I was six the first time I met him. My mom had tucked me in bed after making me sit in a tub of ice water to get my temperature down - as my Aunt Mabel had recommended. We weren't ones to go to the doctor in those days.

I was falling asleep, snuggling with my favorite teddy bear, Buster. Apparently, my temperature had barely dropped despite the ice bath and was still hovering around 105. I could hear my mom on the phone whispering outside my door. Sounded like she was crying a little, too.

Then I saw him. He was standing next to my bed, just watching me. For some reason, I wasn't afraid. I just said, "Hi."

"Hi, little one."

"That robe is too big for you."

"It's comfortable."

"Hmm, my purple jammies are comfy, too. So soft. Like Buster," I whispered, pressing my nose into Buster's belly.

"I thought I might take you on a trip."

"Mommy wouldn't like that."

"No, she wouldn't. Fortunately, it seems that an error was made. It happens sometimes. Live well, little one. Be seeing you."

Now, eighty-two years later, he's back.

No mistake; I'll be traveling with him this time.

Feeling hot, Sam reaches up to wipe sweat from his brow, but instead streaks something thick and viscous across it.

What is that?

He looks at his hands.

Lacquer? No.

“Oh!” He exclaims, a nervous laugh erupting from the pit of his stomach. “It's just sap.” He laughs again, this time more forced, as if to chase away a deep-seated worry.

He wrestles a difficult log up onto the block, centering and securing it. He reaches out to a long slender piece of wood, his axe, resting against a nearby tree, hefting it into his other hand and moving into position.

The wind bullies the trees to his left, and Sam’s head darts up; nothing. His neck whips from left to right, eyes frantic, searching the surrounding woodlands.

Wolves? No.

This time, he can’t force the laughter out. He turns back to the task at hand, grips near the head of the axe, letting it slide the length of the handle as he puts his whole back into the swing.

The blade falls heavy. Tina’s screams become gargled as blood spills out onto the block.

What is that?

“Oh! It's just sap.” He laughs, hefting the axe above his head.

A lady walks down the street with a little girl in tow. She looks at her daughter’s face as it morphs into that of a wolf. Frightened, she lets go of her hand. “What’s wrong, Mummy?”, says the girl. “It’s okay, dear. We just need to get you home soon”, says the lady. They hurry along. The girl runs ahead, then her legs turn into flippers. Her mummy picks her up and shrouds her with her coat.Even then she knows it’s too late. The metamorphosis has taken root earlier than expected. A beam of light shot right through her daughter’s chest into the heavens. Frantically, she ducked into the foliage. She tried to shield her from the rays, nearly smothering her girl in the process. She could feel her body lift underneath her. She was losing her grip on her torso. Screaming hysterically, she dug her heels in but there was no traction. Now it was just her arms she held onto. “Don’t worry, Mummy. I will be back soon” said the girl as droplets of gold ran down her face. As her fingers slipped away, she watched her girl float off towards the sun. “What will you be?”she whispered.

Existing in this world can feel akin to finding oneself lost in a fever dream. Like drifting at sea, floating in delirium, while simultaneously floundering with increasing certainty. Awaking, yet dreaming. Disoriented and desperate, grasping for something beyond one's current reality. How quickly the years and moments flash by and yet also drag on at the same time. Memories washing away, like waves on a beach dragging sand out to sea, the incessant passing of time that strips away so much of our lives and pulls us closer to eternity. Yet many memories remain, small fragments that cling to the consciousness and make one question their sanity. Am I remembering or imagining? Moments in time that slowly lose their clarity, as fragile as seafoam, eventually dissipating completely. Vanishing into a place just out of reach. These are the pieces of our lives that have shaped us, the people and places, the joys and the losses. Childhood and adulthood, overlapping and clashing- who we once were and what we once knew. Floundering in an ocean of forgetfulness, grasping at the memories ever cherished and seeking to hold to them tightly so that they never slip below the waves and beyond remembrance.

Why’s this happening? Why am I being chased through a bayou? How did I end up ankle-deep in a foreboding swamp that is inundated with what first appears to be blood but upon closer inspection, is actually salsa? And no matter how hard I try; little forward progress is made. My legs aren’t responding to my panicked demands. Lifting my right foot, I see an oversized boot. Where are my Sketchers?

Growing concerned, I glance behind me. A shrouded figure seemingly floats unimpeded over the red quagmire. Pending doom sets in as the gap closes. Looking for help, I recognize my eighth-grade Spanish teacher among the crowd of gawkers to my left. Why is Mrs. Hernandez shaking her head while holding a gato in her arms? I try screaming for help but can’t formulate words. The ominous presence now looms over me. I frantically gesture for mercy then cower as an arm extends towards my head.

Waking up, I’m sweating. My legs are cocooned in the top sheet. Lying there, reality comes into focus. I take a moment to slow my heart rate. Sooooo, now let’s add enchiladas to the long list of food I can’t eat after 9 p.m.

So I sat under the old apple tree looking at some strange curved thing like something out of H.R Gigers fevered dream.

The trunk was hollow while the branches bore apples still of the old crab apple variety no good for eating maybe cider.

A bottle of red I found fit perfectly in a hollow branch like it was made for it as the branches gave me shade from the heat of the sun.

I craned my neck and the branches brushed it giving me comfort like an old friend.

This was all I needed right here right now as I sat for hours and hours by the gnarled trunk riddled with holes and still living an ancient thing.

A beautiful thing must have been over a hundred years old.

If it had words to speak perhaps I heard them if I listened carefully not whispers or voice but a communion somewhere in my mind in the hidden places where thought goes.

All sorts of thought entered my mind as I wondered if trees had thought did they think the same as us I sat silently giving my offering to the old tree.

On this strange summers day a thinking.

A dark figure stood in the corner of the room, tall and slender, its eyes dark yet somehow faintly glowing. It stared at Dianna. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Panic surged through her, a cold wave of terror that left her paralyzed. The shadow smiled a smile so wide it's teeth could be seen even in the darkness of the room. Long thin fingers reached into a tiny ornate sack.

It stood there, watching, eyes burning into her. It slowly removed it's long twisted hand from the sack. It came up to it's face, still grinning that impossible grin, laid one finger against it's mouth with a "shhhh". It then opened it's palm and blew sparkling sand at the bed.

The world shifted. The figure vanished, leaving behind only a lingering sense of dread.

Dianna jolted back up, her heart still pounding, her mind racing. She couldn't shake the feeling, the images, she could sense something still watching her. She kept staring at the corner, she swore she could feel a presence. But she had to let the irrational fear go, let it fade, as all nightmares do, back into the darkness from whence it came.

Cole took the front lines for a reason whenever they took weekend hunting jobs.

From a completely practical perspective it simply made sense much as Donna may loathe so, even recently turned Cole with his vampiric powers made the ideal tank.

And in this parallel world full of ash and bone dust that position meant the difference between whether their mother and father would still have children by some sunset. Tine ran fluid in the world Nezgrat, where demons resided.

The air made her agitated. Her mouth constantly tasted of bile and she had to force herself to find a taste in the scraps or flayed meat from a bony creature that they could catch.

The air... made Cole's bloodlust burn until he'd nearly scratched himself out of his skin.

***************************************

Cole came to see...

That he might be a very terrible person.

As he fisted through bony ribcages and marveled at the fluids that spilled out from gorgons and laggers he'd dare say getting caught in Demon Lord Gogormazel's trap was the most fun he's ever had.

His mouth split open in a grin to see the last biped sneak attack him.

But the looks on his siblings' faces...