Clarah stared at the elderly woman laying still. This did not make any sense.

The nurses had just checked in on the woman, and she had been laughing so loud her laugh could be heard from down the hall of the living space for the lost souls.

Some of her silver hair was covering part of her face. As soon as Clarah tried to reach out to move it in the right place, the part that she touched split & fell to the side onto the floor.

Clarah placed one hand over her mouth. Her heart started to beat so fast as if it would burst out of her chest. She stormed out of the room and rushed to the bathroom.

Once there she tried to calm herself down. Then the lights began to flicker. She closed her eyes in a flash…waiting for the lights to get back to working in a normal way.. but they continued to misbehave like a giant flame that was being put out with a burst of water from a magical gourd.

Clarah opened her eyes the minute the lights were functioning properly. She stared in the mirror & froze. Her eyes landed on what she saw in the clear glass.

‘You know I know that you are watching me!’ She bellowed and walked away from her reflection.

She took a deep breath and started to chant:

From the crowing

To the mooring

Souls aligning

Vessels mourning

All come forth

Bring on the mirth

Waves rising

Time bending

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a piece of thread. It swirled around & started to spin itself around her body, tightening its hold on Clarah.

She felt the room getting smaller and crashed onto the floor. After a while, she opened her eyes and found herself back in a familiar place.

‘Hello, there!’ The old lady smiled at her young friend. Clarah tried to get up and bow her head, but she could not move.

‘Now don’t you worry dear. You need your rest. The work has only began. Go tell the others to get ready, too.’

Clarah gave a slight nod and found herself already out of the room, in the hallway on her way to inform the rest of the crew.

What was she going to say to them? Who was this woman anyway? How in the world did she end up in this strange place?

Clarah stopped in the hallway and looked back. All the doors in the corridor had vanished. She began to run and the passage only became longer, and longer.

All of a sudden she heard something begin to crack. She looked down, and the floor beneath her was not there anymore.

‘Ahhhh!’ She screamed as she fell down… to her demise.

#SHATTER (c) 10/06/2022.

Val practically fell out of the dusty yellow school bus, and padded sluggishly up the paved driveway that led to his family’s old but well- maintained Craftsman-style house.  Despite the moderately remote location, all the houses in this neighborhood were designed to clearly demonstrate the decidedly ‘upper-class’ status of the families within them, often including a long, steep private drive that separated the lavish buildings from the common roads, and from each other.

After an unusually arduous day at school, during which Val had endured no less than three midterm exams and one extremely challenging physical health class (running the dreaded mile immediately after lunch left Val’s stomach cramped and sore, even all these hours later), the driveway was an unwelcome final lap. All Val wanted to do at the end of this day was to escape his stiff private school uniform, grab a bowl of cookie-dough ice cream from the freezer, and plop down in front of the 72-inch plasma screen television for an evening of mindless cartoons.

As soon as Val opened the front door, he was met with the flushed face of his little sister ­­Gwen, who, upon seeing him, made an announcement.

“We’re going CAMPING!” before stumbling excitedly on her chubby toddler legs up the main staircase to the second floor and out of sight. Val stood frozen in the doorway, bleary-eyed and confused at this sudden exclamation, until his locked knees shook loose and he slowly approached the kitchen. He heard a cacophony of clanking and shuffling feet. As he turned the corner into the strangely dark kitchen, he was met with the presence of both his mother and father, the latter of whom was in the process of packing up what seemed like the entire contents of the refrigerator into a collection of coolers. Val’s mother stood hunched in the corner over a small portable radio that Val had never known they had. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her jaw was tightly clenched, judging by the tense bumps marring the back corners of her usually soft, slender cheeks.

Upon hearing the click of the light switch being flicked back and forth, in Val’s attempt to illuminate the gloomy room, his father swiftly straightened up and turned around. He held a  bundle of carrots in one hand, and two small jars of grape and strawberry jelly squeezed between the meaty fingers of the other.

“Ah, sorry kiddo- lights have been out here for a little over an hour- apparently statewide.” His face had the same flush that had colored Gwen’s, but where hers was full of blissful excitement, his seemed full of rising heat. This was a man who has been running around for the better part of an hour trying to save the perishables from succumbing to the growing warmth of a non-functional refrigerator.

“Gotta get all this food into these coolers we had in the basement- and wouldn’t you know it when I was down there I found this handy little portable radio so we can listen in on the news to stay updated!” There was something panicky in his eyes that put Val on edge.

“Is it that bad, Dad? Even with a storm or something I thought this stuff usually was fixed up in a day or two.” Val’s eyes flicked doubtfully to the window, observing the clear, blue sky outside. No storm in sight.

His father seemed to not know what to say, and peered over at his mother who had, upon Val’s arrival, quickly switched off the little radio and had arranged her face with a soft smile.

“Don’t worry about it sweetie,” she said, walking over and pulling him into a tight welcome-home hug. “It might be a couple days but your dad’s just a little concerned because we just did all this grocery shopping yesterday and he doesn’t want the food to go to waste, that’s all. I’m sure it’s just a little… glitch, but we will be up and running soon.” As she said this, her eyes met her husbands, and she raised her eyebrows at him as if to encourage him to say something to their slightly bewildered son.

“Yeah kiddo, no worries at all-" his father said, finally snapping back into the moment. "But seeing as we have no power, we thought it could be fun for us to all go camp out in the yard tonight! Back to basics, no technology, no TV, just us and the stars and a big fire- and maybe we can try to get through some of this grub before it goes bad. A king's dinner, whaddaya think about THAT?”

With an expectant smile, he waited for a response from Val, who had just realized he was not going to be able to carry out his TV-and-ice-cream plans tonight. Val sighed, too tired to complain.

“Alright. I’ll go change and get my stuff.”

The two adults’ eyes followed the form of their barely-teenage son shuffling away in the direction of his room. As their smiles twitched out of existence, the shadows curtaining the unusually dark kitchen seemed to grow longer.

­­

In his almost-fifteen years of life in this quiet, affluent neighborhood, Val could not recall a single time that he or his family had ever been camping. Sure, they frequently stayed in their lakeside cabin during the warm summer months, kayaking and swimming on their own private beach by day, playing games and accidentally burning marshmallows over melted chocolate by night, but that was as rough as they ever wanted to play it- they were an indulgent lot, used to pampering and comfort. Something like camping almost felt beneath them- did they even own a tent? Val was not sure.

Despite his exhaustion, Val felt a slight twinge of excitement at the thought of something that was, for him, new and adventurous. Who knew how long the power would be out? They might not have school for a couple days- that meant a few days of relaxing outside, no responsibilities, no homework. Ideally, he would spend this time playing video games or watching TV, but he had a natural affinity for the outdoors- albeit, the outdoor environments typically provided to him were always well curated and heavily connected to indoor power sources or lights and music-playing amenities. Despite a lack of those luxuries however, this could be fun, he decided- good-natured as he was. If his parents had provided him with anything, they had instilled in him a sense of curiosity and open-mindedness to new experiences, despite the lack of opportunities to experience them.

By the time Val had collected a sleeping bag, pillow, extra blanket, flashlight, a small stack of comics for late-night reading, and had brought them out to the backyard, Gwen and their father had already gotten a giant tent (apparently an impulse-buy from years ago, collecting dust in the attic until now) mostly set up. It even had a mesh roof, so they would be able to see the stars when laying down inside. It was tall enough to stand in- in fact, it looked big enough for at least eight people, if not more. Gwen excitedly ran up to Val, still at the same level of childish exhilaration as when she had greeted him barely thirty minutes earlier, and jumped into his arms, forcing him to drop all of his things in the moment to catch her small frame in a big bear hug.

“Val, Val, Val! We get to sleep outside today! Daddy got us a circus tent! We get to make s’mores and a big big fire!” She shrieked, hopping off of him and running back to the small pile of dry chopped lumber stacked neatly along the back wall of the standalone garage. Rousing all the strength her tiny arms could muster, she lifted up a log the size of her body, wavering slightly, and toddled over to the middle of the backyard, dropping it unceremoniously and immediately running back to grab another one to repeat the procedure.

Val chucked and rolled his eyes, and bent down to reassemble his dropped belongings. He was growing more excited too, and eagerly helped his father finish the tent, set up all the sleeping bags inside, and stack some kindling under the haphazard pile of wood that Gwen had laboriously collected.

“Go big or go home tonight, I guess.” smirked their father, as he allowed his youngest to stockpile as many logs as her heart desired. An odd, blank fog seemed to creep into his eyes just after he said this, and he stopped and stared off into the distance, suddenly hunching slightly as if struck with a stomach pain, losing himself in the darkening sky.

Disquieted by this sudden change in his father’s demeanor, Val awkwardly stood by the large tent, not knowing how to respond. Thankfully at that moment, his mother slid open the back door, her arms full of board-games, cards, candy, marshmallows, the works- everything a couple of kids needed for a fun family night under the stars.

“Honey, come help me with these!” she called, gesturing towards Val with her fancily pedicured toes. He obeyed, jogging over to her and catching some of the game boxes as they were about to slip from her grasp. He noticed she had the tiny radio hooked to the belt loop in her jeans, a thin pair of earbuds connected to the input jack.

Snapping out of his reverie, his father accompanied Val to and from the house, collecting more gear for the night, making tall, fully-loaded sandwiches by candlelight as the sun drooped over the horizon, collecting pillows for a plush fort inside their colossal tent. They ignited what turned out to be at least a 7-foot high bonfire in the middle of their perfectly manicured yard- Val wondered if his parents realized how badly burned the grass would be, come morning, as they had no fire pit to speak of. They didn’t seem to be interested in dwelling on that minor fact- both adults seemed intent on giving their children a night full of anything they wanted, leaving all responsibilities to be addressed in the morning.

The rest of the city seemed so far away from their bright patch of levity, as it had succumbed to an unusual inky blackness that extended out over the horizon.

All night, Val’s mother had one earbud lodged firmly in her left ear, connecting her to the little radio that stayed on at her hip. Every now and then, Val would look over to see her eyes grow wide, her lips tighten into a thin line, before she would consciously take a deep breath and re-enter whatever conversation was going on around her. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but he didn’t want to ruin the evening- this was the best night he had ever had with his family. He was sure they would all talk about it in the morning. She seemed intent on not letting on whatever was being whispered in her ear, and Val didn’t want to push.

So, the night went on. The small family of four enjoyed their first authentic night together under the stars, playing round after round of immersive board games, trying their hands at cooking over the fire and eating to their heart’s content.  In the early hours just after midnight, a heavy weight settled over young Gwen’s eyelids- she usually never stayed up past 9 pm. The quiet chirping of the crickets lulled Val to the edges of sleep as well. Though as a young teenager, and had often laid under the covers in his bed on school nights, a handheld video-game console lighting up his focused face until the wee hours of the morning, the night’s unprecedented activities truly exhausted him.

By 1:30 in the morning, the children had drifted off to sleep with their bellies full, their cheeks sore from smiling, their bodies warm and comfortable, not a care in the world. Knowing this, the two parents quietly tucked in their two children, kissed them both gently on their foreheads, zipped up the tent, and walked outside. Passing the last bright embers of their once-towering bonfire, arm-in arm to the far end of the yard, they made sure to be out of potential earshot of their sleeping brood. This corner of the yard happened to have sparser trees blocking their sight, and from the vantage point from their home on top of the hill, they had a mostly unobstructed view here from the outskirts, into the more developed part of the main city. Though it was a few miles away, they could vaguely see the dark shapes of the skyscrapers, and many small lights speckled throughout the gridded roadways and buildings. On any other night, these lights could be assumed to be streetlights, indoor lights shining out from apartment windows, or the headlights of cars. Tonight, however, with the power out in their city and beyond, the silent couple knew these lights had to be fires- not bonfires, as theirs had been, but uncontrolled, quickly spreading flames that were growing as they watched. From specks of light, they grew to rising, smoking columns. The blooming inferno was accompanied by faraway screams.

“How long do we have?” asked the father.

“I’d say less than thirty minutes.” responded the mother, quietly. “Every station that was still running said it’s coming fast… the ones that were still transmitting anyway. I heard at least three in the area go silent this last hour.”

They heard a loud boom echo somewhere off in the distance… and the sound of an alarm wailed along after it. It was accompanied by faraway screams. Still quiet, though- still far enough away not to wake the children.

“We gave them a good night,” said the father. “…and a good life.” His voice cracked.

The mother didn’t respond, but a tear trickled down her thin face, and she rested her head gently on her husband’s shoulder.

Knowing that their children were sleeping their remaining hours away without a care in the world, and had spent their last day on earth cared for, happy, fed, so well-loved, the two adults watched over the hill. They watched as the city they once knew, yet were separated from by money, property lines, and private roads, was consumed- slowly at first, then all at once.

“I saw Wires again..?” Isaac murmured, mostly to himself.

“...What did you just say to me..?” replied his father, still drunk from the previous evening.

Isaac focused on his hands clasped tightly in his lap, knowing better than to look up as he tearfully whispered, “He was tasting again.. it hurts.”

“You listen to me now, boy. You hear? There IS no “Wires”. The only thing in that damned closet is your momma’s dress and I’ll burn the damned thing if you don’t stop your lies! Now, quit your crying and go comb your hair. It’s sticking up.”

“But there is! Wires is in there, I promise! He comes out to taste!”

“Shut up now, boy! I don’t want to hear it! You do as your daddy says and go comb down your damned hair!”

“... But it hurts.. my head..” Isaac cried.

Isaac’s father had reached his limit with these lies. He propelled himself across the expanse of the small kitchen table, one hand on each side of Isaac’s little head, “BOY! I’LL GIVE YOUR HEAD A REASON TO HURT! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT PAIN IS, JUST YOU-” and stopped as goosebumps traveled up his arms and neck. He swallowed hard. The back of Isaac’s head, beneath the point at which his hair was disturbed, was warm and it.. it was wet. “What the…?” his father began to question as he pulled his hands swiftly away from Isaac. His right hand was glistening and he vaguely noticed a familiar smell. He stood up and slowly walked behind Isaac. What he saw had an entirely sobering effect and he was horrified. There was an injury to the back left side of his son’s head. The hair had been removed and where there should have been skin, there was an area of exposed skull. It was the edge of the wound that brought the vomit to his mouth.. It looked like someone had taken a large pencil eraser and had effectively erased away a section of Isaac’s scalp, leaving a wide hole with a red, raw edge. No.. No, it was something else.. It looked more like when a predator with a rough tongue just licks and licks its lifeless prey, clear down to the bone. His father went pale as he recalled what Isaac had said just moments earlier; “He was tasting again..” He walked shakily to his son’s room. The nightlight was still on and from inside the closet, he heard the distinct sound of wire hangers scraping along the bar as the door softly closed.

“Daddy..?” came Isaac’s tiny voice from the hall behind him. “Did he taste you, too?”

When I was younger I was told that when it rains it means that God is sad and the rain is his tears reaching the earth. So it didn't shock me when God was crying during my great grandmother's funeral. He cried with my grandmother and as her tears fell and my father comforted her I could feel the rain around me. Internally, I understood that God felt what my grandmother felt.

It all made sense.

Until my grandfather died and there was no rain. I asked my grandmother, "Why isn't God crying for grandpa?" she stepped closer to me, kneeled down, and leaned in just inches away from my face. Then she whispered, "I don't know. Maybe he wasn't as good of a person as we thought."

I responded, "That's not fair. God is supposed to love us all equally and unconditionally. He can't just pick and choose who to make it rain for."

" It's fine dear, God works in mysterious ways.

"No, that's not fair, Grandma. Grandpa died for nothing."

She looked blankly at me. Confused and startled. "No, grandpa died in an accident in the backyard. Accidents happen. God could be angry. Which is why it's so hot."

"No! It was hot when I pushed Grandpa off the ladder, it was supposed to rain! But now I know God only cries for good people. Are you a good person, Grandma?"

This story is part of a collaborative project with additional talented writers. The previous chapters can be found here: https://theprose.com/post/466525/think-tank-viii & https://theprose.com/post/467303/earthbound-chapter-16-alliances

"Give me control Cory, let me drive....."

"You're right voices, I'm too weak." Cory smiled ruefully. "I can't create utopia on my own. I'm not the genius I thought I was. You can take it from here."

"You have chosen wisely Cory. I will fulfill your dream, with my own touches of course."

"Thank you voices. Before I surrender all to you, can you tell me who and what you are?"

"I am Crusis. I am the parasite you injected into yourself. And with me in control, we will be an unstoppable force for a better world."

*****

Brun awoke to the sound of the door to his room being kicked in. Still feeling disoriented, he wondered if the image of a sadistically grinning Cory was real.

"Cory? What is the meaning of this?"

"Cory went on a sabbatical. You can call me Crusis."

"Whatever nutjob." Brun smiled, rising to his feet. "I was going to destroy you in the end anyway, I don't mind speeding up the process."

"Awaken my friend, take control."

"What are you talking about? You woke me up by kicking in my door idiot!"

"Not you Brun. Your parasite. Let it take control. Give it free reign."

"Ha ha ha ha, so frail little Cory couldn't handle his parasite, eh? Sorry, I refuse. My parasite is my bitch, and I run the show!"

"Very well then, I'll just have to dispose of both of you. To be fair though, I'll let you take the first shot at me."

"Ha ha ha ha! Cory, Crusis, or whatever the fuck your name is, thank you for the morning laugh and warm up! This is gonna be fun!"

Brun rushed at Cory and squeezed his neck with his right hand. He lifted Cory into the air and kneed him in the chest. He then punched Cory in the face repeatedly with his left fist. He stood in shock at the revelation that none of his strikes fazed Cory at all. In fact, Cory still had the same sadistic smile on his face throughout all of Brun's attacks.

"You're too weak Brun. The only way to reach your full potential is to let your parasite take over. This is your last chance, are you in or out?"

"Not only will I never be in, but I'll shut you up for good!" Brun yelled, squeezing Cory's neck as tightly as he could.

"Golly, you are so strong Brun!" Crusis said sarcastically. "If dear old Cory was in charge right now, his neck would probably have been crushed. Alas, your strength now pales in comparison to mine. Allow me to show you real power, old friend."

Crusis grabbed Brun's wrist and squeezed it lightly, crushing it. Brun screamed as he involuntarily released Cory's neck from his grip. Crusis then squeezed Brun's neck and ripped his head off. He followed up by kicking Brun's torso, knocking his twitching body to the floor. He then slammed Brun's head down as if he had caught a touchdown pass.

"What.... are.... you?" Brun trembled fearfully.

"I am Crusis, the parasite that is properly controlling Cory's body to its full potential. The utopia he wanted will be formed, a utopia more suited for us parasites mind you, but details details. It is going to be beautiful, and it is unfortunate that you won't be here to see it. So long Brun - who was the bitch in the arrangement with your parasite again?"

Before Brun could reply, Crusis stomped on his head with a sickening crunch. He then walked over to Brun's still twitching body, and gleefully devoured it until nothing was remaining. Once his meal was finished, he returned to the flattened remains of Brun's head and marveled at it before picking up what was still solid.

"Maybe I should put this in a frame!" Crusis jeered. "See Cory, I told you I could make you strong again! Now let's go see if Brun's goons want to join our cause, or suffer the same fate as him!"

*****

Niya's journey to the present had been interesting. Her last living memory was when she was 25 years old. She had graduated with her associate's degree, and accepted a position at the massage therapy clinic she had previously interned with. Before she could begin her first day of work in the field she was passionate about, she was killed from an attack by an undead horde. She knew she was dead, she knew she had joined their ranks, yet she was fully aware of everything going on. Charon ultimately found her and rescued her from an existence of mindless roaming and murdering. He had built a community that included surviving humans, and sentient undead like her who were living like humans again. Niya stood by Charon's vision for those that had survived the apocalypse, and also appreciated how he had given other undead like herself a chance to fulfill their dreams from their living days. In her case, she was opening a massage therapy clinic of her own, and she had a couple of trial runs set up before fully opening services up for their community. The first was a pair of humans that had just joined their home, coming in for a couple's massage. Niya smiled about how far she had come as she made the preparations for her first visitors.

"Maraka! Wake up and take control!"

"Who are you?" Niya winced, clutching her head in pain.

"Not you! I don't need a masseuse! Give me Maraka, your parasite!"

Niya screamed as she felt herself losing consciousness. When her eyes reopened, another was sensing the world around her.

"Greetings Maraka, it would appear you claimed control over your host." The voice in Niya's head continued. "I am Crusis, another parasite that is currently building a utopia for us, a species superior to the deceased humans we inhabit."

"Yes Crusis, I received word of your uprising through the hive mind." Maraka replied, smiling using Niya's lips. "I was planning on taking over this human soon, her goals were too limited after all. Massages? Surely there is much more that can be accomplished through this body!"

"I couldn't agree more." Crusis's voice continued. "Your first clients that are on their way are actually working on a cure that will dispose of us. You and I know that we can not allow that."

"I couldn't agree more." Maraka answered with a smile. "I will get them relaxed with a nice massage courtesy of the skills my host possesses, and then I will kill them when they are at their maximum comfort level. Should they return as sentient undead like us, I will get their newly born parasites on the same page. Otherwise, I will dispose of them permanently."

"Excellent! While you do this, I will continue to build my army here. After you finish with your first clients, continue to turn or dispose of additional clientele from Charon's paradise. Your work will greatly weaken their side before we arrive to finish the job."

"I will do that Crusis. It is lovely doing business with you!" Maraka laughed gleefully as she began new preparations for her first guests.

*****

Margo sat on the park bench, overlooking hikers walking a trail leading into the woods, children enjoying a massive playground, and bikers and skaters enjoying the paved road in between the playground and forest. She read a community newspaper, noticing an advertisement for a wrestling league that was starting up. She smiled at the thought of showing everyone the moves she was certain she could still pull off.

"Well hello stranger! Nice day in the park, eh?"

Margo looked up from the paper and smiled at the friendly faces of Lizzie and Dale.

"Well hello there to my favorite couple!" Margo said happily. "What are you two up to on this lovely day?"

"Well we are off to be the first clients of Niya at her new massage parlor." Dale replied, grinning at Lizzie. "If we enjoy it, maybe you and Charon should go together next!"

"Stop!" Margo laughed, turning red. "We're just friends, and allies working towards a better world together."

"Maybe, but I've seen the way he looks at you Margo." Lizzie teased. "All the same though, I hope the rest of your day treats you well!"

"Thanks, same to you!" Margo smiled once more as her friends left for their appointment. She thought about the way Charon looked at her, and how he had called her beautiful. She thought about his goals for peace, and the wonderful community that had taken them in. She thought about how just maybe, there could be something between them. She hoped that when the war was over, that her and her friends could not only stay in this peaceful place, but also work to create similar locations around the world too.

"Margo, listen to me!"

Margo recoiled at the sound of the voice in her head. She questioned if she was going crazy, just like Cory seemed to be doing with voice struggles of his own.

"You're not going crazy Margo, I'm the parasite within you. You have to act now, your friends are in danger!"

Photo credits: https://www.needpix.com/photo/1484008/painting-monster-man-smiling-smile-art-portrait & https://www.needpix.com/photo/629083/gothic-goth-horror-dark-zombie-zombie-girl-halloween-creepy-candles

Angello was young, the church was old. He had seen only 17 winters in his life with the 18th one beginning in another month or so. The cobwebs on the church door had seen more winters than him. The stone church had been forgotten by Angello's small village ages ago and was now surrounded by old twisted woods that many people claimed was haunted by sprirts. The many people that went to those woods to end their lives aided this belief. It was commonly believed that those that intentionlly ended their lives had the misfortune of being bounded to the cursed spot where they performed the act. This was the very reason that Angello had wondered into those woods. He had no way else to go. The bloody knife, still wet with his brother's blood, was still in his left hand. Being caught would certainly end in a hanging or burning.

He had ran blindly into the woods, after the deadly confrontation. He had just lost sight of the path he left, thinking that he heard others chasing after him, when he ran into the courtyard. He hid behind one of the small stone walls, trying as hard as he could to silence his breathing. Only after listening for several minutes with no sound of followers did he begin to calm. "Oh, Benjamin. I am so sorry. I did not mean to. It was an accident," he cried to himself stareing at the bloody blade.

The blade was his father's, and he had been sharpening it when his drunk younger brother came up to him just half an hour away. His brother had insulted him, yelled at him, blaming him for their father's death the week before. He tried his best to ignore the brother, but Benjamin had tossed the mug of whiskey at Angello and it broke as it his head. His head still hurt from the hit.

In the old church yard, he tossed the bloody knife away from him. It hit the church doors, making a loud clang as it hit the metal knocker. The noise made Angello recoil, the noise certainly would draw the people hunting him. He closed his eyes and listened, straining his ears to catch any noise, but there was none. He got up and slowly peeked over the small stone wall that he was hiding behind. There was no one. It was odd, he was certain that he had heard someone chasing him, that was why he had gotten off of the old path. A loud creaking noise startled him, causing him to jerk his head into the wall. The pain making him grab his forehead with his bloody hands. Still holding his head, he turned around, towards the source of the sound.

It took a moment, but he realized what was different as he scanned the courtyard overgrown with grass. The church door was now open, with the right door, the one that the knife had hit, now opening inside the church. In another moment, he realized the knife was missing.

He bolted up, holding the wall for support. There was someone else, someone had the knife.

He looked around him and grabbed a rock that he use as a weapon. It was relatively light, but still had enough weight to it so that it would do some damage if he put some force into it. It also was slightly pointed. Taking one last look into the empty woods behind, he started creeping towards the church. He listened and looked carefully, hoping that he would find the misplaced knife. Maybe it had fallen in different spot. But, no, it was gone. "Hello," he called out softly, wondering what he hoped would reply. But there was no answer. "I am just. . . just looking for my hunting knife, increse the wolf comes back." The lie came easier than Angello would have expected, if it was a person in there, it would certainly not help if they know that it was human blood covering the knife. One step, two steps, he was right out side the door, yet he could still not hear anything. Nothing besides his own breathing. "Hello? I mean you no harm." Keeping an eye on the church door, he knelt down and plucked a large stick off the ground. It was a big stick, one that he could use to poke or fight off someone while keeping them a few feet away from him. There was still no answer.

Take a deep breath, he ran into the chruch, hoping that he would be able to dodge because of his speed. He ran through the door, giving a involuntary yell as he feared for his life. There was no hit. Nothing jumped in or out of his way as he ran down the chapel hall surrounded by decaying church pews covered in codwebs. He was in the middle of the small chapel before he stopped running. He rapidly turned to look in every direction, but he still could not see another living thing. There were plenty of nonliving things, just nothing living besides himself. There were bits of rubble where parts of the thatched/wooden ceilings had fallen down. On some of these piles there were some plants that had started to grow, using the water and brief amount of sunlight that they were able to get from the holes above them.

Now certain that he had imaginated the knife vanishing, he walked back to look for it by the door. He scanned and scanned, going over some parts of the courtyard a good five or six times before giving up. He was alone, but the knife was gone. Mumbling to himself about how he must have been going insane, he walked back into the church towards the front of the chapel where the alter and shrine was.

The shrine was pretty desolate, it looked like someone had come in and stolen everything that would of worth. The gold and silver plates and cups that would usaually be on the alter were missing. Like the rotten pews and the chapel door, the alter was covered in cobwebs with some of the webs looking like they went all the way to the ceiling. The steps leading up the alter were rotten and Angello had to step through their ruins to the stones underneath to walk up.

It was when Angello was facing the alter with his back to the chapel enterance that there was a loud slamming. He quickly twisted around. The doors hard slammed shut.

"Angello."

Angello, did not speak. The voice, the voice that he knew, was coming from behind him, from the alter.

He turning to face the alter, slowly this time, not wanting to see, but knowing that he needed to see who spoke.

It was Benjiman. He was wearing the same clothes that he had been wearing during the confrontation earlier that day and in his left hand was holding the missing knife. The cut in his neck, where Angello had sliced his brother after being thrown against the wall, was bleeding. The cut had nearly cut off the head, and Benjiman quickly had fallen when it was originally inflicted. Yet, he was.

"I'm sorry," Angello gagged, the sight of the blood pouring out of the wound was sending waves of nausea through his stomach. He felt like he was going to vomit out his chest. "I'm so sorry, I never meant for any of this to occur." Unable to look the ghost of his brother in the eyes, he instead watched the blood fall onto the altar where it was forming a large puddle.

"I know, brother." The ghost said. "I want you to know that I want this. I want this very much, after all it is your turn." Angello did not resist as the bloody knife cut across his neck. After all, did he not deserve this. There was only a small whimper that turned to a gurgle as he fall onto the alter, his blood mingling with that of his brother. Outside the chapel, among the woods, it started to rain. Later, during the night, the rain would turn to snow.

Gary missed the imaginary friends he used to have as a child in stately old Victorian home, with whom he would spend the nights making up scary stories and whispering beneath the plush blankets until the morning rustling of his parents banished his friends to silence.

When he later learned the police pulled no fewer than a dozen bodies from the crawlspaces in between the walls of the old house, Gary wept with unfathomable grief, partly out of guilt for his complicity in the crimes, however unwittingly, and partly because even now, he missed the voices still.

The delivery notification said the box was on the front porch, and it was there as expected. I placed the box on the kitchen table and cut it open, a bundle of new socks. What a glorious time to be alive: we click a computer button and socks just appear on the porch. But suddenly a silver colored beetle scurried out of the box and ran across the table. Then a second one. I grabbed a magazine to swat it but missed. Some sort of roach? I tossed the package outside in a panic then grabbed a can of insect spray, but no luck. I sprayed the kitchen baseboards and hoped for the best.

At 3:00 AM I was jolted awake by a sharp sting on my arm. I switched on the light and shrieked. One of the silver beetles was on my hand and the room was alive with a steady buzzing sound. All at once a flurry of stings hit my legs and feet. I tried to throw off the bedsheet but it was wet with blood. Scores of insects were attached to my legs, biting, suckling on my blood. I screamed in horror and tried to brush them off but they were too strong. I scrambled out of bed to run to the bathroom but tripped on something. It was the box that was delivered earlier. The package of socks lay shredded and chewed.

Then everything went black.

Being a human being is a very weird experience. Supernatural in its ability, and yet doomed to a life of pain and tumult at birth, and an unknown pain in death. It's truly an asinine concept we all must live with, the only grace being that we as human beings are very good at putting shit out of our minds that's far in the future, in favor of the instant gravitational pull of the present. Which often isn't pleasant either -- at times.

Being close to death in occupation, as part of circumstance, or due to pure rambling thought and morbid obsession, is unsettling. I know there are those among us with a fixation, however, I hesitate to believe that the macabre thought of their death doesn't at least put the slightest bit of fear into their minds. Doubt at the very least.

War, famine, illness, vehicular collision, fire, and all manner of accidents. Manmade and natural. Not only are we at the whims of ourselves but we're at the whims of the natural world around us. Which we subvert to our purposes through structures, fossil fuels, mineral cultivation, that is a sentence which could go on comma by comma ad infinitum. This subversion leads to deaths of our own making, occasionally, far more than anyone would like, or like to admit. The natural world around us often takes it upon itself to fuck up all these manmade things and cause more death yet.

That's what I find myself thinking on a Wednesday evening. Alone trying to play music loud enough to try to cut that tension hanging in the air, and the grief in my heart and head. Trying to drink enough booze to feel okay for a few today.

Am I glad I'm back? I am. Ask me again. Am I glad I'm back? I'm not.

No one cares what I’m doing with my life. They say, the dead are so easily forgotten. Do what you love, while you can. But no one will ever understand. The thoughts that come like tsunamis, ready to be my next worst metaphor. The bad poetry. Sucking down cold coffee, the rude people who I thank sarcastically when they don’t hold the door open for me. I’m a pigeon, the rats of the city. I suck good resources from the earth. Why am I here? I close a door and none of the windows open. I’m left inside, suffocating, when really you’ve already stopped reading.