Dead by Dawn
I was home alone when they came. My boys were trekking up Mount Kyanjin Ri in Nepal and I was getting a little staycation. No cooking, minimal cleaning, reading, writing and sleeping without being awakened by earthshaking snores or multiple visits to the bathroom that didn’t coincide with my own.
I always thought I would have a heart attack and die if someone broke into my home in the middle of the night. Alternatively, I saw myself grabbing the surprisingly sharp pocketknife I keep by the bed and shocking said invader with a nicely placed jab to the neck…or wherever my flying fist might land.
I did neither.
It was my third night alone and I was sleeping like a baby when a hand covered my mouth, startling me awake for the seconds it took another set of hands to put pressure on my carotid arteries. At least, I assume that’s what he did. All I know is one second I was ready to bite a hand and scream, the next I was waking up in what appeared to be a one-room cabin. I was laying on a cot, hands and feet bound, while seven men sat watching me.
“I hope you don’t think you can actually get a ransom for me. We own a small business. We don’t have major profits. We pay our bills and have no debt. That’s it. You seriously chose the wrong side of town. You know we live on the blue and pink-collar side of town, right? I mean, you saw our house. What were you thinking?”
I babble when I’m nervous. Needless to say, I was nervous.
“You have been chosen,” said the only un-bearded fellow.
You can imagine where my mind went but all I said was, “Is this some kind of religious thing?”
“No,” replied a different guy.
“Kind of,” said a third.
Right. “What have I been chosen for?”
“To kill us.”
I giggled, also a nervous habit. “Great. Give me a gun and the keys to a car.”
“It is not that simple.”
“Of course it isn’t.”
“We were sent here long ago as punishment. We had to live and suffer as you humans…”
“Whoa, what. Wait. You humans? Um, I am sure I don’t really want to know, but, if you are not human, what are you?”
“There is no word for us that you would understand.”
“Fallen angels?” I said, giggling again while my skin had goosebumps and a sheen of sweat.
“More like gods, than the angels that come to your mind.”
“Well, if you are gods, how did you get sent here?”
“We angered the Creator. Our punishment is eternal damnation. Eternal damnation is living and suffering as a human without end. We cannot die.”
“Then how am I supposed to kill you?
“It is the night of the seventh moon in the seventh year of the seventh century since we were relieved of all that made us gods and forced to be but men.”
“Okay.”
“On this night alone, and not again for another seven hundred of your years, the barriers between this plane and ours will open for seven hours – from now until dawn. In that time, if we are killed, we will finally throw off the chains of our earthly imprisonment and return to our true existence.”
“And if I kill you, I get to go home?”
“Yes.”
“So, give me a gun.”
“As I said, it is not that simple.”
“Yeah, I remember. So, what’s the deal?”
“We cannot just let you kill us. We must run away from you, and we have to try not to die. You have to catch us and stab us seven times with this dagger,” the un-bearded one said, pointing to a very pointy knife with a bejeweled handle that I hadn't noticed on the cot next to me.
“Well, I guess you’re stuck here because there is no way I can do that. Have you looked at yourselves lately?” They were seated, but it was obvious they were all in the over six feet, six pack, I eat steak for breakfast and bench-press your mom group.
’While the barriers are down, you will be able to tap into energies and powers you’ve never dreamed of. But you must figure it out on your own or else it would be considered cheating, and we will continue to rot in this hell.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“I did.”
“Oy. Anyway, I have never killed anyone, and it is not on my list of things to do. Couldn’t you take me home and get someone else to do it? Why not hire a contract killer or something.”
“We cannot hire someone. That would be cheating.”
“And this isn’t?”
They looked at each other.
“You have been chosen by the Creator.”
“You are fricking kidding me. You must have really pissed him, or her, off.”
“Clearly since we are here.”
“No, I mean, I am the last person in the world to choose to kill someone. Seriously.”
“If you do not kill us, you will die.”
“As I said, last person. I’ve been suicidal since I was 12. Get it over with. Just shoot me now.”
“You do not want to die.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I definitely don’t want to stab seven men.”
“If you do not find and kill at least one of us an hour for the next seven hours, you will lose a finger each hour. If you do not kill us all by dawn, those you have killed will rise as we have ever done these last seven hundred years we have tried to die in the many wars that have plagued the earth, and you will be beheaded – by seven strokes of seven angry immortal men.”
“That sounds horribly painful.”
The only one who hadn’t spoken looked at me with haunted eyes and said, “It is.”
I wasn't certain we were talking about the same thing.
“Fine, I guess I have no choice. Untie me.”
They looked at each other with a sense of hope or dread, not sure which. “You must free yourself. And you must do it without one of your fingers.” As he said this, one moved quickly to flip me on my side and, using something that must have been made for cutting off fingers, he snipped off my pinkie.
I was still screaming when they left the cabin.
I wasted fifteen minutes of the first hour whimpering. Then I started to think. Okay, if the walls are down, so to speak, and those guys were supposedly like gods, I must be able to tap into some powerful energy.
Why would I be chosen? I thought. Well, because it had to be someone who didn’t want to kill, who had a healthy fear of a painful death if not death itself…what else? Maybe also someone who wanted to believe in other worlds and beings or varying layers of existence… who wasn’t power hungry.I suspect someone who sought power would have a field day figuring out what powers he could get tonight and how to hold on to them.
I just wanted to get home so I could see my boys again. I might even take off from work and hop on a plane like they’d wanted.
A half hour had gone by before I thought, so, if the walls are down, on this amalgamated plane, my pinkie is not gone and the bindings on me do not exist.
And it was so.
I took a deep breath. OMG, I thought. I wanted to think myself anywhere but there, but figured I would end up fingerless and headless, so instead, I grabbed the dagger and went out the door. I thought myself into the form of an owl, carrying the dagger in my claws. I flew above the surrounding forest and began my hunt.
I found the first within minutes. I landed in the branch above where he hid, retook a human form and landed a death blow before he knew I was there. And then I added the six to complete the seven stabs.
And yes, I meant “a human form.” Why take my normal, five foot seven, 120-pound form when I could be six foot six carrying two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle?
I thought myself into owl form and set off to find the other six.
I found all but one within the first three hours, but I hunted all night for the seventh, flying miles of circles around the cabin. I finally flew back to the cabin to rest and think. As I was landing, I saw him through the window. He was sitting, looking at the door, a gun in his hand.
Hmmm, I thought. Either he doesn’t want to go back, or he has to make a good showing.
I flew up to the roof. I heard him speaking.
“I know you are near. I can feel you. You will not be able to kill me, and my brothers will come back, and we will have to stay here. We will take your head and we will have life still. I don’t want to return to the ether. I have grown to love this world. I do not want to leave it.”
Great.
I wondered how to get in the cabin without being seen. Then I thought, why go in the cabin? If there were no air in the cabin, he would suffocate and die. Bingo!
I could hear him choking from my perch on the roof. Within moments, there was silence.
I flew down and peeked in the window. He was on the floor, unmoving. I thought restraints onto his wrists, just in case, and removed the gun from the room. Then I entered, dagger at the ready. As I stabbed him for the seventh and last time, his body faded away or perhaps it was just me, for I found myself standing over my bed in my home. Alone.
The dagger was still in my hand.
Lucky Lift
Four in a lift. Doors stuck.
Relative strangers. Worked on the same floor. I just about recognised them.
"Just my luck" cursed one.
Asked what was wrong. He wanted to get home.
Two said honestly, she was glad to get a break.
Three pulled up a pack of cards, asked us for a game. We played uno and ate my left over m and m's until maintenance came. We exchanged numbers as we left.
"Rotten luck." said maintenance man, letting us out. ,
"Oh, it wasn't that bad," I said, with a smile. And went home to my empty flat.
As Luck Would Have It
"'As luck would have it'. Curious phrase isn't it? As luck would have it. Is it luck that has brought us here tonight, to this moment? Is it fate? Perhaps they're one and the same, two sides of the same coin, ever present, ever aware of the other, yet destined to never meet...
Whatever force has brought us to this moment, a challenge you have issued, and a choice I must make-"
"Will you just play a damn card?"
"Well... as luck would have it... DRAW FOUR! "
"... This is why no-one wants you at game night anymore Gary."
Howls, Swish, Crack
The howls. The swish. The crack.
I grew to admire that hatred in your eyes. They cut me in a way that made me feel like my pain was worth something. They made the color of love leak off my pale palette. It served as a reminder to me– a reminder, which I planned to recreate.
The howls. The swish. The crack.
I considered alternatives, yet none rose higher than this apartment complex. You read my love letter. The howls silenced your plea. The swish- your grasp almost saved me. The crack. My color of love painted the concrete canvas.
I Hate, I Hate How Much I Love You
Dirt.
The dirt under my shoes. Such a ruddy, ugly color.
Filthy and heavy upon the skin.
She was-- is-- the dirt under my shoes. She is and always will be, because she's not.
She's not dead. She can't be, she won't be dead.
Mother's buzzing about the bags under my eyes.
But she can't get it. She can't see, stupid, stupid woman.
The funny thing about the dirt. The dirt is the only thing that keeps one on the ground, walking and living.
The dirt, the Earth is home.
Demons slither out from the shadows.
Your ghost hovers. Stationary.
Undying Love
Every year I hope for an empty bed on Valentine's Day.
Every year, I wake up in the middle of the night to a heavy weight on my chest and claws like sharp arrows sinking into my skin.
“Will you be mine?” It whispers into my ear with a smile.
The corners of its contorted grin widen impossibly. It extends its ghastly hands toward my chest. Its icy claws graze my skin and leave beads of blood in their wake.
Every year I pray my wife's ghost will finally move on from here. The Vatican stopped responding to my letters.
Ten seconds of fame
Elise grabbed the phone when she heard the ring tone, I Will Always Love You.
"Hey, Luca."
"Hey, babe."
"I was just thinking about you."
"Me, too. Look, bad news. I have to work late on Friday."
"Valentine's Day?"
"Yeah, I know. My boss doesn't care."
"Can't you work Saturday instead?"
"I wish, but he insists."
"Okay, I guess. Dinner Saturday?”
"For sure. I'll call you."
Friday night, Elise sat on her couch, flipping channels. She was watching half-time basketball highlights when the picture shifted to the audience. She screamed and threw the remote.
Luca was on the Kiss Cam.
love and hate
I sift through newspaper clippings with her face, identical to mine, to find the note that was sent to my mother days before her disappearance. I went to the police, bloodied, and told them that I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized the phrase. "Love and hate are two sides of the same coin." And his voice, saying, “I love you.” Those three words were left unsaid until that moment. I spoke with a pocket knife. The police asked whose blood it was. I said, "Both, but it’s all mixed up. My father and I bleed the same color."
The Fertility Wall
“The Luperci!” the women shouted.
“Disrobe! Receive the blows of februa to op’n your womb! It’s Mystery!”
“The Luperci come!”
Looking along the wall, she saw hysterical passion in the unclothed women. Menacing shadows loomed, daguerreotypes of heads that hand-held torches painted.
“The Luperci,” her naked companion whispered. Women's shrieks moved like a wave toward her. Suddenly she felt the sting of flagellation on her buttocks. “You were selected—you!" the woman said. Good fortune; your womb be op’ned."
A writhing mass of men, a mindless erection, meant the ritual was not over. She did not have very long to wait.
"Your life is sad."
He spat this out with disgust evident in his tone, turning around and slamming the door as he left.
There was a time when he stood with me through it all; my highs and lows, my falling, my flying. There is a limit to a person's patience, however kind they might be. His wore thin eventually, watching me destroy myself slowly through every means possible. As I crumbled, when he would have once held out his hands to catch the pieces; now he simply watches.
"I lived it anyway." I mumbled at the closed door, waiting.