visibly and then it took in the smell of us.
Mmm. That sin is on you all. Have I ever told you the euphoric nature of it?
“I’ve come to make a deal,” I said.
Baphomet cocked its head. If you’ve come for a return, I’m afraid the girl you left with me is long transformed. For, after all, is easy. I doubt you’ve have use for the state she’s in. Still, The creature stood tall so it towered over us then arched low to peer into Gemma’s eyes. Did you miss me? Is that it?
“It’ll be the last deal I make.”
It seemed the creature smiled, if it was possible. Promise?
“Yes.”
I get you? That’d certainly make others green with envy.
“Yes.”
What is it you want then?
“I want firepower,” I held the shotgun out in front of me, “And time enough to do what I need to do.”
Give me your hand. Reach out. It’ll hurt like the dickens for only a second. Baphomet extended its claw-like hands, beckoning my own.
I put out my right hand and the creature took it, drove the nail of its forefinger into my forearm nearest the elbow, then traced a shallow cut down the length of my arm till it met the top of my hand. The towering beast let go then looked me over, snorted, tapped a hoof, then crossed its arms. Blood dripped freely from the mark on my arm. “Will you make that deal?” I asked.
The demon shook its head. I won’t touch you. No one will.
“Why?”
The thing which I might want from you is not something you can give freely. It belongs to someone already.
I bit my tongue then shook my head. “Who?”
What fun would there be in me telling? Baphomet traced around our small group and came to a halt at the right shoulder of Andrew; the boy closed his eyes. I could tell you for a trade though.
I shook my head and turned to leave.
Mm. Harlan. You break my heart.
We left the garden, not looking back, not even when Baphomet took to playing its tune—though the sun beat us down there was a coolness which passed through me and I wondered if the same could be said for Gemma or Andrew; I caught the girl’s eyes as she carried the whimpering pup and there was a message there, a telepathy I understood and it was maybe sorrow or her unforgotten pain. I willed us on, and they followed, and we went to the safehouse up the stairs to rest and regroup.
I looked out over the street where the shadows cut darker as the sun began to rest and Andrew played a game of tug with the mutt, and I smoked while Gemma joined me at the tall windows.
“It’s the smell,” she said to me, “I smell that thing all the time. I scarcely remember the creature, but I know that’s where you found me,” there was a brief pause as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Isn’t it?”
I nodded, “Yeah.”
She hiked the arms of her robes up and examined the scars there and then looked at me then let the robes slink down her arms as her fists met her by her sides. Gemma pressed near the glass.
“Do they burn?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I might have something better for you to wear. Something with less catch when you move. Pants. Shirts. You’ve got boots on, haven’t you?”
She twisted the torn hems of her robes to expose her leathered feet.
I traced the walls—stacks crates of goods were there (surely I’d find something suitable for travel).
We found water in the safehouse and food and light too. When dark came, we huddled around her lanterns and Andrew assisted in watching the boiling pot. Gemma changed, cut her hair to her scalp, and washed her hands. With her new garb, her throat stood more exposed, and the healing wounds there were like embedded ropes in her flesh. Andrew kept his eyes flittering, his focus remained on the food, but always his gaze was primarily steals of her.
They were in love, for sure—anyone could see it (I could). It truly was a pain to be in the presence of two young people, the potential, the possibilities of a true life—I should not go on. Hope breeds determination, but anything more is weakness.
No one had an easy time with sleep that night, save Trouble; each of us lined ourselves by the windows and looked out to see glowing mutant eyes wilder than any electric light. We shut off the lanterns and sat with bellies full, a spiderlike skin taker lumbered through the avenue which we overlooked—the center mass of its body, stilted high from the ground on those spear legs, traced before our eyes and it was all black and fuzzy—and the children whispered to ask me what it was, and I told them I didn’t know exactly.
“They’re faster than they seem,” I said.
Gemma touched the window glass with her palm.
“They suck up your skin,” I said, “They take it right off your body.”
Gemma sat up straighter and withdrew her hand from the glass, leaving a hand mark there where the sweat of her fingers was. Their faces were coated in the bluish milk glaze of the moon and stars. “How?” she asked.
I moved from the window, leaving them there to watch. “Don’t make noise tonight. I’m going to sleep dead. I put a bucket in the corner over there if you need it.”
The bedroll smelled of mold, of dust, for it was an old thing I’d tucked away years prior, and I figured I would never have a use for it. It was for emergencies. Most of the supplies I kept were like that. They were things I hoped to never need.
As I stretched on my back, staring at the dead ceiling overhead, I listened to the silence of the ruins periodically broken from the whispers of Andrew and Gemma as they continued their talking, and I closed my eyes and directly before I was ferried on to the place of dreams, the face of Dave took to view in the black backdrop of my eye lids and there was Boss Maron; I imagined they put the poor rebel to his knees and blew his brains across the ground. Or worse. It was probably worse. It always was.
Just as the world was gone, it was back again; Andrew shook me awake and Trouble was growling. I propelled from the bedroll, eyes darting in every direction, and I half imagined we were under attack from Leviathan, but there was no such thing. Gemma stood by the locked door which connected to the stairwell, and someone banged with their fist on the other side. The door rattled in its frame, and I launched into position by the girl—her stance was half crouched, and she seemed frozen solid. I motioned at the door and she shrugged.
A voice came from the other side of the door, bemoaning desperation.
Help! said the voice, high pitched, feminine seeming. Please, help me!
“We should help them,” said Andrew, “God, open the door.”
“Shh,” Gemma put her index finger to her pursed lips, “Shut up. Don’t be stupid!”
They looked at me and Trouble continued growling.
First/Previous/Next
Archive

Previous First Next
(Story is available on Royal Road and for pre-order on Amazon.)
I held the practice blade out in front of myself, just as mother had taught me.
I liked the way a sword felt in my hand in general, but not the way the grip she’d drilled into me did; but mother was ever a believer in learning the basics. I’d practiced with a weapon every day since I could remember, and she’d still refused to teach me anything but the first form of her chosen sword style.
“…”
She charged at me. My mother that is. She wore very little. A brown leather jerkin, sloping down from the collarbones and ending just at the mid-ribs, and a pair of cloth-sack training shorts.
The swords we used were just wooden; she didn’t need armor to protect herself from them. Not when I hardly had the strength to threaten her, but this would have held true even had the blades been steel instead of the baneoak practice weapons my father had meticulously shaped for his wife.
Mother jump-stepped directly in towards me; she moved linearly at first and then shifted to strike sidelong, planting her non-dominant left foot at the end of her initial lunge into my range. Only to then use that leading foot to spin-pivot and to step out towards my right side.
I inhaled deeply.
In theory, the first form of the fiend-hunter style should allow one to be evenly protected on both sides. Still, something about mother’s movements kept me from feeling protected at all, even if I knew she was holding back.
I just didn’t have the skill to face the woman who’d brought me into the world. I hadn’t, no matter how much I’d practiced it, mastered the first form of the fiend hunter style, or unlocked its corresponding skill ability—but not for a lack of trying on the part of my mother Celis.
I want to impress my parent turned teacher, but a familiar and primal tingling at the base of my neck informed me that I was outclassed. When I’d once brought the feeling up to her, mother had explained it was a warrior’s instinct—something to be trusted and followed, but not controlled by.
So, I endeavored to do what was expected, to react in the way that was expected, even though my instincts told me it was futile.
Despite not truly having unlocked the skill, my hands still had the muscle memory of my countless hours of imitating my mother’s use of her style’s first form, along with her advice to never allow fear to freeze you when you can do something against what you feared. Thanks to this advice, when faced with the picture of mother’s shining carmine hair blowing in the morning breeze as she raised her weapon to strike down at me, my arms did move.
Strike Redirection, my mind silently spoke the name of the skill that I was trying to imitate, as I’d been trained to do. It was a practice that was not strictly necessary, but one that meant to center the mind further into the movements of the body—to align the two into unison.
My wrists twisted, my left hand opened momentarily and gave free reign to my right hand, which was now the only hand of the two wielding my practice blade by the handle; by this motion I swept my sword into the start of a wide arc meant to intercept and then redirect my mother’s horizontal slash.
My heart jumped a bit. I could see it: the movement of the two blades of myself and my opponent, their arcs set to intercept in a loud harmony that would force the weapon that was determined to strike me to instead fly haphazardly away as I pivoted around its wielder to gain a better position. If I could pull everything off perfectly that was.
My heart quickened in anticipation. It was all going to work out; an exchange between my mother and myself was finally going to end in my favor and, more importantly, in that moment where my mind froze the two blades in my gaze, I finally felt like I was almost understanding the first form of my mother’s fighting style.
I didn't believe it. Surely, she would stop me, as she had done so many times before. Could I truly beat her, even if only in one, small exchange?
A loud wooden clang strained my ears a half-moment later.
“…!”
I could hardly believe it.
Our swords had actually connected; I felt the weight of my mother’s blade shift along my own in a way I could manipulate. I’d never gotten this far in an actual spar, only in practice drills where she’d allowed me to get a feel for the movement—but those didn’t count.
In that moment of collision between our blades, I searched my mother’s beautiful, cherubic face. I saw the upturning of a smirk on her lips.
What was that? Was she proud of me?
I felt the surge in my chest rise up further at that. Finally, I’d done something right when it came to wielding this darn sword.
Mother's smile quickly faltered, however, as I did the same. My mind had wandered with my mother’s approval, and I forgotten to take the final, proper step of footwork to solidify my movement.
“Disarming Parry,” my mother spoke the words and I felt the battle aura leak out of her, just in the smallest of fractions. It was an energy that smelled like life and vibrancy, sweat and hot springs.
All at once--as my mother spoke the name of her skill, as she always did for my benefit, but didn’t need to do to activate her abilities—her arm twisted, and I lost the upper hand when it came to the battle of leverages between our two weapons.
No! I was so close.
My blade was ripped from my hand, as my mother returned her second hand to the back of her sword for added leverage, and her arms became a perfected whirlwind.
I stumbled backwards, my confidence leaving me as mother’s body flowed like a surging animal, shifting from the third form of her sword-fighting style to another—one I feared much more than the first or third.
“Direct Execution,” mother spoke.
“…!”
My eyes widened. I saw death. I knew she wouldn’t kill me, couldn’t kill her own child—or should’ve known it, but her battle aura was emotionless. It felt curt, shameless, efficient. Unable to be channeled into anything but swift, humble murder.
Mother had demonstrated the three most basic forms of the fiend-hunter style—and used them to soundly defeat me.
A form to redirect a strike. Which I’d failed to utilize when she’d struck my blade.
A more exertion heavy form to reclaim the upper hand in a clash of weapons, should the first form fail to give it to you, as my mother had used when I’d failed to deflect her attack.
And a form to immediately and swiftly end a fight once the first or third forms left the enemy open. A straightforward killing strike designed not to injure or maim, but to finish a fight as quickly as possible.
It was the second form [direct execution], that was perhaps the most lethal of them all, and, just as she’d said, it was the skill that she was now using against me, and another my mother’s fighting style boasted and that she had completely mastered. Direct Execution didn’t pretend to be anything that it wasn’t. It was not showy or flashy, not meant to protect as was the first form. The second form was purified, simplistic violence carefully sharpened to a harsh utility.
And it was coming to end me, or so it felt like.
Mother's blade shot towards my face, faster than I could stumble backwards.
I felt the weapon tap my forehead and my entire body clenched and convulsed.
The killing intent was palpable. My mother wasn’t my mother to me then, but a killer. My killer, or so my mind screamed.
My backside hit the lush grass and I blinked. The aura that ran my body cold dissipated as quickly as the strike itself was pulled back. I wasn’t dead.
Of course, I wasn’t dead.
I scowled. I never died when she beat me… and yet I always thought that I would.
I was afraid each time she struck me. I was ashamed of that fear. I could lie to myself, but in those moments when it reared its head, the terror of death controlled me and not I it.
My mother’s face, now smiling and sweet filled my vision as she leaned down in front of me.
She reached out to squeeze my cheeks together with her palms. “You’re so silly. I’ve told you a thousand times that I'm not going to hurt you.”
“Mom,” I blushed and waited for her to remove her hands.
She did so. The mother I knew in the hours that we weren’t sparring was back. The sweet, bubbly, oftentimes sarcastic woman that had been with me every day since I could remember. She didn’t scare me, not like the other mother did, the mother whose eyes were devoid of anything but focus and violence.
Celis removed her hands from my cheeks and ruffled my red hair, a slightly lighter shade than her own though speckled with bits of my father’s blonde.
“Did you learn anything?” Celis asked me.
Just that I can’t even manage to stay focused even when I’m doing good.
“Maybe,” I replied.
Her smile turned into a nod, and we stood. “You almost had it, you know.”
She didn’t help me up. She never did.
“I messed up,” I said looking at the ground.
“If you learned then it’s okay, this time,” she said and laughed. “Stop sulking. You remind me of your father.”
“You love dad,” I said, feeling a bit offended at her mocking of her life partner.
“Yes, but he’s always like you are now before he figures something out that’s bothering him,” she said, “but maybe it’s good. He was like that before he created his first expert level spell. It could mean you’re close to mastering the first form.”
“Really?” I looked up to her.
I really loved my mom, but my dad was so smart. If he was like I was, then maybe I wasn’t hopeless just because I wasn’t as good as mom.
“Mhm,” Celis replied and motioned for me to follow beside her; she’d retrieved our practice swords and was carrying both in her hands. “He’s probably in the garden now. Go help him; maybe he’ll tell you about it, but don’t let him show you anything too advanced. It’ll discourage you. You have to be happy with the small skills before the big ones, or you’ll never get good enough to pull off the big ones.”
“Mom… you’re lecturing me again,” I said, before feeling a wooden bonk on the back of my head. “Ow!”
Celis smiled devishly, the wooden sword she’d just half-smacked me with was still in her hand. She wasn’t even trying to hide what she’d just done! “I’m your sword master. We lecture.”
“That hurt,” I said rubbing my head as we walked.
“You’ll get good enough to dodge strikes from behind someday,” Celis said, “until then you’re going to get bonked when you say dumb things.”
“You’re so mean,” I said, keeping my eyes on her hands.
She just smiled at me, looking particularly carefree and beautiful under the twin suns of Arden. “Yep.”
We continued on to the house, a large manor, chiseled from white stone, framed in dark wood, and accented by carefully maintained withervine ivy among other floral dashes of color. The house was a product of my father’s learning, skill, money, and magic. Mother shooed me away to find the man himself and told me she’d meet us both later when it came time for our midday meal.
Father helped our maid to cook. I’d never really thought it was odd. He was the one who was so good with plants. We ate a lot of meat too, of course, which was something mom provided. She’d hunt in the morning, drop it off with my dad, since he tended to sleep in, and then wake me up for a few hours of sword practice; by then our maid would have consulted with father about how he wanted the meat butchered and prepared while he went out to tend to the garden and collect whatever he might want from it to garnish the day’s meal.
I brushed through the double doors of our house and into its main foyer.
Usually, I’d have been met with the sight of the village blacksmith’s large hunting dog waiting for me outside our home, hoping for a pet or two and maybe a snack from my dad. The hound didn’t like dad as much as she liked me, but had surprisingly really taken to mom, but dad still often tossed her a treat or two and a few polite words. The hound didn’t like the blistering heat or fire of her master’s forge, not since she’d been stuck in a small house fire as a young pup, so she generally explored while he was working during the day and returned to sleep at his feet at night, but she had just had puppies a while back, so I assumed she was still resting or taking care of them. Apparently, it had taken a lot out of her, but I’d asked the dog not to give me too many details—not that dogs, in my experience, were generally detailed focused creatures, unless they were working of course.
Instead of taking the time to talk to the lazy canine, since she wasn’t around, I continued walking through the reception hall and beneath the twinned staircases that led to the second level balcony and sleeping quarters of our home, and then went further on through the back door that connected to the stone-walled garden behind our manor.
I was met with a world of verdant green and rich, edible color. Well-watered flowers, gliding songbirds, and trees with normal and multi-hued leaves alike all filled my field of vision. The smell of fruits, foreign and domestic, all grown and touched by my father’s hands and mana, danced across my nose. The garden was one of my favorite places in the world.
A hum of magic pulsed in the oxygen rich air. It wasn’t burnt or scary, but was the scent and sensation of potential and nurtured-intentions. The plants and shrubbery of the garden, my father’s walled world, were apart from those outside it; they were healthier, thicker, and more plentiful—each one also gave off a hum of tingling energy that was mixed into the very oxygen they produced and wasn’t intrusive at all, but more peacefully energizing than anything else as it slipped into your lungs and revitalized them.
I looked for my father as I stepped onto the earth-cobble path that led into the many trails of the garden. The path was walled by sections of uneven boulders stacked atop one another that occasionally gave way to groupings of vegetable-bearing vines or mini-orchards of fruit-bearing trees.
The garden was rather big—no, it could probably be considered massive; the hewn-stone walls that enclosed it were as wide, and twice as deep, as the white manor that they were built firmly against.
I pulled up my status sheet as I casually walked and looked for dad. The garden was safe, and its pathways were almost always cleanly free of obstacles and thus easy to navigate. This was because the trees very rarely shed either seeds or branches and were supremely healthy specimens, preternaturally so in fact.
The semi-opaque character sheet filled out in front of me. I could mentally shift its position or dismiss it with but a thought. It was entirely user-friendly and only I could see it, unless I chose to show it, or parts of it, to others.
<<<>>>
Peregrine Borncrest
Body: N/A
Mind: N/A
Soul: N/A
Attributes
Brawn: 1 (20/100) (Novice)
Dexterity: 1 (60/100) (Novice)
Endurance: 1 (40/100) (Novice)
Magic Potency: 1 (20/100) (Novice)
Magic Control: 1 (50/100) (Novice)
Magic Efficiency: 1 (60/100) (Novice)
Proficiencies
Acrobatics: 1 (80/100) (Novice)
Archery (No Style): 1 (40/100) (Novice)
Alchemy (Potion-Making): 1 (70/100) (Novice)
Animal Husbandry: 1 (60/100) (Novice)
Butchering: 1 (50/100) (Novice)
Cooking: 1 (50/100) (Novice)
Druidry: 1 (98/100) (Novice)
Herbalism: 1 (90/100) (Novice)
One-Handed (Fiend-Hunter): 1 (90/100) (Novice)
Traits
Mind of Memories: With effort, you can perfectly visualize anything that you have felt, seen, tasted, or heard. You can relive the moments of your life, as you perceived them exactly, at will. The more focused you are on something, in the moment a memory is created, the easier it is to recall it. (Born)
Titles
None.
Skills
None.
Spells
Growth: Use your mana to influence the growth of plant-life that you are physically touching. Mana cost is determined by the level, scale, and rate of growth. (Nature) (Novice) (Upgradeable)
Mending: Lay your hands on anything that is or was living. You may accelerate the healing of living things or repair damage to natural fibers and crafts. Mana cost is determined by the extent of the mending done. (Nature) (Novice) (Upgradeable)
Minor Beast-Tongue: Through extensive practice and understanding, you can learn to speak the tongue of beasts and plant-life fluently. The fluency of communication is based upon the understanding and druidic resonance with individual’s species. Mana drain is negligible. (Nature) (Novice) (Upgradeable)
<<<>>>
I’d brought up my character sheet because, despite the beauty of the garden all around me and how much I really did like it, it was a place I was used to and that I’d seen all my life. I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering away from it and back to my bout with my mother--and thus to my skills.
I was getting better. She always told me that when I asked, but, despite her paradoxically both bubbly and sometimes prickly personality, she wasn’t the kind of person to ever offer praise unprompted. It was there if I asked for it, but that almost made it feel cheaper.
I wanted to become so good that she’d compliment me without me having to ask. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to beat her… but surely I could make enough progress to make her proud?
I was approaching the point where my one-handed skill, in my mother’s sword style, would reach one-hundred proficiency points. It’d taken my whole life to get to that point. I was just eleven now, but I couldn’t ever remember not training with mother. It seemed like it was taking a long time to get better.
Mother had also mentioned that swordsmen without talent could bottleneck once they’d reached the peak of the novice level. This was apparently enough for some and devasting for others.
I didn’t really care about what other people did, however. I just knew mother would be disappointed if I didn’t’ have any talent. She spent so much time teaching me… I really didn’t want to fail her.
Just as I was thinking this, a yellow and black creature fluttered down onto my shoulder.
I glanced at the songbird as it chirped and stared intently into my eyes. Not a bit of fear or skittishness radiated off the confident. tiny avian as it hopped twice on my shoulder.
“Okay, I’ll follow you,” I said, not at all surprised by the intelligence in the creature’s beady, cute little eyes.
The yellow thing chirped happily and gave another small bounce, before counterbalancing itself with its tail and flapping away from me and onto the breeze, trailing along the garden path I was walking on.
I mentally closed my status screen and followed after the bird. Normally, it’d be too fast a flyer for me to keep up with, even by running, but I was familiar with the path and my guide didn’t rush along to the fullest of its capabilities.
The bird slipped between two white-droop willow trees, fluttering gracefully between the low-hanging, squat trunked, purple and white blossomed flora.
I smiled a bit as I saw the bird settle onto the shoulder of a man who was picking berries methodically from a large row of bushes--bushes that sat just beyond the willow trees that made a natural gateway along the garden path.
The bird chirped excitedly to the man, who slowly turned his attention to the creature with recognition in his gaze.
“Oh, you found him for me? Thank you,” the man, in a plain, cream-colored work shirt and surprisingly clean, brown sack-cotton pants said to the bird, listening politely as the avian chirped in reply.
Nodding in understanding, he lifted a berry to the bird’s beak and allowed the thing to take it and then fly off happily.
The man’s face was bookish, but handsome. His hair was a shoulder-blade length and straight; the length of it was a naturally hay-colored mane in places, and in others it mixed and intertwined with what appeared to almost be a thick moss that also grew from his scalp. He often pulled up his mana-touched locks into a pale, untanned leather strap when he was working or studying. His nose was a mix between thick and thin, leaning towards the latter, with a dash of longness. His jaw was angular, but not too pointy, but it was definitely a bit more feminine than it was rugged. His eyes were a grey cobalt, ringed around the iris by a near-glowing and ever-shifting gold, that contrasted my mother’s naturally vibrant, but more mundane looking green. His eyes—also unlike my mother’s always energetic gaze--appeared perpetually tired in a way that didn’t quite seem to reach too much deeper than the surface or the purple-bagged skin that set around those intelligent orbs themselves. The most interesting thing about my dad's appearance, of course, were the velvety and truly large stag horns that grew from his forehead, a mark of his mastery over nature magics.
“Dad,” I said as I approached the man. “What are you picking today?”
The man looked at me softly and gently lifted up another berry, between his thumb and index finger, towards me. “You tell me, Pery?”
The berry was mostly a golden orange; it was a little bigger than a pea or medium-sized lentil. There was a burnt pumpkin gradient that blended into the rest of its hue towards where it grew on the bush. I glanced towards said bush, noting the heart-shaped leaves that could look slightly like ovals from a distance or if you squinted a little.
“Those are heartberries,” I said confidently.
“Very good,” my father said, “and what are they used for?”
“They can be brewed into weaker health potions to allow the veins to better tolerate the mana inherent in the stronger ingredients,” I offered.
Dad nodded but didn’t smile. I could still tell he was pleased though.
“True, but we’re not brewing potions for lunch,” he prompted me.
“Um,” I paused, “are they for a sauce?” I asked. “Mom loves them.”
“She isn’t the only one who loves them,” father replied.
I blinked. I didn’t really like heartberries. Despite their citrus-like coloring they were more tart than tangy and created a thick, creamy taste--that I didn’t find appealing--when you added water and flour to them, before thickening that mix’s consistency through reduction.
So, who else liked them? Oh, really?
“Brother is coming?” I asked with excitement.
My brother was a knight, much like my mother--though he belonged to an actual knightly order and she didn’t really; mostly anyway--it definitely wasn’t a traditionally structured order that mother had been granted induction into at least. As far as allegiances went, my brother served Duke Vembrandt as one of his men-at-arms, in the nearby city of Highseat. The city was about a week-and-a-half’s ride away from the fief that my father managed under the authority of the castellan of said same city.
“Bastion should be here sometime tonight,” my father answered. “I’ve already picked some greenroot and spryleaves for lunch, but these are for dinner.”
Bastion was amazing; I was very happy to hear that he was coming. He’d reached the competent level in mother’s fighting style by the time he was eight and the journeyman tier a half-decade later. I was jealous, at least a little, but mostly I just wanted to be more like him. He’d also gone on to also become a journeyman rank in his order’s more defensive fighting style by the time he was twenty. He was now twenty-four, married to his lord’s second daughter, and very much a local up and comer as far as I understood.
“Is he here for my birthday?” I asked.
It was tomorrow, my birthday that is. The twelfth year of one’s life was a big milestone in the kingdoms of man. It was the pre-cursor to the final milestone of being fifteen, which marked the official entryway into adulthood. A person was still seen as a child at twelve, but they were expected to take up training in a life path or trade so they could prepare themselves for the fast-coming future.
“He is,” my father nodded and handed me the basket of berries he’d collected. “He wrote me some time ago and said he wouldn’t miss it for anything. I think he has a present for you.”
“What’s the present?” I asked shamelessly.
“I can’t tell you that,” father said and shrugged. “Bastion might be cross with me if I did,” he appeared to reconsider that statement for a moment, “or, rather, I just don’t want to ruin the surprise for you, I suppose.”
“Aw,” I was still smiling, but my mind drifted again as I thought about how amazing my big brother was and my smile faded. “Dad? Do you think he’s going to be disappointed when he sees me again?”
It’d been a year since I’d seen Bastion. He’d been busy in the service of his lord during the majority of the previous months. I honestly hadn’t even known he’d returned from the borderlands until dad had mentioned he’d be coming soon.
My father shook his head. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, he was a lot better than I am at everything when he was my age. Mom always brags about him,” I replied.
It was true. My mother never seemed prouder than when she was talking about her eldest son and all his accomplishments and exploits.
“Hm,” my father hummed and gestured towards a nearby bench that appeared as if it’d grown from the soil itself—mostly because it had. “Let’s sit down for a second.”
“Okay,” I said and followed to rest myself beside him on the spell-grown, root-constructed bench.
“How’s your sword training going?” he asked me.
“It’s hard,” I replied. “I’m almost twelve and I'm still not competent level like brother was at eight--and I haven’t even unlocked a skill yet.”
“Oh, I see,” he sighed.
“What is it?” I asked him.
“Has your mother told you that most adults don’t even have any skills unlocked?” he asked me.
“Huh? They don’t?” I asked.
This was news to me. Mother, father, and Bastion all had skills or spells. All the heroes in the storybooks also had extremely powerful and leveled skills. I’d just assumed it was normal and expected for adults.
He shook his head. “They don’t. Most people never even get beyond the competent level in their life-long trade. I’m guessing she at least mentioned that leveling up from novice to competent doesn’t guarantee a skill to be unlocked either?”
“Well, yeah. She said I had to work really hard and lay a good foundation, or I’d mess up my breakthrough to competent and ruin my chance to get one,” I replied, in a bit of dour tone.
This knowledge was something that bothered me even more than the fact that I felt so slow to progress beyond the novice level. What if I reached the next tier in my swordsmanship, but still messed it up by not unlocking a skill? What would mother think? That I’d wasted all her time when it came to training me up through the lowest proficiency tier?
“Celis, I swear,” my father said with a bit of exasperation as he mentioned my mother’s name. “Pery, your mother loves you very much and is very proud of you, but she’s a little… oblivious to how her high standards put pressure on the ones who look to her for approval. She’s very good at bringing out the best in people because of that and is an amazing warrior, but I honestly don’t think she understands that some of us stress over things more than she does.”
“She’s proud of me? Why doesn’t she say it if I don’t ask her then?” I asked.
“Probably because she thinks you already know, or doesn’t consider that you might not,” my father replied, “but she tells me how good you’re doing every time I ask. Almost being at the peak of the novice level in swordsmanship at your age is almost unheard of. You’re doing just fine, son.”
“How is it unheard of if Bastion did it when he was just eight?” I inquired.
“Not that you didn’t get it too, but your brother inherited all of your mother’s talent and, honestly, I think a little extra,” my father said thoughtfully, “but, you know, Bastion has zero talent for or interest in magic. It used to make me a little sad that he just didn’t want to learn anything from me. Call it a father’s pride, but I wanted my son to look to me and want to be like me. Still, you have talent for both magic and swordsmanship, even if the sword also runs a little deeper in you because of your mother’s strong genes.”
I didn’t feel like I was particularly great at magic, but I was well over halfway to the competent level in what my father had taught me of his druidry.
“I’m not very good at magic either, though,” I said.
“That little bird told me it found you and led you to me, before it harassed me for a berry as a reward. Did you understand it when it spoke to you?” my father asked me.
“I didn’t understand what it was saying exactly,” I admitted, “but I understood what it was trying to get across. I understand dogs a lot better than birds”
“There are far fewer people who can understand the meaning of an animal than can swing a sword,” my father explained. “I’ve already mentioned it to you, but the novice level of magical disciplines all deal with basic manipulation of a type of energy or concept. It's honestly impressive that you can resonate with animals enough to understand some of them beyond vague impressions at all at your level; your passive spell that allows you to do so is like a warrior having a beginner tier, passive body-reinforcing aura.”
“So, I’m not bad at magic?” I asked.
“I always tell you that you’re doing very well,” my father replied.
“I know. I just forget I guess,” I replied, realizing that my father did praise me a lot; however, I guess I’d just not noticed it since it was such a common thing and he did it so casually and calmly. Whereas my mother was loud and mischievous, but pretty much never offered me any words of praise freely.
“You’re a very smart young man,” my father said calmly. “I’m not sure how much of it is your born trait, since it makes your memory simply incredible, but you seem like you could be a very proficient mage if you put your mind to it.”
“I do like the sword though,” I said, gently resting my sore head on the bench behind it.
“You should never give up any of your passions, as long as you have enough talent and time to make something of them,” my father said. “When I was an adventurer, I knew magicians who wielded swords and swordsmen who weaved magic. It doesn’t have to be one or the other if you work hard.”
It almost seemed too good to be true: being good at both magic and swordsmanship--but I couldn’t say I didn’t want that. I liked the sword more, but I didn’t want to just forget everything my dad had taught me either. He’d spent so much time teaching me what the plants in his gardens and the nearby roadsides, fields, and forests did. He’d been so patient as I’d learned to summon my mana from my soulcore and connect it with the ambient magical energy of the natural world. It was also really cool to be able to at least sorta talk to the local animals, like I could now--and dad could do much more amazing things than that with his magic.
“Were they ever any good at both?” I asked, inquiring about the warrior mages and mage knights he’d met.
“Hmm. I won’t lie and say that some of them weren’t seriously lacking and unbalanced,” my father replied. “I knew one rogue-like fighter who depended on creating illusionary afterimages of himself to confuse his enemies in a fight. It made him incredibly effective at doing a lot of damage very quickly, before an opponent could pin him down. However, when we faced a blind devil who fought based off sound and not sight… well, he didn’t have the pure fighting skills needed to be a damage dealer without his illusions providing him a smokescreen against the devil’s attacks. A few of our party got hurt somewhat badly once the thing got past him before we realized what was happening." My father paused, thoughtfully. "But Pery, with your talent, I don’t think there would be much of a problem as long as you remembered to never rely on just tricks."
"What do you mean, not relying on tricks?" I asked. "That I should be more versatile than that fighter you mentioned?"
"Magc is about versatility and swordfighters usually value a form of simpler utility, if that makes sense, but magic isn’t versatile if you only learn a shallow bit of it and swordsmanship doesn’t provide much utility if you don’t hone the basics enough to rely on them—somewhat like your mother always says, honestly." he explained. "Like I said, though, you have talent for both, and if you work very hard. I think you could pull it off. Just don't forget to find time to live a little too; that was a lesson your mother had to teach me, but life would have been a little better if I hadn't waited so long to learn it.”
“You really think so?” I asked my dad.
“I do,” he nodded.
“Thanks, dad. I feel a little better,” I replied. “I guess I’m not doing that bad, then?”
“Not at all,” he confirmed. “I’m very proud of you; I only say it so often because it’s very true, not to make it mean any less than it does to me.”
I smiled. I was about to say something else to my father when a loud metallic clanging echoed from the direction of the manor. Then there was a feminine shouting, but not the terrified kind--it was the taunting kind instead.
My father sighed again. “We were having such a good father-son conversation. Oh well, I suppose. It seems your brother is here early, Pery, and your mother got to him first. Why does that always happen…?”
(Story is available on Royal Road and for pre-order on Amazon.)
Previous First Next

First/Previous/Next
“I never should have taken you back there,” I said to Andrew, “Should’ve just left that place to rot.” I shook my head.
It was morning and the saferoom was small, but quiet—I’d taken the precaution of planting a large metal sheet across the only door and relaxing with my weight against it. Gemma slept soundly with Trouble lying alongside her while I sat cross legged on the floor at her feet in the dark and Andrew stood in the corner opposite me, arms crossed, seemingly lost in some deep thought. “No one knew what was happening.” There was a long pause where he shuffled his feet and the growl of Gemma’s snore resounded off the walls of the small closet. Then he added, “Do you think it was overrun?”
“Golgotha?” I asked. Gemma shifted in her sleep but was unaware beyond.
“Sure.”
“It’s doubtful. I think the wall men probably handled the situation the same way they always do—with enthusiastic violence.” I pointed to the hanging shelf by his shoulder and asked, “Hand me one of them books of matches, would you?” Andrew reached out with the hand that was missing and froze, stared at the spot the appendage had once been, and then grimly smiled before reaching with his other. He tossed me the matches and I lit the cigarette I’d only just rolled from a tin I’d stored in the safehouse ages ago and shook the match till it had a smoke tail. “Stale.” But I continued puffing till the fire was constant and the small room smelled completely of it. “I imagine there’s a lot of dead folks this morning, but I doubt the walls are gone. Though,” I thought of Dave, “If that explosion was anything to go off—the underground’s destroyed. Hard to say what’s happened to the place they manufacture munitions.” The young man looked old in the dark room with exaggerated creases in his face. “How’re you feeling?”
“In general?”
“No. How’s the wounds?”
“I still hurt all the time.”
“You might have chronic aches from here on.”
“Chronic?”
“You might have pains that’ll never stop. For the rest of your life. But I couldn’t say for sure. We’ll ask in Babylon. Not my expertise. They know better than me.”
“You said you should’ve left that place to rot. So, why didn’t you? If I could move like you, I’d go anywhere else. I would’ve done it a long time ago too.” Andrew rubbed his cheek while he spoke then planted his chin in his right palm, casually glancing to Gemma, perhaps fantasizing over the life they might’ve lived; the expression he wore was distant and the young man—as I’d learned in caring after him—could seemingly dissociate at will.
The girl’s snoring ceased and was replaced by a heavy breath, and I watched her shift on the makeshift bedding.
“Reasons come and go as they do,” I answered then shrugged.
“I’ve never seen her like that,” he said, eyes still locked on Gemma’s sleeping form, “She used to be so kind, so gentle.” He shook his head. “You think she did it? You really think she killed him?”
“Harold?”
Andrew nodded.
Gemma wasn’t sleeping any longer and answered abruptly, raising herself up to a sit, rubbing her eyes then looking incredulously through them in slits. “Why not just ask me?” She displayed hands still stained dull red from the previous night. “What’s this say then?” Trouble shifted nervously beside her.
“I don’t know,” said Andrew.
“What’s it say?” she repeated.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you right now—I’d do it again.” She was immediately lucid and nearly frightening; there was a thing in her eyes I couldn’t read. “Think you can just go off and talk about me like I’m not here, huh? That’s total nonsense. I can’t believe it.”
I stared at the space between my crossed legs on the floor.
“That’s not how I meant it at all,” said Andrew, “It just worries me.”
“You said you didn’t love me anymore,” a hitch seemed to catch in her throat (there was the humanity), but she muscled through it, “So worry about yourself and keep me out of it!”
Trouble let go of a small whine and Gemma was there to the dog, rubbing her hand across its brow, and the dog caught my eyes from the corner of its own and I looked away.
“There, there,” said the girl to the dog.
“I’m sorry,” said Andrew.
“Keep it.”
I coughed into my fist and whispered dryly, “If you two keep at it, you’ll wake the whole city to us.”
Andrew nodded and Gemma watched the dog.
“So, you wanted to see the wizards so badly?” I asked them. “You wanted to see where they live? How they live?”
“We’ve seen the wizards,” said Gemma bluntly.
“Sure, but you’ve never seen a library, have you?”
“The Bosses have their books all stacked on shelves too, if that’s what you mean.” Gemma’s tone was far off somewhere and she did not remove her eyes from the dog.
“Sure, but it ain’t just shelves of books—there’s loads. Halls, walkways of them stacked so high you’d need a ladder to reach the tops of them.”
“You were the one that tried talking me out of leaving home,” said Gemma, “Remember?”
I watched her blood-stained hands pet the dog and she finally looked up from the mutt to me. “It doesn’t seem you’d be welcome home anymore.” I offered a crude grin. “Maybe be excited for it then.”
Andrew hunkered and leaned his curved back against the wall opposite and scratched his cheek. “How long’s it take?”
“If I was on my own,” I stared at the dark ceiling overhead where I watched dust collect in swirls over our heads, “It’d be two weeks and a day or more depending. With ya’ll too? I don’t know.”
“I’m thirsty,” said Gemma, moving to stand in the mess of blankets; the closet was not enough room for the four of us and the dampness of our collective breathing created a mugginess.
Andrew, who had the foresight to pack small rations, passed her his water gourd and she gulped some back without a word and Trouble looked up from across her paws where she laid her head. Upon Gemma returning the water, the boy took a bowl from his pack and poured a few drinks for the dog and rubbed its ear.
“I’m going out to scout. No fighting while I’m away.” I said and began rising, “You,” I pointed to the boy, “Put this metal sheet against the door and your weight against the sheet and don’t open for anyone but me.”
Andrew stared at me then nodded and I slipped out from the safehouse, into a mostly destroyed storefront which harbored the closet we hid in, into the street with shadows of cyclopean structures which towered seemingly to heaven and my mind went to Dave again and how I’d been overtop that industrial building, how I possibly might’ve ‘slipped’ and fallen to an early demise. Was Dave still alive? He was cunning and brave in doing what he’d done, but certainly dead. It was again the story of heroes. The primeval consequence for any person with goodness left in them; it could and would wring them dry—whether it be demons or fellows of their kind, it comes for heroes all the same.
I’d not slept the previous night and my senses were dulled by it and every long shadow in the periphery felt as though it might reach out and snatch me; it was not so much paranoia, but merely a standard reflex of sleep deprivation. Still, I hugged the walls where I could and crept through moldering vehicles which stood in the way. There I came to Fif Aven and I recalled Aggie but briefly and crawled into a corroded pickup truck with its passenger door missing; I slid onto the bench seat, disturbing so many years of dust and it choked me, but I lay there on the seat and stared at the cab’s roof and inhaled the stuff of the old world—certainly there was trouble then too, but what could be worse?
I rested shortly and listened to the dead silence and at times I caught my breath for it was overwhelming.
The thought of leaving those children to their demise arose—I could move quickly enough on my own.
After resting a while, I scooted from the truck and carried on, more tired than before, but I moved through the narrow avenues of rubble, going as quietly as ever until I came to the open field which encompassed Golgotha. There the city stood still, and prone bodies were taken before the exterior of the gate where they burned on pyre piles, flames melting the horizon in their spots. I held my breath for a moment, caught in the far-off presence of those fires and I wondered if Dave was there, burning. If not that, then it would be worse. If not that, then they’d make a spectacle of it in the square. The figures which lugged the others from the city gates were small pinpricks across the skyline and I breathed deep and could almost taste ash in the air, then I returned to the closet where I’d left Gemma and Andrew.
Each of them looked on at me with questioning brows without words and I told them to shimmy around in the small room so I could take account of the supplies. Sleep would be no issue as long as no one minded the hot breath of the person next to them.
“We’ll stay here tonight then move on,” I said. I scanned the hanging shelf; there were canned foods and a bit of tobacco lined there and a single lantern. I shook the lantern and a bit of oil swished within it. “No light tonight. No talking either.” I put my hand to my head and rubbed my forehead.
Andrew remained over my shoulder and said, “I’ve got some water—a little food too.”
“Good.”
That night, we ate from cans without words and when Trouble messed in the corner, Gemma scooped it and removed it from our miniscule dwelling; the smell of blood was strong on her and though I expected the two children’s bickering to continue, it was gone entirely and we arranged ourselves haphazardly in the closet, our collective legs like slats parallel and our backs against walls and Trouble took to Gemma.
Before it went full dark, Andrew examined the discoloring around his empty wrist and then I saw him remove the jar which contained his hand from his small knapsack—the thing was full on rotting with a congealing ooze forming along the base of the jar, but no smell escaped the container—he sat there with it, holding it inches from his face and he frowned.
“Why don’t you throw it out?” asked Gemma; she idly patted Trouble’s neck.
“It’s mine, isn’t it?” said the boy.
“So? It’s nasty.”
“If it was yours, would you keep it?” he asked.
Gemma shook her head.
“Well, it’s mine.”
She made a face.
We slept in terrible discomfort and Trouble awoke more than once in the night, letting go of little growls or whines—she was stuck with nightmares. Sometimes, Andrew might offer a comment about how Gemma should keep the dog quiet, but it was otherwise quiet.
At daybreak, we ate then arranged what could be gathered for the march onward; I put the shotgun sling over my shoulder, and we took into the ruins where the sun came through destruction in buildings in splintered rays and the dog kept to Gemma’s side with a bit of improvised twine as a lead.
“What’s it like out here all the time? You come out here all the time—you probably know more freedom than most, huh?” said Gemma.
“If you need to talk, you should whisper it. That said, you shouldn’t talk,” I hushed the words as I took to a nearby wall and the troupe followed, remaining in the relative shade of the buildings which towered over.
“Fine,” said Gemma, taking the center with the dog while Andrew trailed at the rear, “Then what’s all these?”
“What’s what?”
“These big tall buildings everywhere.”
“It’s our history,” I said.
“Of course, but why are they here?”
“It’s hard to imagine there was ever so many people for these.”
“There were billions at a time,” I said.
We came to an intersection of streets where vehicles were piled high, and we cut through a corner structure where all but the supports of the ground floor had long ago been blown away; arrangements of jagged rebar bent from exposed flooring like stalks and Gemma lifted the dog to not tangle the leash. Our footsteps were swift but not silent from all the debris.
“What’s that?” asked Andrew, joining in.
“What’s what? And whisper it for Christ sake.” I hissed the words, taking through a wide threshold into the street once more.
“You said billions. What’s that?”
“It’s a lot—a really big number.” I let go of a sigh and pivoted; the children froze in their walking and bumbled into one another. I put my forefinger to my lips. “No more,” I said.
And there was no more as we went.
The sun beat down on us more and as we angled through wreckages, through those pathways which took us our way, we sweated, and steam rose off our heads and the dog’s panting was the only noise, save our footfalls. There in that place, there in the plains beyond or in the mountains behind and yonder was where the souls of the dying were and we were with them and as I led, I felt aimless because leading was never my game.
A sky of rust domineered, and we took a moment in the shade of a brutal façade; within the emptied holes of a windowless storefront were long dark shadows, and the places where light met, I spied clothes on lines and spirals of racks and the clothes were so insect picked and dried one could assume they’d fall to dust if they were lifted from their stations.
We drained what freshwater we had Gemma hunkered down, first to pat Trouble then to tear strips from the hem of her robes. She created terrible scarves and handed one to both me and Andrew; the boy looked at her curiously while she wrapped a garland of the material around her own head.
“For your heads,” she shrugged as though it didn’t matter, “The sun might blister your skin.”
We pushed on, each of us peering through the slits of our makeshift headgear and when the time came and when plants—as green as dreams and more foreign—began to gather on either side of the place we walked, I motioned for another brief pause and they gathered there, Gemma’s eyes were serious, perhaps furious, and Andrew looked on at the vegetation which sprung through the overwhelming concrete with no less wonder than should be expected.
I first looked to Gemma, “It’s ahead. Not far now.”
She nodded that she knew where I meant.
“You know then?” I asked the girl.
Another nod followed.
Andrew put his hand to his brow and peered through the high light and whispered, “I think there’s fruits ahead. We hardly get fruits back home. They look big too. Trees like I’ve never seen.”
I put my hand to his shoulder. “Don’t eat them. Don’t even touch them. Alright?”
“Alright.” Andrew’s attention went to Gemma there next to him and he asked, “What’s the matter with you? You know this place?”
“It’s a garden ahead,” Her eyes moved from his to mine, “Right?”
“Right.”
“Why?” she asked.
“A garden? That’s incredible!” said Andrew.
“It is not,” said Gemma.
I took them in closer so that we were whispers away and we curled our bodies partially into the black storefront. “Ya’ll need to stay close me,” I said, “Stay close—Gemma, you carry the mutt. Andrew, you stay close too. Don’t speak. Don’t speak with what you see there.”
“What?” asked the boy.
“Shh,” said the girl, reaching out with one of those red stained hands to touch me, “Do we need to?”
Did we? I nodded. “Don’t touch anything. I reckon you two still have that holy spirit of Golgotha in you so if you feel it then pray and Gemma, I know you know some from Lady so say them quick and make it right and let’s go.”
They prayed for Jesus, for Elohim, for safety. I watched and Trouble watched them too.
We went to the garden and there was no flute playing, no sound of hooves—there was no sound at all but the baking of the earth and the small rhythm of fresh leaves caught in whatever dismal wind there was there in that place. Taking through the garden, there were trees which arched overhead—indeed the fruits that hung from those branches were moistened like with rain and bright and multicolored—and the shrubbery too was thick among our ankles and then there was Baphomet’s cobblestone yard with a throne and the well and there on a risen tablet by the throne, Baphomet sat, chest glistening in the sunlight, legs crossed, head arched back so that its head could see the sky.
So, you’ve come again. This time you’ve brought thrice the power to bargain with. Harlan, oh—don’t look at me like that and come closer and tell me what it is you wish. Baphoment shifted to catch me in its eye and then slid to sit with its legs off the edge of the great stone. You look tired. Is it perhaps that you have come to keep me company? Have you given in to those curious desires which compel humankind? I can take you to those places far and gaping. There are limits to your form, but form is changed easily of course—with time and pressure. Curious that you would arrive with tampered merchandise. That should be discounted. Still. The demon took note of Gemma flanking so closely to my left that we were touching; she carried Trouble and the dog shivered—the girl shivered too.
In a puff of smoke, Baphomet disappeared then reappeared directly in front of me; a hot breath escaped its snout visibly and then it took in the smell of us.
Mmm. That sin is on you all. Have I ever told you the euphoric nature of it?
“I’ve come to make a deal,” I said.
Baphomet cocked its head. If you’ve come for a return, I’m afraid the girl you left with me is long transformed. For, after all, is easy. I doubt you’ve have use for the state she’s in. Still, The creature stood tall so it towered over us then arched low to peer into Gemma’s eyes. Did you miss me? Is that it?
“It’ll be the last deal I make.”
It seemed the creature smiled, if it was possible. Promise?
“Yes.”
I get you? That’d certainly make others green with envy.
“Yes.”
What is it you want then?
“I want firepower,” I held the shotgun out in front of me, “And time enough to do what I need to do.”
Give me your hand. Reach out. It’ll hurt like the dickens for only a second. Baphomet extended its claw-like hands, beckoning my own.
I put out my right hand and the creature took it, drove the nail of its forefinger into my forearm nearest the elbow, then traced a shallow cut down the length of my arm till it met the top of my hand. The towering beast let go then looked me over, snorted, tapped a hoof, then crossed its arms. Blood dripped freely from the mark on my arm. “Will you make that deal?” I asked.
The demon shook its head. I won’t touch you. No one will.
“Why?”
The thing which I might want from you is not something you can give freely. It belongs to someone already.
I bit my tongue then shook my head. “Who?”
What fun would there be in me telling? Baphomet traced around our small group and came to a halt at the right shoulder of Andrew; the boy closed his eyes. I could tell you for a trade though.
I shook my head and turned to leave.
Mm. Harlan. You break my heart.
We left the garden, not looking back, not even when Baphomet took to playing its tune—though the sun beat us down there was a coolness which passed through me and I wondered if the same could be said for Gemma or Andrew; I caught the girl’s eyes as she carried the whimpering pup and there was a message there, a telepathy I understood and it was maybe sorrow or her unforgotten pain. I willed us on, and they followed, and we went to the safehouse up the stairs to rest and regroup.
I looked out over the street where the shadows cut darker as the sun began to rest and Andrew played a game of tug with the mutt, and I smoked while Gemma joined me at the tall windows.
“It’s the smell,” she said to me, “I smell that thing all the time. I scarcely remember the creature, but I know that’s where you found me,” there was a brief pause as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Isn’t it?”
I nodded, “Yeah.”
She hiked the arms of her robes up and examined the scars there and then looked at me then let the robes slink down her arms as her fists met her by her sides. Gemma pressed near the glass.
“Do they burn?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I might have something better for you to wear. Something with less catch when you move. Pants. Shirts. You’ve got boots on, haven’t you?”
She twisted the torn hems of her robes to expose her leathered feet.
I traced the walls—stacks crates of goods were there (surely I’d find something suitable for travel).
We found water in the safehouse and food and light too. When dark came, we huddled around her lanterns and Andrew assisted in watching the boiling pot. Gemma changed, cut her hair to her scalp, and washed her hands. With her new garb, her throat stood more exposed, and the healing wounds there were like embedded ropes in her flesh. Andrew kept his eyes flittering, his focus remained on the food, but always his gaze was primarily steals of her.
They were in love, for sure—anyone could see it (I could). It truly was a pain to be in the presence of two young people, the potential, the possibilities of a true life—I should not go on. Hope breeds determination, but anything more is weakness.
No one had an easy time with sleep that night, save Trouble; each of us lined ourselves by the windows and looked out to see glowing mutant eyes wilder than any electric light. We shut off the lanterns and sat with bellies full, a spiderlike skin taker lumbered through the avenue which we overlooked—the center mass of its body, stilted high from the ground on those spear legs, traced before our eyes and it was all black and fuzzy—and the children whispered to ask me what it was, and I told them I didn’t know exactly.
“They’re faster than they seem,” I said.
Gemma touched the window glass with her palm.
“They suck up your skin,” I said, “They take it right off your body.”
Gemma sat up straighter and withdrew her hand from the glass, leaving a hand mark there where the sweat of her fingers was. Their faces were coated in the bluish milk glaze of the moon and stars. “How?” she asked.
I moved from the window, leaving them there to watch. “Don’t make noise tonight. I’m going to sleep dead. I put a bucket in the corner over there if you need it.”
The bedroll smelled of mold, of dust, for it was an old thing I’d tucked away years prior, and I figured I would never have a use for it. It was for emergencies. Most of the supplies I kept were like that. They were things I hoped to never need.
As I stretched on my back, staring at the dead ceiling overhead, I listened to the silence of the ruins periodically broken from the whispers of Andrew and Gemma as they continued their talking, and I closed my eyes and directly before I was ferried on to the place of dreams, the face of Dave took to view in the black backdrop of my eye lids and there was Boss Maron; I imagined they put the poor rebel to his knees and blew his brains across the ground. Or worse. It was probably worse. It always was.
Just as the world was gone, it was back again; Andrew shook me awake and Trouble was growling. I propelled from the bedroll, eyes darting in every direction, and I half imagined we were under attack from Leviathan, but there was no such thing. Gemma stood by the locked door which connected to the stairwell, and someone banged with their fist on the other side. The door rattled in its frame, and I launched into position by the girl—her stance was half crouched, and she seemed frozen solid. I motioned at the door and she shrugged.
A voice came from the other side of the door, bemoaning desperation.
Help! said the voice, high pitched, feminine seeming. Please, help me!
“We should help them,” said Andrew, “God, open the door.”
“Shh,” Gemma put her index finger to her pursed lips, “Shut up. Don’t be stupid!”
They looked at me and Trouble continued growling.
First/Previous/Next
Archive

Tongue blister when adding blueberries to daily smoothie
Hi doctors,
I have started to consume about 100g of frozen blueberries in my daily smoothie. Instantly after drinking it, I develop a red, uncomfortable "blister" (or multiple) at the tip of my tongue that feels like I have a rock under the skin. Rinsing with water helps, and it disappears within 30 minutes or less.
I don't want to give up blueberries. Is there any way to prevent this reaction? Is it harmful to ignore this reaction and continue consuming frozen blueberries?
I have no other symptoms like itching, swelling, breathing issues, or stomach problems.
Age:24 Gender:Male
Any advice would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!

<<< First
< Previous
Next >
Can I make it through FIVE MINUTES without seeing another wildfire? Fir snarled to himself as he arrived at Willowood, fresh from extinguishing the forest fires outside it. The one inside it blazed ferociously, waves of heat washing over his scales. He dipped to the side and surveyed the damage.
Whereas the previous fire started from the bottom and spread higher, this one burned from the trees and walkways above, spitting tongues of fire and burning debris which fell below. Fir flipped belly up for a better view–
–at a pile of burning planks barreling towards him.
Woah! He banked right and narrowly avoided the smoldering wood as it screamed past. No, wait – those screams were coming from the villagers. Dozens flapped around him with buckets of water and sand, joined by dozens more fleeing the buildings underneath the inferno. Almost half were armed, though spears didn’t do much for firefighting.
Frostbreath, however, did. Fir rolled his neck and went to work.
First he aimed at a strip of burning walkway, shooting frostbreath straight at the structure. Unfortunately the ice arced below, missing the target and almost clipping a few Leafwings on its way down. Moving closer instead, Fir flew below the thick of the fire and angled his snout at the brightest patches of flame. This time the frostbreath landed, slowly shrinking the hissing blaze. Out of air, he sucked in a breath.
And almost fell out of the sky.
“By the snow monsters, not again!” Fir managed between painful coughs, feeling his lungs blister from the sudden heat. He dove away and landed within a willow, gulping mouthfuls of cool air. He wasn’t going to be as reckless as last time.
Although that begged the question: what else could be done?
Just then, Fir heard rustling beneath him. Moments later a familiar green head popped through the foliage.
“Azalea?”
“Fir!” The Leafwing wriggled past him, revealing two buckets of water she carried over shoulders. “Why’re you down here? The fire’s above there.” Azalea flew up as he followed her.
“I was thinking of a plan.” Fir grumbled, eyes scanning for any falling debris. “How did the fires even get so high? And why aren’t the Hivewings attacking?”
“I know, it’s so weird!” Azalea agreed, hovering beside a platform on fire. She threw water from one of her buckets, dousing the flames. “They just dropped out of the sky, threw some weird clay things, and suddenly fire was everywhere.”
“Huh.” Fir walled a ring of frostbreath around the trunk of a burning willow, halting the blaze from advancing further.
“Then they flew off that way.” Azalea continued, pointing with a talon. “The Hivewings didn’t even try to attack us. They just stayed above it all.”
“Above it all, you say?” Fir questioned, an idea beginning to form. “Azalea, get me a damp towel and follow me with as many dragons as you can. I have a plan.” With that, he shot into the sky.
As Azalea’s calls could be heard below, Fir crested over the fire and looked down. The flames illuminated rows of charred willows and burning leaves that spread like gashes through the village, courtesy of the violent wind.
Yet despite its size, Fir knew this fire for what it was just: a candle, burning from the top down. And just like the ones in Tupelo’s hallway, if you extinguish the top, the whole fire goes with it.
“Fir, here’s the towel you asked.” Azalea stopped beside him, followed by a small troupe of anxious villagers. “Now what?”
“You’ll see.” He turned to the crowd. “Leafwings, listen up! To defeat the fire, we need to kill it from the top!” He drew a grid in the air in front of him. “With my frostbreath, I’ll wall off the blaze into smaller sections. Once I do, smother it with everything you got!” The villagers roared in agreement, ready to move.
“Then let’s go!”
Fir fell into a dive, keeping the wet cloth pressed to his snout while taking shallow breaths. Once close enough he unveiled his mouth and unleashed his frostbreath, letting it cut a line through the flames before reaching the edge of the fire. Then he stopped, put the towel up, inhaled, and did it again.
Behind him, teams of Leafwings poured water and sand wherever they found fire, and the sounds of sputtering flames filled Fir’s ears like music. He continued to partition the wildfire, creating manageable pockets as he went.
Occasionally a mistimed breath made his lungs spasm, smoke and heat clogging his throat. When that happened, Fir flew higher and paused his efforts. Forcing himself to do nothing was difficult, but falling unconscious helped no one.
Soon the inferno over the treetops dimmed, then died. While further lights glowed ominously below, Leafwing reinforcements from above and returning patrols sped to put those out as well.
Amidst the movement, Azalea congratulated Fir. “Thank the trees. There are still fires lower down, but I think we have those under control now. We’ve stopped those Hivewings once again!”
“No, not yet.” Fir shook his head.
Azalea tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that this can’t be enough.” He gestured to the fire. “The Hivewings already tried to burn us down. They wouldn’t try the same thing twice. Azalea, did you see what direction they went?”
“Yes, actually.” She pointed to his left.
“And what could be in that direction?” Fir mused. There was the healer’s pavilion, the Clover Cafe, and–
“The Elder’s treehouse.” He gasped. It all made sense.
“Oh yeah, Elder Rowan’s in a meeting with Hornbeam and Hickory.” Azalea informed. “Someone needs to tell him about the… oh… oh no.”
Fir looked her in the eyes. “Azlaea, once the fire is completely dealt with, gather all the Leafwings who can fight and bring them to the treehouse.”
She nodded. Satisfied, Fir turned to fly as fast as he could. “And while you’re at it,” he called back, “find Juniper!”
******
“Find the Elder and slit their throat.”
Juniper paled upon hearing those words. Hidden in the surrounding trees, the three Hivewings didn’t notice her covering her mouth as they stood atop the roof of the Elder’s treehouse.
“Once you do, we will meet back here and head west. Queen Wasp will be waiting for a report.” The one speaking tipped her head, as if bowing to the mere mention of Wasp’s name. The helmet the Hivewing wore made it hard for Juniper to tell.
“But captain, the wind’s getting stronger…” The second one remarked, looking worriedly at the sky. “It’s been blowing harder and harder this whole night. I think we should wait for the others to arrive and leave. We’ve done enough with the firebombs.”
“Absolutely not!” The third soldier – Firefly – snarled, brandishing her bow like a club. Not a trace of the Hivewing’s past meekness could be found in her rage which boiled onto her compatriot.
“In case you forgot, Antlion, our orders are to destroy Willowwood. To kill a beast, you can’t just singe its scales. The whole head must be cut off!” Firefly unholstered an arrow. “This mission will not fail again. Understand?”
“Firefly, enough!” The helmeted captain rebuked her subordinate, talons grasping the hilt of a knife as she scanned the forest. “Keep your voice down and wait for the others. We can’t afford to be detected.”
Juniper tensed, staying as still as possible behind the dense foliage. Her scales helped her blend among the trees which the three Hivewings looked through. After an eternity of silence she heard distant wingbeats. Firefly confirmed who they belonged to.
“Finally. Took them long enough.” Two more Hivewings landed on the roof, each carrying bags and wicked sharp spears.
“Bristletail. Chalcis.” The captain nodded. “Report.”
“Yes captain Atta.” One of them replied. “Despite the wind, we’ve successfully set fire to the outer forest. The Leafwings will be too busy putting them all out.”
“Then let’s get to work.” Atta climbed down onto a balcony, followed by her four soldiers as they entered the treehouse.
“Finally!” Firefly’s voice echoed. “I can’t wait to…” Her voice faded as she disappeared inside. Carefully, Juniper followed.
By the trees, what am I going to do?
******
As Fir burst through the main entrance to the Elder’s treehouse, he reminded himself of what he was going to do. Find Elder Rowan, Hornbeam, and Hickory before together flying back to the others, where the whole village could fight off the invaders.
If my memory is right, the meeting room is on the bottom floor. Fir sprinted through the hallway, retracing the route. Soon he heard faint voices drifting from a familiar door, and without hesitation he threw it open.
“Hornbeam! Hickory! Elder Rowan! We need to leave now!”
Their faces stared blankly back at him.
“Fir?” The Elder spoke first. “What’s going on?”
“Has something happened outside?” Hornbeam stood up, rattling the bundle of spears which rested on his back.
“Don’t tell me that…” Hickory’s eyes widened.
“Yes.” Fir confirmed “Hivewings. They’re he–”
“Say no more!” Elder Rowan leapt from his desk with an energy that belied his age. “Gather the village! Fir, where are the Hivewings?”
“Right here.”
In the stunned silence that followed, Fir continued uninterrupted. “They threw something called ‘fire pots’ across the forest and Willowwood before flying in this direction. Elder, I think they want to kill you while everyone else is distracted.”
“That… would explain why no one came to tell us in all the chaos.” Hornbeam slowly processed. “And since this treehouse is the tallest in the village, it would be the obvious target.”
“Exactly.” Fir jerked his head to the exit. “Which is why we need to leave, and join up with the others. Come on!”
“Wait!” Hickory held out a panicked claw. “We’re not the only ones in this building. There are stewards and scribes working in the upper levels.”
“This late?” Fir cursed his luck.
“Organizing supplies for the past few nights.” She sadly replied. “We have to warn them!”
“Then we mustn't waste time.” Elder Rowan strode out the door.
“We?” Hornbeam asked incredulously. “Elder, you need to escape!”
“And leave those dragons to their fate?” He snarled back. “No, I refuse to run away. And if that puts me in danger, so be it.”
“You can’t be serious.” The guard gasped, looking at Hickory. “Tell him that!”
The head steward shook her head. “Every pair of claws will help. I have no complaints.”
Desperate, Hornbeam appealed to the last dragon he could. “Fir, you know this is madness. Elder Rowan’s job is to lead us. How can he do that if he dies? Surely you agree.”
A few hours ago, he would’ve. But not anymore.
“No, I don’t.” Fir shook his head. “Elder Rowan’s duty is to protect Willowwood and its dragons. Tonight he will. We will.”
I will.
“To abandon that responsibility, that is true madness.” Fir clenched his talons. “So what are we waiting for? We have Leafwings to save.”
******
I have to save the Elder. Juniper squared her wings and landed on the balcony, following the squadron of soldiers inside. They loitered just outside the balcony door, where the hallway split into three paths.
“We have a lot of rooms to cover so split up.” Atta pointed at Bristletail and Chalcis. “You two search the left hallway. We’ll handle the rooms on the right.”
“And if none of us find their Elder?” Antlion questioned.
“Then converge on the center hallway.” Firefly answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Leaders always live in the highest place they can. Leafwings are no different.”
Except we are. Juniper thinly smiled. Elder Rowan lives on the bottom floor, meaning there’s still time to warn him.
Slowly slowly stepping back, her talons backpedaled to the balcony where the lower levels were just a short flight away. She knew where the Hivewings were, and what they were going to do. Her goal now was to warn the others, and fight the threat with the whole village.
All without Fir.
Not now! She refocused: no reckless attacks tonight.
Until a shrill scream stopped her cold.
“What was that?” A soldier from the left called. “Captain Atta, did you get the Elder already?”
“Not quite.” Firefly answered back. “Only a random Leafwing, just given Wasp’s justice.”
There were other dragons on the floor. And they’re killing them.
Juniper felt sick to her stomach. The balcony behind her gestured to the wider forest, safe and hidden from the danger in front. She could leave right now, just as she should’ve that night in the clearing.
But no one else was in danger then. Juniper took a step forward. Now, not even home is safe. Peeking cautiously from the doorframe, she tentatively poked her snout into the hallway to see. Both groups of Hivewings remained busily busting down doors, not bothering to look back.
And a few doors down on her right, a growing dark puddle stained the wood floor.
Juniper made a dash for it, leaping across the floor before skidding into the center hall. Tensing up, she put an ear to the floor to hear for any approaching talonsteps. Luckily, none came. With a shaky breath she stood up and faced the door in front of her.
Ok Juniper, she prepared herself, think of what you’ll do. Put a talon to your mouth to shush whoever’s there, and quietly lead them out. Or maybe downstairs. She shrugged. One of those two. Here goes!
She turned the knob and pushed, opening the door with a silent creak.
“Hey!” Juniper whispered as she stepped inside. “Don’t freak out, but come with me if you want to li…ive? She stopped after realizing no one was in this room. Instead a large table occupied the space, filled with glass jars containing scores of wriggling insects.
Why are all these bugs here? Juniper crept closer, noticing a piece of paper lying underneath one of the jars. She picked it up and began to read.
Recent contributions of venomous insects to be used for combat. Don’t lose any!
– Hickory
Aha. Azalea had mentioned this before. Aspen had donated a lot of his stock, and this is where they must have ended up. If so, that must mean –
Juniper excitedly searched through the jars, peering through insect after insect. Finally the one she wanted caught her eye. Curled up in a still ball, a certain citrus-striped centipede stared warily back at her.
Armed with a new strategy, she grabbed the jar and headed out the room.
******
Fir headed into a room and grabbed the shoulder of a Leafwing sleeping there, shaking them awake. “Hey! You awake?”
“Wh- Whaa?” The villager jerkily stood up disoriented. “What’s going on? I promise I wasn’t sleeping on the – Fir?” She gaped.
“Hivewings might be in this treehouse, getting ready to attack.” He pushed her to the door.
“Attack?” She jolted fully awake. “But I can’t fight, I’m a scribe. I don’t even have a spear!”
“We’re not asking you to fight.” Elder Rowan appeared, putting a wing on the Leafwing’s shoulder as he guided her out. “Just find the other villagers with spears and tell them to come here as fast as they can, alright?”
She nodded and left quickly, her talonsteps echoing through the hall.
“That’s the last of them on this floor.” Hickory reported, stepping beside Hornbeam. “There’s one more steward above us, on the highest level.”
“Meaning it's the last.” Fir took a deep breath. “And I’d wager a sealskin that the Hivewings will be there.”
“Then we mustn't be unprepared.” Elder Rowan turned to Hornbeam, grabbing the spears off his back. There were three in total, distributed among the Leafwings. Considering he had frostbreath, Fir didn’t mind.
“Hornbeam and Fir, since you’re our best fighters you both will lead the way.” The Elder strategized. “Hickory and I will remain behind you two, ready to hand over our spears for melee or hurl them ourselves.”
“Yes, Elder.” Hornbeam nodded as the four approached the staircase, stopping for a moment at the base. “Spirit of Clearsight, let the trees preserve us.”
******
Spirit of Clearsight, please make sure I don’t die. Squeezing the jar she held, Juniper sneaked back into the hallway and looked both ways. To her left, Atta, Antlion, and Firefly had already turned the corner, out of view. But to the right, Bristletail and Chalcis could still be seen kicking down doors. She chose to tail the smaller group first.
Creeping closer, Juniper ducked into a room a safe distance away, eavesdropping on what the soldiers said.
“Hey Bristletail, the hallway splits off here.”
“It does?”
“Yeah. The one to the left leads to some outside balcony, and the one to the right…” The Hivewing could be heard shuffling. “... just leads to more rooms.”
“Then we both turn right.” Bristletail gruffly replied. “Simple as that.”
“I know, but could I go outside for a moment?” Chalcis asked. “I can hear the wind from here, and I want to see how bad it is.”
In the ensuing silence, the Hivewing’s words proved true. A huge storm must be brewing outside for the howling wind to be heard inside.
“Find.” Bristletail stepped away. “Do that quickly and return.” Two pairs of talonsteps accompanied those words. Juniper poked her head out the room just as the Hivewings’ tails flitted from view. She quickly followed, intending to deal with Chalcis first.
The wind washed over her the moment Juniper turned the corner, intensifying with every step. Ahead Chalcis struggled similarly, four wings billowing out. With the gale masking any sound, she unscrewed the jar and carefully held out the citrus-striped centipede.
A short throw is all you need, you can do this. Juniper practiced the motion while crouched, her tail sweeping back and forth. Just have to time it right and…
“Chalcis!” A shout from behind broke her concentration. It was Bristletail, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Look behind you!” Chalcis duly turned around, eyes widening at the sight of Juniper.
She chucked the centipede at his face, the critter landing on his snout.
Chalcis shrieked, scrabbling backwards. A moment later his legs froze, and he collapsed unconscious.
“No!” Bristletail roared, growing louder as he sprinted towards Juniper who in turn ran away, glass jar tucked under her arm.
Skidding next to Chalcis she grabbed the spear from the limp Hivewing and backed up onto the balcony, pointed her weapon to the hallway towards the charging soldier. Juniper exhaled and braced for impact.
An impact which never came. Seeing the spear in front of him, Bristletail stopped his advance. Snarling, he reached into his bag and pulled out a firepot. Then he set it alight with flamesilk, arched back, and–
Juniper leapt into the sky, getting as far from the floor as she could. A second later the pot streaked over it and into a tree where it burst into flames, sending waves of heat that nipped at her heels. The real threat flew in from right behind as Bristletail gave chase, landing on the roof where she had scrambled onto.
“Bloody Leafwing!” He roared, any semblance of stealth forgotten as he furiously reached into his bag.
He’s going to throw another one. Juniper looked for a hiding spot but found none. Even if she successfully dodged, the roof would be set ablaze. Attacking, meanwhile, would force her into spear combat with a trained soldier. And flying away into the worsening winds above didn’t seem appealing at all. She had to somehow incapacitate the Hivewing now, with only a spear and a–
Jar. Remembering the last fight she was in, Juniper had an idea.
Feigning retreat, she shuffled backwards while waiting for Bristletail to fully commit. With the extra space he soon did, grabbing another strand flamesilk with tweezers.
Leaving him vulnerable.
Juniper cocked back her arm and threw the glass jar. It sailed through the air before hitting Bristletail on the snout, shattering into a thousand pieces. Howling, the Hivewing dropped the unlit pot and scrabbled at his face. In that time she darted forward and thrust her spear, piercing the soldier’s back leg deep enough to draw blood. Then she stamped out the flamesilk, extinguishing it for good.
“Blasted tree-kisser!” Bristletail recovered remarkably quickly, swinging his spear like a club in a wide arc. Juniper danced out of the way, escaping back onto the balcony and running into the hall with another plan.
She turned the corner and hid behind the wall, spear held tightly in both claws as she waited for the Hivewing to arrive. He did in short order, heralded by stalking talonsteps that echoed through the hallway.
Juniper readied herself for an ambush, steeling herself for the blood she’d have to spill.
There’s no other way. I have to strike first. She heard the talonsteps grow louder, then stop.
Suddenly Bristletail leapt past Juniper, giving her a haughty grin. “I’m not stupid, you know.”
With that the Hivewing slammed into her, knocking her to the floor as he raised his spear. Juniper’s eyes widened as it sailed down in a murderous arc. She barely blocked the strike with her own weapon, feeling cold iron graze her arm.
Bristletail’s attack continued. The soldier pivoted his spear, and in a fluid motion disarmed Juniper. Her spear clattered some distance away, too far to reach.
Smirking, the Hivewing raised his spear for the killing blow, holding it with both front talons. As such his back legs flexed to support his whole weight, giving Juniper one more chance. Drawing back her own feet, she kicked Bristletail’s wounded leg as hard as she could.
Bristletail howled, stumbling to the side. Juniper threw herself off the ground and grabbed her spear, scoring a hit on the Hivewing’s arm before backing into the hallway.
To her right lay the balcony, offering escape. To her left remained more rooms, filled with possibly more Leafwings. Although considering the noise their fight had made, Juniper doubted any remained. That left escape as her best option.
Bristletail, however, realized the same thing. Despite his injuries he lunged forward, angling to her right. Juniper was forced to dodge left, deeper into the treehouse.
“I swear to Clearsight, you won’t see the light of day again!” The soldier vowed before charging straight at Juniper. She held out her spear to keep him at bay but Bristletail blocked it with his own, abandoning weapons in favor of claw-to-claw combat.
“Got you!” The stronger Hivewing grappled with Juniper, lifting her up before throwing her onto a door.
Ow! Stars of pain flashed over her eyes as the doorknob collided with her back. Dropping her spear, Juniper vainly slashed her claws to keep Bristletail’s jaws at bay while he tightened his grip on her throat.
“Goodbye, filthy villager.” He hissed as her vision began to darken.
Then the door behind her opened, sending them both tumbling down.
******
“Stay sharp.” Fir looked to his group as they ascended the stairs. Hickory, Hornbeam, and Elder Rowan all nodded solemnly. Step by step, the wooden floorboards creaked among deafening silence.
Until distant thuds could be heard above.
“What’s that?” Hickory cautiously asked.
“Sounds like a fight.” Hornbeam quickened his pace.
“If so, there’s no time to lose.” The Elder agreed, looking to the door they were approaching. “We need to be ready for whatever comes our way.” On cue, the wood entrance rattled with a loud BANG!
Immediately the group went quiet.
“Fir, I’ll open the door.” Hornbeam whispered at his side. “When I do, give whoever’s there a face full of frostbreath.”
Fir nodded, wisps of ice already chilling the air in front of him.
Hornbeam crept to the side of the door and twisted the handle. “Here goes.” He breathed before throwing it open.
Two dragons tumbled through, each struggling with the other as they rolled over the stairs. Hornbeam shouted in surprise while Fir narrowed his eyes, seeing the distinctive black scales of a Hivewing.
The next moment they widened as he recognized who was under it.
“Juniper?” He gaped.
“Fir?” She dumbly looked back.
“What in the three moons are you?” The Hivewing glanced at him incredulously before noticing the three other Leafwings surrounding him. For a long second, nobody moved.
Juniper acted first, kicking her opponent in the stomach and pushing him to the side, rolling safely away. Hornbeam followed with a deep thrust into the soldier’s heart while Fir finished the job with a blast of frostbreath. The Hivewing went still, his body slipping down the rest of the stairs.
After that they all hurried onto the next floor, closing the door behind them before finally relaxing. At least, three of them did. The other two just stared at each other.
“Juniper…” Fir struggled with what to say. “I’m–”
She slapped him across the face, the sound echoing through the hallway. “That was for leaving.” No one moved as the Leafwing came closer to Fir, who remained frozen in shock.
Suddenly Juniper threw open her wings and enveloped him in a tight hug. “And this is for coming back.” She whispered, resting her head on his. He saw tears glistening in her eyes and leaned into the embrace with equal intensity.
“Juniper, I’m sorry for leaving that note.” Fir murmured, twining their tails together. “Once this is all over, I’ll tear it to shreds.”
“Already did.” Juniper nuzzled his neck. “But I just want to know, what made you come back?”
Fir looked her in the eye. “You did.” He smiled, brushing her cheek. “You and your home.”
“Um, speaking of home.” Hickory awkwardly interrupted their moment. “We should probably focus on defending it first. I hear more dragons coming.” Sure enough, overlapping talonsteps could be heard growing louder and louder.
“Could it be the last steward?” Hornbeam hopefully asked, looking at Juniper.
Her face fell. “No. The Hivewings… got to them before I could.” She sadly pointed to the corridor on their right, where in the distance a pool of blood could be seen.
“Forests preserve us.” Elder Rowan muttered, paling slightly before regaining his composure. “In that case, there’s no reason to be here. We must regroup with the rest of the village before…” He trailed off, head tilting to the side.
Fir followed the Leafwing’s gaze to the left, where, at the end of the hallway, a Hivewing soldier stood slack-jawed.
“Captain Atta! Firefly!” He screeched. “THEY’RE HERE!”
“Wait, Firefly?” Fir could’ve sworn he’d heard the name before. “Wasn’t that one of the Hivewings whoaah!”
“Not the time!” Juniper grabbed his talons and her spear as the group retreated to the balcony, away from the three Hivewings who gave bitter chase. Seeing the soldiers armed with spears, Hornbeam and Hickory darted forward and threw open some of the doors, providing makeshift cover to protect their escape.
“Fir! Juniper!” Hornbeam called, backing towards the two. “Throw your spears, then follow up with frostbreath.” They nodded and readied themselves.
Juniper and Hornbeam wound their arms and launched their spears at the incoming soldiers. The Hivewings, for their part, dove into rooms to avoid the projectiles.
“Advance!” One of them, probably Atta, ordered after the spears sailed past.
“For Queen Wasp!” The Hivewing who’d originally spotted them charged forward, followed by his squad until they staggered at the sight of Fir.
“Three moons!” Firefly lowered her bow in shock. “What are you?”
“Your friends in the clearing asked that question too.” Fir snarled. “Let me give you the same reply.”
***
Juniper watched Fir fill the hallway with deadly frostbreath which raced towards the panicked Hivewings. At the back of the line, Firefly scrambled into a nearby room. Captain Atta meanwhile dove to the ground, relying on her helmet to protect against the cold.
Antlion was not so lucky. Gaping in a bewildered stare, he suffered the full blast as streams of frostbreath ran into his open mouth. The ice froze his neck solid, creeping across his ears, wings, and claws before he tumbled onto the floor, dead.
“Holy Spirit of Clearsight!” Firefly screamed.
“And now we go.” Hornbeam turned tail, followed by her and Fir. Arriving at the balcony she saw Elder Rowan flying away alongside Hickory, the latter’s spear stained red. A quick glance at the hole in Chalcis’s neck confirmed the source.
“Here, take my spear.” Hickory handed the weapon to her. “You’re better at throwing than I.”
Juniper looked at the blood-soaked tip apprehensively. “Hopefully I won’t have to.”
Soon all five of them landed safely on the roof. The wind above pressed on their wings, making it difficult to wholly fly away. And so they half-flew, half-ran over the treehouse. Juniper unfurled her wings and glided, dipping up and down among a sea of gusts.
Finally they arrived at the other end of the roof. “Elder Rowan!” Hornbeam pointed to the forest in front of them. Despite the loud gale, shouts and lights could be heard coming from it. “The whole village is almost here. We can fly to them right now!”
“A wise idea.” The Elder nodded and took flight despite the harsh current.
He made it a few wingbeats from the roof before two Hivewings burst from underneath him.
“Elder!” Hickory screamed.
By the trees, they must’ve sprinted the whole length of the treehouse to get here. Though unable to believe her eyes, Juniper still noticed the sheen of sweat glistening on Firefly.
The Elder lurched back towards the roof, where Fir and Hornbeam had already lunged forward to protect him. Hickory and Juniper meanwhile attacked from the sides, trying to pin the soldiers before they could claim their prize.
Atta was the first to try. Knife unsheathed, she thrust the blade at Elder Rowan. Luckily at that moment the wind intensified, blowing face first into him while filling his wings as if they were sails. The extra speed allowed the Elder to crash onto the roof, dazed but alive.
Seeing their target out of reach, alongside the four dragons shooting towards them, the Hivewing captain fled in the opposite direction.
“Firefly, this mission is aborted!” Atta barked, struggling to gain altitude in the wind. “We leave now!”
“No!” Her subordinate refused. “Their Elder remains breathing! And the white one – it said it killed my friends!”
“Forget about your friends! Atta roared back. “We need to stay alive to tell Queen Wa–urk!” Before she could finish, Azalea descended from a willow branch. Like thunder striking the ground, she swung a claw across the Hivewing’s head, knocking her helmet off and replacing it with a nasty gash.
Behind followed three more villagers who grappled the stricken Hivewing, dragging her into the trees. Juniper didn’t envy the captain’s fate.
That left Firefly, alone and outnumbered. Faced between a forest full of enraged villagers and a rooftop filled with the Elder’s bodyguards, she elected to take her chances with the sky. Juniper and her group gave chase nonetheless.
Unfortunately, the soldier’s four wings gave her an advantage in the turbulent air. Using two of her wings as balance and the other two to propel herself, Firefly gained more and more distance between her attackers.
“Give it up, Hivewing!” Hornbeam taunted. “You’ve failed, and now there’s nowhere to hide!”
Firefly nocked an arrow on her bow. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve failed the mission and Queen Wasp again.” She snarled, deftly remaining out of reach. “But I won’t fail my friends. Cardinal! Dauber! Petaltail!” The Hivewing drew back her bow as they faltered back.
She’s trying to shoot the Elder from this distance? Juniper doubted he’d have remained still. What was the soldier planning?
“This is for my comrades.” Firefly tilted her bow away from the Elder, and towards the four pursuers. “Retribution!” She let go.
Juniper finally realized the Hivewing’s plan. But by then it was too late. Accelerated by the wind and guided with pinpoint aim, the arrow rocketed past Juniper before burying itself in Fir.

2.5 weeks PP. Goal is 8PPD but honestly I usually get 7PPD because I have two kids under the age of 1 (eldest will be 1 in early May) & frankly it’s so much mentally & emotionally to juggle on top of all the physical demands & time pumping takes. I am exclusively pumping until we can (hopefully) get tongue & lip ties treated (his appointment is tomorrow so we shall see what they want to do!) Currently I have double mastitis. It’s starting to clear up on the right side but still very red/firm/incredibly painful on the left side.
My left nipple is also absolutely COVERED in blisters. They just randomly started appearing yesterday. I use a 19mm flange (not sure if it’s the right fit because the LC just looked at my nipples and guesstimated, I’ve never been actually measured/fitted but when I used some 17mm flanges it just seemed to make the blisters worse?) And they aren’t milk blebs, cause the liquid inside is clear.
But I get maybe 0.5oz out of the left side (usual is 1.5oz, sometimes just 1, but NEVER 0.5) and I know the milk needs to flow to clear the mastitis.
I know you aren’t supposed to pop them—but honestly, should I pop them for the sake of getting the milk out? Because right now it’s just trapped. All the LCs around me are booked out at least a month and won’t see me even with the mastitis concerns. So I’m really at a loss here.
Anybody have any advice?
(Sidenote: I was really confused when I first joined here because I do a lot of babywearing/cloth diapers/cloth pads groups & in those PPD means “postage paid domestic” so I was like “what are people shipping in this subreddit?” Lol)

Mike’s knuckles were throbbing. They were red and crusty.
“So, you just attacked this guy for no reason, huh?” Officer Bailey asked.
If there was a reason, Mike had no clue what it could be. He didn’t remember attacking anyone.
“Doesn’t make sense Mike,” Bailey continued. “From what everyone says, the kid was minding his own business, polite, totally unaware of what was about to happen to him.”
Bailey reached down and opened up a yellow folder. He pulled out several photographs and laid them on the table.
Blood. A lotta blood. And underneath was the mashed up face of a man. Red and pulpy. Mike could see a single blue eye staring up at him. It looked frightened.
“Is he…” Mike started to ask, then hesitated before the last word.
“Dead?” Officer Bailey answered, finishing Mike’s sentence for him. “What do you think?”
Mike didn’t know what to think. He only remembered hearing the name, “Kyle Anderson.” After that, everything was blank.
“Murder, Mike, that’s what this is.” Bailey said, poking a finger at the pictures. “You beat Kyle to death, crushed his windpipe with your bare hands. What I can’t figure out is why.”
“He’s a goddamn animal,” said the cop standing in the corner of the interrogation room. Thompson was his name. Tall, lean, well-dressed, sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup.
“Maybe Kyle did something to set you off?” Bailey cut back in. “You know, figured you’d teach the kid a lesson, but you didn’t realize your own strength.”
“Are you a tough guy, Mike?” Thompson added, his voice tinged with contempt.
Mike certainly didn’t see himself that way. Sure, he’d been in a couple of fights in high school. “Slapping contests,” would be a more accurate description of those. Mike was fit, a little rough around the edges, but far from a tough guy. Never in a million years could he envision himself assaulting a random stranger while waiting in line at the cellphone store.
And yet, there were witnesses. Lots of them, and they all pointed the finger at Mike.
A faint buzzing noise came from Thompson's direction. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. Thompon’s angular face lit up as he touched the screen.
“We’ve got quite a case against you.” Bailey said, drawing Mike’s attention back to him. “All we want to know now is why you did it? Why on Earth did you attack Mr. Anderson?”
What could he say? Mike had no answer. Even if he did, he never got the chance to offer one.
Thompson stuffed his phone back into his pocket, walked over to the door, turned and said, “Bailey.”
In an instant everything flashed white. Mike felt himself suddenly lurch forward.
The interview room was gone. So were the cops. Mike was floating through a cloudy void, swirling with every color in the rainbow. It was beautiful and sickening at the same time. Intense pressure bore down on Mike’s body as he rocketed through the endless expanse.
A chorus of indistinct whispers rose up around him, talking over each other all at once. Occasionally Mike thought he could make out a word here and there. “Go,” he heard once. “Under,” another voice said. Other words, including, “severed, blood, reunited,” and, “complete,” hissed in his head. The rest was gibberish.
Before Mike could make sense of what was happening, the clouds in front of him parted, opening up to reveal a gaping red chasm. It was immense, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other.
The whispers exploded into a cacophony of static. It was as though someone had cranked the volume knob in Mike’s head all the way to maximum. Pain shot through his eardrums, cascading violently into his temples. His vision blurred.
Then the voices stopped. The pain subsided. Mike was able to make out something moving beyond the opening. It was dark and immense, studded with bony protrusions the size of skyscrapers.
“A hand,” Mike realized. He was looking at an enormous black hand with six fingers, curled inward to form a fist.
Slowly they started to unfurl, revealing a titanic fanged mouth in the palm of the hand. A wave of intense heat poured out of it, washing over Mike’s body. His flesh boiled. Blisters bubbled up on every inch of Mike’s exposed skin. He screamed and writhed, all while plummeting into the depths of that horrific maw.
A flash of white filled Mike’s vision. Pain tore through his stomach, followed by something stinging his shoulder. He was running. Mike knew this because he could feel his feet violently thrust into the pavement. That’s when he realized he was outside, on the street.
A loud, “crack,” cut through the air. Something whizzed past Mike’s head. It sparked as it collided with a nearby brick wall.
“Holy shit,” Mike shouted. Someone was shooting at him.
He turned to look over his shoulder. There was Thompson, gun drawn. Mike ducked into a nearby alley just as he heard another loud bang fill the air.
Thoughts raced through Mike’s mind. Where was he? What was he doing? How did he escape from the police station? And why was he in so much pain?
Only then did it dawn on Mike that he had been shot, twice, once in the stomach and once in the shoulder.
A brick facade rose up in front of Mike, hemmed in on either side by two buildings. It was a dead end, Mike realized. He was trapped.
“Nowhere left to run, tough guy,” Mike heard Thompson say.
He turned to see the barrel of a gun pointed right at him. A cruel smile stretched across Thompson’s face.
“I saw it the moment they brought you into the station,” he said. “The others couldn’t see it, of course. Poor old Bailey didn’t see it. But I did.”
Mike had no idea what Thompson was talking about.
“Listen,” Mike stammered, “I don't know what's going on. I don’t know where I am, or how I…”
“Bang!” Mike felt something tear into his abdomen, causing a spasm of pain to ripple throughout his body. He looked down to see a trickle of red ooze out of his stomach.
“Jesus Christ,” Mike thought. “He shot me!”
Instinctively, Mike put his hand over the bullet hole. He could feel blood well up underneath it. Then Mike felt something else. Something in the palm of his hand was moving. It darted in and out, then writhed around in slow, circular motions over the surface of the wound.
Mike pulled his hand back. Nestled in the middle of his palm was a little mouth, lined with sharp teeth. A meaty tongue slithered out of it, lapping up Mike’s blood.
“What the fuck,” Mike muttered to himself.
“You’ve got the Hand, Mike.” Thompson told him. “Like I said, I recognized it as soon as I saw you.”
The area around the mouth started to turn black, quickly spreading over his entire hand. The discoloration formed into a thick, spiky resin. Vicious looking claws sprouted from the tips of Mike’s fingers, all six of them.
“Looks like you can see it now too,” Thompson said.
Mike looked up and saw Thompson put his gun back in its holster. The cop seemed remarkably relaxed in the face of all the weird shit going on. Mike certainly couldn’t say the same. He was too shocked to be scared, too confused to make sense out of anything, really. The only thing he felt was revulsion.
“I believe you Mike,” Thompson cut in, “when you say you don’t know what’s going on. Clearly you’re new to this.”
As Thompson spoke, he reached up and loosened his tie. Then he undid the top button of his collar.
“You’ve got the Hand, you see.” Thompson continued. “The Hand of the Destroyer. Kyle Anderson, remember him? He had the Whisper, the Whisper of the Hidden One.”
He stopped talking and cleared his throat. A deep, guttural hiss rose up in Thompson’s chest. It reminded Mike of how a crocodile sounds when it bellows. Nothing about it was remotely human.
Thompson spoke again, only this time his voice was slimy and wet. “Kyle tried to use the whisper on you back at the cellphone shop,” Thompson said. “Figured he could quietly pick you off without anyone noticing.”
A burning sensation traveled through Mike’s arm, coming to rest in the palm of his hand. The feeling of revulsion was replaced with hunger, and rage. The pain from his gunshot wounds faded to a dull roar.
“But the Destroyer is tough to kill,” Thomson rasped out. “And so are you. Aren’t you Mike?”
Thompson’s throat was pulsating. Something was wiggling around inside of it, trying to force its way out.
“Then again,” he gurgled. “So am I.”
Mike felt his fingers tighten into a fist. “Danger,” a voice told him. “Get ready.” Even if Mike didn’t understand what was happening, clearly his hand did.
Thompson’s neck was grotesquely swollen. When he spoke, Mike spotted a disgusting mass of green issue bubbling up in Thompson’s mouth.
“Hand of the Destroyer,” he said. “Whisper of the Hidden One.”
Thompson paused for a second, then hissed, “Tongue of the Worm.”
Several long tendrils shot out of Thompson’s throat. They unfurled into a sickening bouquet of moist tongues. Each one bore a set of tiny, curved fangs. They hissed and snarled, snapping at Mike as Thompson slowly walked toward him.
One of the tongues lashed out at Mike’s face. He tilted his head just in time to dodge it, but another tongue managed to latch onto Mike’s torso, sinking its teeth in. Mike reached around with his mutated hand and grabbed the tendril. He felt the mouth in his palm take a bite. The tendril let go, allowing Mike to pull it away from his body.
More and more of Thompson’s tongues found their mark, though. They coiled around Mike, tearing away chunks of his flesh bit by bit. One slithered into the wound in Mike’s abdomen. He could feel it dig around inside his guts.
If Mike didn’t act soon, Thompson was going to rip him to pieces. But what could he do? All he had was a tiny little mouth in the palm of his hand.
It was then that Mike felt the heat inside of his body swell. With it came a burst of pure malice, a kind of hatred that was deeper and more abiding than anything Mike had experienced before. He didn’t just want to kill Thompson, he wanted to annihilate him.
Mike caught one of the tongues in his hand and twisted. At the same time his palm bit down hard. It went all the way through, severing the tongue completely.
Thompson let out a muffled yelp, then reeled backward. His mouthful of tongues squirmed wildly. The tendril burrowing through Mike’s abdomen retracted. Black, tar-like liquid poured from the opening it left behind. As soon as the liquid hit the ground it ignited in a bright, yellow flash.
“Fuckin’ a,” Mike thought. “My blood is flammable!”
That realization horrified, excited, and disgusted Mike all at once. It also gave him an idea. He placed his palm against his stomach. He could feel the mouth inside lick up the slime gushing from his wound. Instinct told him when it had eaten enough. Then he stretched out his arm, opened his fist, and let it rip.
The Hand vomited a steady stream of tar all over Thompson. Instantly it burst into flames, unleashing a cloud of smoke and cinders. The tongues curled up and withered under the heat. Thompson thrashed feebly, trying in vain to put the fire out.
Seeing so much suffering and terror filled Mike with joy. He reveled in the carnage, savoring the smell of charred flesh filling the air.
“Go,” Mike heard a voice say. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. Then he felt his hand moving.
“Go under,” the voice growled.
It was coming from his hand, Mike realized. He turned his wrist. The mouth in his palm grinned up at him.
“That which is severed is still bound by blood,” it said. “Reunite what was undone.”
Bursts of heat escaped from the mouth as it spoke, causing the air around it to ripple. Mike felt every word reverberate throughout his body. Whatever possessed him ran much deeper than just his hand.
“Make him complete,” the mouth said. The mention of “him” filled Mike with dread, though he didn't know why.
A loud crash drew Mike’s attention back to the alley. He spotted something green and lanky scurry up a nearby fire escape, disappearing as it pulled itself over the top of the building.
Mike turned his head back to where Thompson was a minute ago. In his place rested a pile of smoldering sludge. Another sting of satisfaction struck Mike at the sight of his enemy’s remains. But then Mike spotted a trail of mucus stretching out from underneath the pile. It led to the building with the fire escape.
“The Destroyer is tough to kill,” Thompson had said earlier. “Then again, so am I.”
The malice, the rage, the spiteful sadism left Mike all at once. His hand felt lighter. He looked at it. The mouth, the claws, the sixth finger, they had all vanished. So had the injuries caused by Thompson’s attack. Even the bullet wounds were gone. As far as Mike could tell, he was healthy and back to normal.
His clothes were a mess though, ripped to shreds and stained with a variety of different fluids. That feeling of revulsion returned. There was something inside of Mike, something powerful and cruel. Mike was nearly overwhelmed by its malice. The Hand granted him unnatural abilities, but it also threatened to subsume him.
Mike’s encounter with Thompson, the Tongue of Worm, was already a blur in his mind. It all seemed so impossible, so far-fetched. His memory was fading, Mike realized, just like it had with Kyle Anderson. Pretty soon Mike would have no idea where he was or how he got there.
Mike needed to remember though. So much damage had already been done. He was wanted for murder, and now he was on the run from the cops, one of whom was secretly a monster in disguise. If he forgot everything that had happened he’d be back to square one, clueless and hunted, running for his life without knowing why.
“Go,” Mike heard a voice echo in his mind. “Make him whole again.”
Mike felt grounded all of a sudden, his thoughts crystallized. The memory of his encounter with Thompson came back into focus. Clearly, whatever evil was inside Mike had a vested interest in keeping him clear-headed. Mike needed the Hand and the Hand needed him, at least for the time being.
If Mike wanted to make it through this, he would have to, “go under.” He’d have to find what was severed and reunite it. Mike would have to find a way to, “make him whole,” whatever the hell that meant.
“Him,” just the thought of that word sent a shiver down Mike’s spine. “Hand of the Destroyer,” Thompson had called Mike. But who or what was the Destroyer, and why had it chosen Mike to be its Hand?
Mike needed answers.

My knuckles were throbbing. They were red and crusty.
“So, you just attacked this guy for no reason, huh?” Officer Bailey asked.
If there was a reason, I had no clue what it could be. I didn’t remember attacking anyone.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Bailey continued. “From what everyone says, the kid was minding his own business, polite, totally unaware of what was about to happen to him.”
Bailey reached down and opened up a yellow folder. He pulled out several photographs and laid them on the table.
Blood. A lotta blood. And underneath was the mashed up face of a man. Red and pulpy. I could see a single blue eye staring up at me. It looked frightened.
“Is he…” I started to ask, then hesitated before the last word.
“Dead?” Officer Bailey answered, finishing my sentence for me. “What do you think?”
I didn’t know what to think. I only remembered hearing the name, “Kyle Anderson.” After that, everything was blank.
“Murder, that’s what this is.” Bailey said, poking a finger at the pictures. “You beat Kyle to death, crushed his windpipe with your bare hands. What I can’t figure out is why.”
“He’s a goddamn animal,” said the cop standing in the corner of the interrogation room. Thompson was his name. Tall, lean, well-dressed, sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup.
“Maybe Kyle did something to set you off?” Bailey cut back in. “You know, figured you’d teach the kid a lesson, but you didn’t realize your own strength.”
“Do you think you’re tough?” Thompson added, his voice tinged with contempt.
I certainly didn’t see myself that way. Sure, I’d been in a couple of fights in high school. “Slapping contests,” would be a more accurate description of those. I might have been a little rough around the edges, but I wouldn’t describe myself as tough. Never in a million years could I envision myself assaulting a random stranger while waiting in line at the cellphone store.
And yet, there were witnesses. Lots of them, and they all pointed the finger at me.
A faint buzzing noise came from Thompson's direction. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. Thompon’s angular face lit up as he touched the screen.
“We’ve got quite a case against you.” Bailey said, drawing my attention back to him. “All we want to know now is why you did it? Why on Earth did you attack Mr. Anderson?”
What could I say? I had no answer. Even if I did, I never got the chance to offer one.
Thompson stuffed his phone back into his pocket, walked over to the door, turned and said, “Bailey.”
In an instant everything flashed white. I felt myself suddenly lurch forward.
The interview room was gone. So were the cops. I was floating through a cloudy void, swirling with every color in the rainbow. It was beautiful and sickening at the same time. Intense pressure bore down on my body as I rocketed through the endless expanse.
A chorus of indistinct whispers rose up around me, talking over each other all at once. Occasionally I thought I could make out a word here and there. “Go,” I heard once. “Under,” another voice said. Other words, including, “severed, blood, reunited,” and, “complete,” hissed in my head. The rest was gibberish.
Before I could make sense of what was happening, the clouds in front of me parted, opening up to reveal a gaping red chasm. It was immense, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other.
The whispers exploded into a cacophony of static. It was as though someone had cranked the volume knob in my head all the way to maximum. Pain shot through my eardrums, cascading violently into my temples. My vision blurred.
Then the voices stopped. The pain subsided. I was able to make out something moving beyond the opening. It was dark and immense, studded with bony protrusions the size of skyscrapers.
“A hand,” I realized. I was looking at an enormous black hand with six fingers, curled inward to form a fist.
Slowly they started to unfurl, revealing a titanic fanged mouth in the palm of the hand. A wave of intense heat poured out of it, washing over my body. My flesh boiled. Blisters bubbled up on every inch of my exposed skin. I screamed and writhed, all while plummeting into the depths of that horrific maw.
A flash of white filled my vision. Pain tore through my stomach, followed by something stinging my shoulder. I was running. I knew this because I could feel my feet violently thrust into the pavement. That’s when I realized I was outside, on the street.
A loud, “crack,” cut through the air. Something whizzed past my head. It sparked as it collided with a nearby brick wall.
“Holy shit,” I shouted. Someone was shooting at me.
I turned to look over my shoulder. There was Thompson, gun drawn. I ducked into a nearby alley just as I heard another loud bang fill the air.
Thoughts raced through my mind. Where was I? What was I doing? How did I escape from the police station? And why was I in so much pain?
Only then did it dawn on me that I had been shot, twice, once in the stomach and once in the shoulder.
A brick facade rose up in front of me, hemmed in on either side by two buildings. It was a dead end, I realized. I was trapped.
“Nowhere left to run,” I heard Thompson say.
He turned to see the barrel of a gun pointed right at me. A cruel smile stretched across Thompson’s face.
“I saw it the moment they brought you into the station,” he said. “The others couldn’t see it, of course. Poor old Bailey didn’t see it. But I did.”
I had no idea what Thompson was talking about.
“Listen,” I stammered, “I don't know what's going on. I don’t know where I am, or how I…”
“Bang!” I felt something tear into my abdomen, causing a spasm of pain to ripple throughout my body. I looked down to see a trickle of red ooze out of my stomach.
“Jesus Christ,” I thought. “He shot me!”
Instinctively, I put my hand over the bullet hole. I could feel blood well up underneath it. Then I felt something else. Something in the palm of my hand was moving. It darted in and out, then writhed around in slow, circular motions over the surface of the wound.
I pulled my hand back. Nestled in the middle of my palm was a little mouth, lined with sharp teeth. A meaty tongue slithered out of it, lapping up my blood.
“What the fuck,” I muttered to myself.
“You’ve got the Hand.” Thompson told me. “Like I said, I recognized it as soon as I saw you.”
The area around the mouth started to turn black, quickly spreading over my entire hand. The discoloration formed into a thick, spiky resin. Vicious looking claws sprouted from the tips of my fingers, all six of them.
“Looks like you can see it now too,” Thompson said.
I looked up and saw Thompson put his gun back in its holster. The cop seemed remarkably relaxed in the face of all the weird shit going on. I certainly couldn’t say the same. I was too shocked to be scared, too confused to make sense out of anything, really. The only thing I felt was revulsion.
“I believe you,” Thompson cut in, “when you say you don’t know what’s going on. Clearly you’re new to this.”
As Thompson spoke, he reached up and loosened his tie. Then he undid the top button of his collar.
“You’ve got the Hand, you see.” Thompson continued. “The Hand of the Destroyer. Kyle Anderson, remember him? He had the Whisper, the Whisper of the Hidden One.”
He stopped talking and cleared his throat. A deep, guttural hiss rose up in Thompson’s chest. It reminded me of how a crocodile sounds when it bellows. Nothing about it was remotely human.
Thompson spoke again, only this time his voice was slimy and wet. “Kyle tried to use the whisper on you back at the cellphone shop,” Thompson said. “Figured he could quietly pick you off without anyone noticing.”
A burning sensation traveled through my arm, coming to rest in the palm of my hand. The feeling of revulsion was replaced with hunger, and rage. The pain from my gunshot wounds faded to a dull roar.
“But the Destroyer is tough to kill,” Thomson rasped out. “And so are you.”
Thompson’s throat was pulsating. Something was wiggling around inside of it, trying to force its way out.
“Then again,” he gurgled. “So am I.”
I felt my fingers tighten into a fist. “Danger,” a voice told me. “Get ready.” Even if I didn’t understand what was happening, clearly my hand did.
Thompson’s neck was grotesquely swollen. When he spoke, I spotted a disgusting mass of green issue bubbling up in Thompson’s mouth.
“Hand of the Destroyer,” he said. “Whisper of the Hidden One.”
Thompson paused for a second, then hissed, “Tongue of the Worm.”
Several long tendrils shot out of Thompson’s throat. They unfurled into a sickening bouquet of moist tongues. Each one bore a set of tiny, curved fangs. They hissed and snarled, snapping as Thompson slowly walked toward me.
One of the tongues lashed out at my face. I tilted my head just in time to dodge it, but another tongue managed to latch onto my torso, sinking its teeth in. I reached around with my mutated hand and grabbed the tendril. I felt the mouth in my palm take a bite. The tendril let go, allowing me to pull it away from my body.
More and more of Thompson’s tongues found their mark, though. They coiled around me, tearing away chunks of my flesh bit by bit. One slithered into the wound in my abdomen. I could feel it dig around inside my guts.
If I didn’t act soon, Thompson was going to rip me to pieces. But what could I do? All I had was a tiny little mouth in the palm of my hand.
It was then that I felt the heat inside of my body swell. With it came a burst of pure malice, a kind of hatred that was deeper and more abiding than anything I had experienced before. I didn’t just want to kill Thompson, I wanted to annihilate him.
I caught one of the tongues in my hand and twisted. At the same time my palm bit down hard. It went all the way through, severing the tongue completely.
Thompson let out a muffled yelp, then reeled backward. His mouthful of tongues squirmed wildly. The tendril burrowing through my abdomen retracted. Black, tar-like liquid poured from the opening it left behind. As soon as the liquid hit the ground it ignited in a bright, yellow flash.
“Fuckin’ a,” I thought. “My blood is flammable!”
That realization horrified, excited, and disgusted me all at once. It also gave me an idea. I placed my palm against my stomach. I could feel the mouth inside lick up the slime gushing from my wound. Instinct told me when it had eaten enough. Then I stretched out my arm, opened my fist, and let it rip.
The Hand vomited a steady stream of tar all over Thompson. Instantly it burst into flame, unleashing a cloud of smoke and cinders. The tongues curled up and withered under the heat. Thompson thrashed feebly, trying in vain to put the fire out.
Seeing so much suffering and terror filled me with joy. I reveled in the carnage, savoring the smell of charred flesh filling the air.
“Go,” I heard a voice say. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. Then I felt my hand moving.
“Go under,” the voice growled.
It was coming from my hand, I realized. I turned my wrist. The mouth in my palm grinned up at him.
“That which is severed is still bound by blood,” it said. “Reunite what was undone.”
Bursts of heat escaped from the mouth as it spoke, causing the air around it to ripple. I felt every word reverberate throughout my body. Whatever possessed me ran much deeper than just my hand.
“Make him complete,” the mouth said. The mention of “him” filled me with dread, though I didn't know why.
A loud crash drew my attention back to the alley. I spotted something green and lanky scurry up a nearby fire escape, disappearing as it pulled itself over the top of the building.
I turned my head back to where Thompson was a minute ago. In his place rested a pile of smoldering sludge. Another sting of satisfaction struck me at the sight of my enemy’s remains. But then I spotted a trail of mucus stretching out from underneath the pile. It led to the building with the fire escape.
“The Destroyer is tough to kill,” Thompson had said earlier. “Then again, so am I.”
The malice, the rage, the spiteful sadism left me all at once. My hand felt lighter. I looked at it. The mouth, the claws, the sixth finger, they had all vanished. So had the injuries caused by Thompson’s attack. Even the bullet wounds were gone. As far as I could tell, I was healthy and back to normal.
My clothes were a mess though, ripped to shreds and stained with a variety of different fluids. That feeling of revulsion returned. There was something inside of me, something powerful and cruel. I was nearly overwhelmed by its malice. The Hand granted me unnatural abilities, but it also threatened to subsume me.
My encounter with Thompson, the Tongue of Worm, was already a blur in my mind. It all seemed so impossible, so far-fetched. My memory was fading, I realized, just like it had with Kyle Anderson. Pretty soon I would have no idea where I was or how I got there.
I needed to remember though. So much damage had already been done. I was wanted for murder, and now I was on the run from the cops, one of whom was secretly a monster in disguise. If I forgot everything that had happened I’d be back to square one, clueless and hunted, running for my life without knowing why.
“Go,” I heard a voice echo in my mind. “Make him whole again.”
I felt grounded all of a sudden, my thoughts crystallized. The memory of my encounter with Thompson came back into focus. Clearly, whatever evil was inside me had a vested interest in keeping me clear-headed. I needed the Hand and the Hand needed me, at least for the time being.
If I wanted to make it through this, I would have to, “go under.” I’d have to find what was severed and reunite it. I would have to find a way to, “make him whole,” whatever the hell that meant.
“Him,” just the thought of that word sent a shiver down my spine. “Hand of the Destroyer,” Thompson had called me. But who or what was the Destroyer, and why had it chosen me to be its Hand?
I needed answers.

<<< First
< Previous
Next >
“With the trees as my witness, I cannot believe what I’m seeing.” Juniper remarked to Azalea, the two standing in Tupelo’s kitchen and watching Sumac down his fifth glass of willow sap.
“Me neither.” She agreed as the dragonet tossed the empty cup aside, reaching for another.
“We should probably stop him.”
“Yup.” The pair moved towards Sumac. Azalea pulled the target mug away as Juniper wrapped him in a constricting hug, keeping his arms from reaching out.
“Hey!” Sumac wriggled unsuccessfully. “Let me go!”
“So you can stuff yourself with more sap?” Juniper didn’t budge. “You’re going to be sleepless the whole night.”
“And sick.” Azalea added.
“Just one more?” He looked at her with innocent eyes.
“No.” She pinched his cheek as Tupelo walked in, the older Leafwing surprised at the amount of empty cups littering the floor.
“If my son is any indication, this willow sap tea will be a huge success.” He swept the cups with his tail.
“If your son doesn’t drink it all.” Azalea handed the mug she picked up to him. “This would’ve been his sixth.”
“His sixth?” Tupelo looked at Sumac with shock. “I’ve been gone for five minutes!”
“I know.” The dragonet smugly replied as Juniper let go.
“And you didn’t stop him?” Tupelo turned to her and Azalea.
“We thought he’d be full after two.” Juniper shrugged.
“After that, we wanted to see how much further he could go.” Azalea grinned, hiding behind her friend as Tupelo glowered.
“So you think my son is a test subject?” He crossed his arms.
“Yes!” Sumac happily chirped from the floor before clutching his stomach with a sick face. “Dad? I don’t feel so well…”
“Of course you don’t.” Tupelo admonished his son as he scooped him up. “Off to bed with you now.”
“But I don’t feel sleepy!”
“Too bad.” He looked at Juniper and Azalea. “It’s getting late. Shouldn’t you two be heading off as well?”
“Of course.” They turned to leave.
“By the way,” Tupelo asked, “where’s Fir?”
“Flying under the stars again.” Juniper answered, looking uneasy. “We’ll be going now.”
The two left for the exit, remaining silent as they emerged outside. Save for a few night patrols, no other dragons could be seen. In their absence an ethereal silence settled over the air, seemingly uncomfortable with its own quietness.
Azalea put a wing over Juniper’s shoulder. “You alright?”
“No.” She admitted, the pair strolling out of the cafe. “For the past few nights, Fir’s been spending longer and longer flying. I know he’s sad over not being able to go home but I don’t know how to help.”
“I don’t know how any of us could.” Azalea stepped onto the walkway. “It’s not like we’re on a foreign continent like he is. I couldn’t even begin to imagine it.”
Juniper nodded. “I’ve been trying to envision myself in his scales and see how I’d feel. I thought if I understood his emotions, I’d know what to do.”
“Did it work?” Azalea seemed to already know the answer.
“Not at all.” She sighed. “Turns out feeling sad and knowing what to do about it are two different things.”
A nearby firefly floated close to Azalea, landing on her outstretched talon. She let the insect scurry over her claw as it illuminated her scales with a gentle light. “If it gives you any comfort, Fir looked fine today during training.”
“Really?” Juniper hopefully asked.
“Yes! You should’ve seen it.” Azalea animatedly narrated. “The Icewing taught us different combat stances and moves all through the morning. Then after lunch he held sparring matches.”
Juniper whistled. “You? Spar?”
“Better than you’d think.” Azalea playfully jostled her. “I was too fast to catch. Dad couldn’t keep up.”
“You sparred with Aspen and won?” Juniper skeptically asked. She found it hard to wrap her head around how her friend had managed against the larger Leafwing.
Azalea clutched her heart. “You wound me Juniper!” She pantomimed fainting, falling to the floor. “Have you no faith in your friend?”
“So melodramatic.” Juniper rolled her eyes, cracking a smile. She held out a claw to pull her back up. “How’d you do it?”
“My natural skills, of course.” She smirked. “Along with an extra tool. Dad donated most of the shop’s venomous insects to the Elder’s treehouse, but not before I borrowed a stink bug.”
Juniper stared. “Azalea. You didn’t.”
“I did!” She cackled. “The look on Dad’s face was priceless! We had to stop training for half an hour to let the smell fade…” Azalea trailed off before her voice jumped back. “But still – priceless.”
“I don’t think using insects was the point of sparring. Can’t you only use weapons?” A stiff breeze from higher up blew onto Juniper. She let the cool wind wash over her wings.
“In a fight, everything is a weapon.” Azalea quoted. “Fir taught that today. Said he learned it from you.”
“Me?” Juniper disbelievingly turned to her friend.
“Yes, you.” It was Azalea’s turn to roll her eyes. “He told us you used a lantern to defeat a Hivewing – a lantern!”
“It was a lamp, actually.” Juniper clarified, remembering how she’d incapacitated Dauber. “Fir distracted him with frostbreath, giving me time to grab the flamesilk center and swing.”
“Bugs, lights, they all can be weapons. Right?”
“Right.”
Azalea used what she could to win, just like her. Suddenly, Juniper could easily see how her friend won against Aspen. Before she could think further they arrived at her treehouse.
“Just remember. Fir might be struggling, but if there’s anyone he’ll open up to, it’s you.” Azalea stopped walking.
“Even so, that Icewing can be more stubborn than a boulder.” Juniper quietly stepped inside. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. “See you tomorrow, Azalea.”
“See you.”
Juniper discreetly closed the door behind her before tiptoeing through the hallway. She turned to the right after reaching the kitchen and crept up to the entrance of Mother’s room, putting an ear to the door. Sure enough, soft snores could be heard from the other side.
Mother didn’t sleep early, meaning Juniper must’ve been staying up longer these past couple days.
Hanging out with friends, and waiting for Fir to land. She admitted to herself, quietly walking to her room. The Icewing’s midnight flights were rubbing off on her sleep, though Juniper couldn’t complain. The time spent talking and comforting each other during those late hours were ones well spent.
The door opened with a muffled creak, letting Juniper enter. Judging by the audible wind whistling from the window, a thick cloud cover must be blocking the moonlight outside. It would certainly explain why the space was almost pitch black.
Squinting her eyes to the right, Juniper made out the outline of Azalea’s painting. She turned left and stepped in the opposite direction, towards a vine jutting out the ceiling from which hung a firefly lamp purchased the day before. An indigo cloth hung over it so that its light faded after a few talon-lengths. She tossed to the side to fill the air with yellow light.
Illumination taken care of, Juniper turned to the center of the room where her hammock rested – on the floor. She’d insisted that Fir sleep on something other than hardwood. It wasn’t the thickest of mattresses, but neither of them minded.
Lost in thought, Juniper didn’t even notice herself stepping on the hammock until a crumpling sound alerted her to something – something distinctively not a leaf. Looking down, Juniper couldn’t help but be surprised at a small piece of paper wedged between her talons.
Paper? She cocked her head before going back to the lantern, holding the mystery in her right claw. Her left claw gripped the lamp that she held next to the paper, which on closer inspection revealed itself to be a rectangular note.
“Huh. Did Fir write this?” Juniper wondered aloud, scanning the words with interest. “I wonder…”
The last word died in her throat while she continued to read, suffocated by growing shock. Finally it erupted into a shrill gasp as she fell to the floor, the lamp dropping with a clatter.
No, no no no. Juniper’s head spun until she heard blood pounding in her ears. It can’t be. Fir, he – he wouldn’t do this.
Yet the words on the note remained unchanged. That didn’t stop her from vainly reading it again.
Juniper,
I can’t stay here any longer. Every time I fly, the stars remind me of everything left behind. You’ve seen how much it's affected me. You’ve seen how bad it gets. I can’t stop thinking of home.
It’s too much.
Which is why I have to return to my tribe. I’m sorry for being so abrupt, but it’s better I don’t drag this on.
Goodbye Juniper. I’ll never forget you.
– Fir
“...why*?*” She choked out, feeling tears blur her vision. A few fell on the note, creating stains that bled through the letters.
“...why?” Juniper stood up and took a single shaking step before falling back down on the hammock mat. She buried her snout within the woven leaf, bit into it, and screamed, hoping the muffled noise didn’t wake Mother up.
“WHY?”
She curled up into a ball, crying.
Everything that’s happened. Everything they did. Everything they went through together. All of it, just for Fir to leave. And the worst part?
He couldn’t even tell it to her face.
Her eyes burned again, this time not only from tears. Juniper clenched her claw which held the note and squeezed, watching it crumple into twisted pulp. Once it did she walked to the window and held it over the edge. There she shredded the paper line by line, still tearing up while tearing down Fir’s message.
One by one, bits of writing spiraled down. A few became caught on willow branches, holding on the best they could. But a single gust from the worsening winds above shook them away to join the rest as they all spun into an empty dark.
Empty. Hollow. Juniper felt her face contort beneath a flood of emotions which threatened to wash her away. She gripped the window ledge for support, feeling the wood compress beneath her grip. But amidst the grief and anger, seeds of confusion steadily pulsed.
“Why did you do this, Fir?” Juniper tore away the last of the note, biting back further tears. Crying won't help her think, nor would looking at the sky where he was leaving–.
Don’t say forever, don’t say forever. She stiffly turned away and approached the fallen lamp, cradling it to her chest. The light helped her think. Seeing it illuminate the surrounding floor, Juniper focused on what she knew.
Fir. Fir missed home. For the last two days, she’d clearly seen that. The Icewing flew around the village hours into the night, and returned looking sadder than when he’d started. Yet as Juniper thought further back she recalled more subtle signs farther into the past, ever since the festival and their dance.
His frequent library trips to the Elder’s treehouse. The concealed pain in his eyes at the mere mention of “home” or “tribe”. He’d even told her outright his problem! But Juniper thought his pain would fade – that she could help it fade. She should’ve known better after the rumors began. Some Leafwings spoke about Hornbeam offering back Fir’s fishing net that’d caught Cassava, and the Icewing accepting.
Juniper didn’t think too much of it at the time. Now she did so with a frenzy, wrapping herself in her head. It didn’t take long for regret to grow alongside it.
The signs were there all along, weren’t they? You knew Fir’s stubbornness. You knew he wouldn’t let a problem like that “fade away”. She numbly nodded. Azalea said it herself. You’re the only one he’d open up to. Juniper drooped her wings, obscuring the lamp and shrinking its light.
And still you failed. You failed him just like you failed Father.
“No!” Juniper jolted up, flaring her wings. “By the trees, no! I didn’t – I didn’t –” She sank to the floor, wrapping her wings and tail around herself. “It can’t possibly be–”
All my fault.
But the light didn’t lie. It shone unimpeded upon an empty and hollow room, never to be visited by an Icewing again.
Forever.
The tears came back with force, bursting from sobs that shook Juniper to the core. She didn’t do enough to soothe Fir’s worries, and now he was gone. There was only her to blame. Following this idea, dark tendrils enveloped her mind.
That’s right. Suffer. They bit into her like thorns. You deserve this. Juniper could only muster a faint whimper in response as grief pressed on her heart. A high-pitched wheeze from her throat alerted Juniper that perhaps her lungs were being squeezed too. Uncomfortably so.
Searching for fresh breath she tried to stand up but found herself immobilized. Every inhale was cried away the next moment, leaving her lungs devoid of air. Dark spots looped at the edges of her vision, curling deeper and deeper like–
– like barbs on a rose bush. Juniper’s eyes widened as an idea took root. Sumac said all she needed to do was jump. A leap of faith sounded pretty appealing right about now.
Another wheeze made her double over. Juniper had to act – now. Envisioning her guilt as thorns from the thicket, she braced her legs and sucked in air. Before another teardrop could fall, she pushed herself from the hammock mat and staggered to the window.
Anguish clutched at her legs, doing their best to pull her back down where it could dominate her mind. Juniper forced herself past it, solely focused on getting to the window until at last her front talons felt familiar wood. Without hesitation she threw her head outside and took the deepest breath she could.
In, out. In out. Juniper just breathed, minutes melting by. Gradually her vision refocused, a relieved calm settling over her. Feeling slightly better she tilted her head down and looked at the sprawling dark below.
Fear and guilt; that was all it offered. It was all any hollowness could give. She shook her head, and looked skywards. Despite her “jump”, Juniper’s heart still bled raw. Fir’s departure had left a hole she knew wouldn’t be filled for a long time. Still, she’d been through this before. She’d loved Father too, and had mourned his passing with as much grief as now. Yet she carried on, supported by Mother, Azalea, and most importantly, herself.
Juniper looked at the clouds which blocked the shining stars, feeling only more tears decorating her face.
But one day, I’ll look at the sky and smile, thinking about what I had. She vowed. And not about what I’d lost. Promise made, Juniper let a small spark of hope warm herself. She could get through this, no matter the guilt.
As unceasing winds roiled the clouds, a stray breeze brought with it an idle thought. Just the dark below entrapped Juniper, could the sky above have done something similar with Fir? She could easily imagine that: the Icewing’s perseverance being worn down night after night, unable to stop and so remaining in pain. All while stubbornly hiding its true extent, even to her.
Like thorns in a thicket, Juniper’s guilt over the Hivewings and Cassava had been overwhelming. They paralyzed her from moving on when that was exactly what she needed to do. Perhaps the stars did the same for Fir, the fear that he’d never return home pushing him to leave when he should’ve stayed put. If this was true, she understood the feeling.
Which meant she could fight it.
Wordlessly she backed away from the window and turned to the lamp. She hooked it under a wing before moving to the door, opening it quickly but quietly. Juniper knew what Fir felt, trapped in his own mind. When that happened, the only way to be freed was for another to pull you out. She would be that dragon for him.
But first she had to catch up to him. Heading into the kitchen and opening the pantry, Juniper knew exactly how.
Within the forest, trees occasionally become sick. Whether from disease, insects, or old age, there were times when the all-important willows crept close to death. In those cases Elder Rowan visited the dying tree himself, and used a strange green liquid to revitalize the plant.
During the sickness, he distributed vials of it to the healers. Though the stimulant was unsuccessful in treating symptoms, Mother still kept a few spare vials. Juniper took one the size of her talon and contemplated the grass-green liquid within. Reportedly, it gave a huge burst of energy for a short time before leaving you tired to the bone.
Given Fir’s head start, it was her only hope. Juniper drank the glass without hesitation and flew to the door.
Woah. She stopped, marveling at herself. Already she felt bigger, stronger, and faster. The vial must be taking effect.
Then I have no time to lose. Juniper burst outside before leaping onto the roof with a loud thud, lightning in her veins. She craned her neck to the horizon – but suddenly stopped and sniffed once, then twice.
I smell smoke. Before Juniper could widen her eyes she heard wingbeats coming from above, and with it a droning noise which rang over the growing wind.
A second later, Hivewings burst through the clouds.
******
Fir burst through the clouds with a new apology on his tongue. Addressing the air as an audience, he began.
“Juniper, I’m sorry. And…” He trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
“By the teeth of the Great Ice Dragon, I need something longer than that.” Fir growled. With how short his letter was, such a brief explanation would be insulting! He twirled around to clear his head and went back to thinking.
Should he talk about the thought process that convinced him to flee so abruptly? Probably not. He was apologizing for leaving, not justifying it like in his note.
Three moons, how did I think that was a good idea? Fir lamented, hoping Juniper hadn’t stumbled across it yet. Given his luck, she likely has already. He fearfully imagined how she would react to his bluntness. Shock? Grief? Anger? Despair?
Fir angled his wings against the wind and sunk to the treetops for more speed. Knowing Juniper, she’d probably fly to the coast herself to talk him out of it. He had to return home before she left too.
His wings jerked from a sudden realization. Home; he’d called Willowwood home.
Not the time, Fir. Focus on flying. He chastised himself. Semantics could wait for later. With how much the wind was picking up, he couldn’t be caught in the open when the storm hit unless he wanted to be blown out to sea. Thankfully he made out a dull glow in the distance.
It was Willowwood at last. Fir angled himself towards the light, though not without an inkling of doubt. During his night flights he had to search for the tops of treehouses to get back, since the village was never bright enough to spot. What could be the reason behind the sudden change tonight?
Unless… could that be a search party for me? Fir staggered mid flight. Immediately he knew who did it; Juniper, following Azalea’s example, must’ve organized the whole village to bring him back.
“Juniper, you didn’t have to.” Fir whispered, blinking furiously before redoubling his speed. He had to get back before they left for nothing. Meanwhile the wind defiantly blew in his face, as it had for the whole flight. He took a deep breath to pump his wings –
– and almost hacked his lungs out.
“By all the snow monsters!” Fir covered his snout with a claw. “Is that ash?” It had to be – he’d recognize the smell of soot anywhere. But why here?
Worry settled over his wings which beat harder through the air. Despite the added noise, faint crackling sounds could be heard over the wind. It too sounded eerily familiar. With growing dread Fir swooped over a patch of towering willows and looked down.
A raging wildfire looked back, confirming his fear.
“Three moons!” Fir dove, frostbreath gathering in his mouth. He saw green shapes cast over the harsh firelight, revealing themselves to be a panicked Leafwing patrol throwing water and dirt at the inferno.
One of them noticed his descent. “Hivewings! Watch out!”
Hivewings? Why would they – oh. Oh no. Fir skidded to a halt as the dragons realized who he was.
“Wait – it’s Fir the Icewing!” A dragon exclaimed. “Quick, help us!”
As much as he wanted to ask questions, fighting the fire came first. Circling the edges of the blaze, Fir let loose his frostbreath to contain its spread. Then he shot additional blasts throughout the center, killing the flames.
“Thank the trees.” A Leafwing flew next to him. “We thought the whole forest was going to burn doaaa!” He yelped as Fir grabbed him by the shoulders.
“You said Hivewings.” He growled. “Why did you say Hivewings?”
“Because I saw them!” The Leafwing shook Fir off. “Two of them appeared through the clouds and dropped these weird pots. Next thing we know, everything was on fire.”
Fir didn’t hear that last part. He’d already begun to fly away to Willowwood. If Hivewings were attacking the village, he had to get to Juniper.
“Wait!” The villager called. Fir looked back at him, who gestured wildly to other bright spots in the distance. “Before they flew to the village, the Hivewings started other fires. You have to help them or else the whole forest will be decimated!”
But what about Juniper? Fir hesitated, torn over what to do. His emotions screamed at him to return to Willowwood, but reason kept him still. If he didn’t fight the fires, they would surround the village and swallow it in flame. Not even his frostbreath would be enough then.
“Alright,” he nodded, “I’ll stop the other fires.”
Great Ice Dragon, watch over Juniper. Fir prayed without hesitation as he soared to the next fire. And Juniper, don’t you dare get yourself killed.
******
“Juniper, don’t you dare go outside! You’ll get yourself killed!” Mother’s voice thundered from her room as her daughter, who’d returned inside to wake her up, ignored her words.
“I’m going outside!” She flung open the door.
“Junie, no!” Mother’s voice broke with fear. Juniper hesitated, but only for a moment. I can’t curl up and hide. She steeled herself, searching the skies for Hivewings. This is my home.
Movement to the right caught her eye. There – a flash of orange scales behind a willow. Juniper took flight and trailed the tight knit Hivewing group while they sped just above the treetops. She wisely flew under the cover of foliage, remaining unseen while still able to see the squadron as a few of them took strange objects out of the bags they carried.
Juniper squinted, confused at what she saw. They looked like clay pots with rope sticking out of them. One of the soldiers barked an order, causing the Hivewings carrying the pots to stop and hover. They took out strands of flamesilk held with tweezers which shook in the wind, lit the rope on fire, and threw them into the trees below.
A few seconds later, the platforms under her burst into flame.
Clearsight preserve us! Horrified, Juniper climbed higher as panicked shouts joined blistering heat to fill the air below. The Hivewings turned to the carnage they created, giving her a glimpse of their faces. One of them had a bow slung over their back, along with familiar red and yellow scales.
That was all she saw before they continued their flight, looking unbothered – no, satisfied – at what they’d done. Juniper squeezed the branch she held onto until her talons dug into her palm.
They can’t get away with this. She vowed. I have to keep following them.
A snapping noise could be heard underneath as the inferno ate through a walkway’s vines. Juniper’s mind yelled at her to descend, and help fight the fiery threat.
Then what about the Hivewing one? Juniper appeared to be the only one tailing them, and someone had to have eyes on them. Best for that role to fall on a Leafwing who’d dealt with those dragons before:
Her.
Yet Fir was still out there, leaving Pantala. But I have to protect my home! She fiercely countered, closing her eyes. Spirits of the forest, please guide Fir back.
With that, Juniper refocused on the departing Hivewings and resumed flying. She needed to believe that her village could fight the fire. That Fir would return.
And that they’d all make it through the night.

i just recently had my last two bottom molars taken out and they put in a partial the same day. i know its going to be sore but this is causing my tongue, under my tongue and my cheek to be sore and kinda of raw theres a blister forming between my cheek and the gum part of the partial, i called the emergency number for my dentist and ive heard nothing back so hoping someone can help me out without having to take an unnecessary trip to the emergency room, should i take the partial out until i can get into the dentist or should i just suck it up and leave it in? its day 3 now but this partial is getting looser and looser as it “heals”

I have been fighting cancer for a year already and sadly the situation is not very good , the doctor gave me 2 weeks to live which I was able to pass and now I am under treatment at home , under a new treatment .
The problem now is that I can't taste food , my stomach is always with issues , my tongue with blisters and my throat hurts a lot .
I am a foodie , I love to eat , even when I had other side effects I was able to sit in a restaurant with my wife and parents , but now I am just eating liquids and even that is hard to pass .
It's just like a big joke where life just takes my favourite things in life .
Of course I am happy to be alive and will keep fighting but my mind can't help to think about a good BBQ and not sure if I would be ever able to taste one again ...
Just wish I could af least one last dinner , to eat all I want taste the flavour and that's it, I am really scared of going but also going without being able to eat my favourite food before