We were driving home late at night. I stopped to get gas. When I got back in the car, it was there. It was just sitting in the back seat. I saw it through the front mirror.

I didn't know what else to do, so I kept driving. I haven't spoken since we left the gas station. I don't dare to look and see if it's still there.

I wonder if Jason saw it too. He hasn't spoken either. He sits now, hunched over his phone, his fingers flying over the keyboard. He hits one last key and stops.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I nearly swerve off the road. I silence it and wait. Nothing happens. Maybe it was my imagination after all. I check my phone to see who texted me. It's Jason.

"Do you see it too?"

Norbert glanced at the calendar. Three years already? The corners of his lips twitched upwards. He would feign depression today, of course. He had to pretend he missed his aunt. She had pitied dull, vacant Norbert, and left him her money.

Norbert adjusted his bow tie so that it was just off center. It was important to maintain his facade of stupidity to avoid suspicion. Allergies are terrible, and accidents happen even if coffee doesn't usually contain peanuts. Something flickered at the edge of the mirror and he turned; nothing there. He shrugged and walked to the kitchen.

The kettle was boiling so he poured it over his tea bag. After a minute he took a sip. It was oddly bitter. Then he saw his aunt watching him with distaste. He dropped the mug, and hot liquid splashed across the floor. He collapsed, unable to breathe, as his throat swelled.

You led me through a corridor dressed with fake cobwebs and unimpressive pop up ghouls to the back of the haunted house. 

Your pale makeup and fake fangs were a tribute to Bram Stroker’s Dracula, which coerced my interests into following you to what you claimed was reserved for those not faint at heart. 

So down we went, 

through a door in the center of the floor,

descending a winding staircase,

to a room dimly lit and dancing with shadows.

The air was thick and stale.

A singular item rested in the center of the room.

A dust laden coffin.

Red contacts bore into me, as you bowed your head and requested I take a closer look. 

Curiously I obliged, walking closer to see. 

Expecting another infantile scare tactic I was surprised when my finger tips met cool mahogany. 

You were suddenly at my side, whispering in my ear. 

She left the church service. The sermon had her feeling

strong, confident, inspired. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing,

down the block, a shadow just hiding between parked cars.

She knew of the spiritual realm, still had the scars

to prove it. She paused, closed her eyes and prayed.

When she opened her eyes, the shadow was inches away,

then disappeared. She staggered, taking a step back. Hurrying home,

she fell to her knees. She knew she wasn’t alone.

Her body tingles, the closet door begins to swing open,

a scream reverberates. The next morning, her eyes rip open.

She is disheveled, bruised, bleeding. Her body hurts in places

where she never thought she would hurt. Anger then erases

her fear. She seals her closets, windows, oven, plugs sink

and bathtub and fervently prays. With no answer, no link

to The One, she spends her days watching the darkness.