"We don't like to talk 'bout it, y'hear?"

The well-dressed visitor pressed stop on his digital recorder. His host, a ninety-five year old man with a mind and tongue as sharp as a razor, glared beneath bushy white eyebrows.

"Mr. Akins, sir. On the phone, you said you'd be willing to give me your story."

"Yeah, well. That was a'fore th' milk curdled in my coffee as soon as you knocked on my door. And look at the kitchen winda!" He gestured with one gnarled hand, indicating the window over the chipped and scarred enameled steel sink.

Bright sunshine was mottled by dozens of black flies crawling over the outside of dingy, yellowed glass. After over a century, the bottoms of the panes had grown thick and wavy, but the sight of so many insects seemingly trying to get in was unmistakable.

"I'm sorry Mr. Feld, he's having an ornery day." The elder Akins was assisted by his granddaughter, and she was sitting across the small Formica table from the curious American History professor. "I think he's just looking for reasons to not be cooperative today. He gets in these moods." She looked over at the old man, lovingly, and a with a touch of disapproval.

"Girly, don't you talk fer me. I kin do jussfine. It aint natural, it aint."

Now that he'd seen the flies on the window, he couldn't unsee them. They kept drawing his attention, and the houseguest shifted in his seat, fiddling with his pen and legal pad.

"It's alright, sir." Trying to soothe the old man and still get his story, Feld continued. "I understand if things aren't comfortable for you to discuss. But we're talking about something from eighty-five years ago. Don't you want the truth to be known?"

"Seems t'me you just want to put this story in your book, Doc."

Professor Feld nodded, smiling. "Yes, Mr. Akins. I do. But this story needs to be told. It's the greatest American tragedy that no one even knows exists."

Hands shaking, Akins lifted his coffee cup. He sipped tentatively, pulling a face. "Goddammit. I hate black coffee. Even with sugar."

Chiming in, the granddaughter spoke. "Grampa insists it's some kind of omen that I haven't been to the store in a week. The milk was off." She laughed.

"It was fine yestiddy."

Feld decided to try a different approach. Turning towards the twenty-something woman, he commented, "I can tell he's from Taliaferro. You, though. You don't sound like you grew up here."

She smiled. "I'm not. My mom couldn't wait to get away. She raised my brother and me up in Maryland, near Burkittsville. I've always loved this part of the deep South, though. This old house, the family farm. I couldn't stay away, especially after my grandmother died last year. I've been helping out ever since."

Old man Akins spoke up. "She was killed, girl. Tell the truth."

Cindy rolled her eyes. "She died in her sleep, Gramps. She was eighty-four."

Feld interjected, "So she was born after the trial?"

"Yessir. She missed all that mess." Akins sipped his bitter brew again.

Choosing to ignore the old man, Abraham Feld, PhD and professor of American History at the University of Georgia, turned his attention towards Cindy. "Did she ever tell you stories of what happened?"

"Oh, I've heard things here and there. I'd come and visit when I was a kid, and she'd whisper tales. Ghost stories to keep me tucked in bed at night, so I wouldn't go wander in the woods or fields. I used to do that sometimes, when I got a little older. The starlight out here is magical. It's almost as bright as if there are streetlights, once your eyes adjust. It's amazing, especially out near the creek."

"The creek?" He made a note on his notepad.

Cindy smiled. "Yes. The creek, and the tree."

"Is it as big an oak as I've heard?"

"The biggest."

"The goddamned creepiest, blackest, knobbiest goddamned tree ever seen. I woulda cut the fool thing down, if I weren't so feeble."

"Oh, grampa. Admit it. You're scared of the thing, that's why you never did plant within a hundred yards of the creek, even though it used to be cleared." She admonished him teasingly, but warmly.

"Girl, you damned right I'm scared. You should be, too." He finished his coffee in a gulp, and the clink of the mug hitting the table was an exclamation point to his statement.

The teacher turned back to Akins. "After eighty-five years, you're still afraid?"

Rheumy eyes darted back to the still-darkened window. "I thought I was over it, son. The things I saw, no boy should haveta see. The things I done, no boy should haveta do. I thought, gettin closer to seein' God and all, I figure I'm due any day now to just keel over, I thought I could finally work past it. But I gotta wonder. Is it God waitin' fer me?"

Silence filled the kitchen.

"Tell me about the Pacific."

In stark contrast to the loathing that filled the room, Hartley Akins spent the next two hours discussing his involvement with the SeaBees during the Island Hopping of the Pacific. The digital recorder silently glowed, and the guest and the granddaughter listened, fascinated, as one of Taliaferro's last living members of the Greatest Generation told most of his story.

It was halfway through lunch that Akins surprised everyone in the room.

"Cats. Black ones. They git a bad wrap. E'rrywhere is this crazy superstition 'bout em. How they b'long to the darkness. It aint true, see. They's always warning us. They's in all them Halloween decorations, showin' em as hissin' and carryin' on. Like they's the pets o' the' devil hisself. They aint, tho. They aint. They're hissin on account of they want to warn us of evil, boy. Tellin us it's near. It's all a trick by Old Scratch, it is. Makin' us think they the bad 'uns, them cats. They's just cats, but they know. Animals know."

There was a pause. Two heartbeats, maybe three, and the old man continued in a flood.

"I tied the rope. I always was good at knots. Deddy, he gived me the hemp & told me to noose it. So I did. He threw it up over a low branch in that damned tree. Told me to git back home after my fifth knot, after that fifth rope was strung." Sweet tea had replaced black coffee. His hand, steady during his warstory, was shaking again. He looked at the window, and back at the professor. "It was a strong limb."

The window had cleared as the morning moved on to lunchtime.

Suddenly, a black fly slowly crawled across a pane, and the kitchen itself seemed to hold its breath as the occupants also stopped breathing.

Three more flies landed on the viscous glass.

Three became nine. Nine became twelve. Twelve became a hundred. Stunned silence was broken as Akins spilled his tea.

Feld couldn't help himself. He tried to push the old man into finishing, even really starting, his story. "Tell me, dammit! The biggest trials and executions since Salem, and it happened in the twentieth century! Unbelievably, no one has ever really heard of it. Tell the world, sir. History needs the truth!"

The old man was terrified. The granddaughter sat, watching, quiet.

Akins shouted, "The truth, goddammit? The truth is the Devil is real, the truth is I seen him in them women, and the truth is he don't want me to tell you nothin. GET OUT!" He punctuated his last by throwing a fork, complete with crumbs, at the professor.

The absurdity of an old man throwing a tantrum would almost have made him laugh, if the words hadn't been so terrifying.

Afternoon sunshine had stopped coming through the kitchen window. It couldn't penetrate the mass of flies trying to gain entry.

Finding her voice, Cindy finally spoke to Feld. "I think you should leave, professor."

In the ensuing silence, Feld gathered his belongings and thanked Akins for his time. The old man just stared at the window.

Following him outside, Cindy put her hand on his elbow, stopping him from getting into the car.

"Doctor, wait. I'm sorry for my grandfather."

Feld smiled. "Don't be. He's obviously scared. I guess we'll never really know what happened here."

Gathering herself, she asked. "Do you want to see the tree?"

"You seem nervous about it. I thought you weren't afraid of the old stories."

"I'm not afraid. I've been there dozens of times. But you have to admit that Grampa...he's terrified. Panic is contagious, even if he is a bit off in his old age."

It didn't take Feld long to decide. "Yes, show me."

"It'll be faster if we take the Mule."

"We're riding mules?" He seemed incredulous.

She laughed, and her face finally relaxed. "No, no. It's an ATV. Come on."

She led him to the barn, where he was happy to find a four-seater gas powered golf cart, complete with knobby tires. The drive across overgrown fields took several minutes, and the forest deepened around them.

"How long as it been since any of this was planted?"

"Oh, I'd say the farm stopped actually farming sometime around Grampa's seventieth birthday. He had enough to retire and pay the bills, so he called it done. Sold all the big equipment. Split off a few acres here and there to sell to homesteaders. But most of it is all still intact. Especially the creek."

The sky darkened noticeably as wooded canopy shrouded Feld and his host. Seemingly at random, Cindy stopped the Mule.

"We have to park and walk from here. It's just a couple of hundred yards through the brush, there."

Feld saw a worn footpath through briars.

"You come here a lot?" He asked as he grabbed his digital camera from the seat and began to follow her.

"We never really seem to be able to stay away. By the way, that won't work back here. That's why we have to park so far away. Electric things...they just, stop."

The professor chuckled, and slipped the small camera into his pocket. He didn't notice how she answered his question, and he never registered the significance of a lone black cat crossing in front of the Mule as it came to a stop in this lonely corner of farm property.

The almost jungle-like trek lasted longer than he felt it should have, and just as he was about to ask where they were headed, the path opened into a clearing. So perfect was the clearing, in fact, that absolutely nothing living surrounded the hanging tree for at least a dozen yards in a perfect circle.

A rocky creek burbled behind the largest, darkest, oddest looking Live Oak Feld had ever seen. The bark was almost black, and even though it had been nearly a century, the "very strong limb" in the Akins story was obvious.

Speechless, Feld retrieved his camera and tried to photograph the sight before him. It refused to power on. Slipping his iPhone from a pocket, it was nothing more than a black mirror, completely unresponsive.

A lump formed in the professor's throat.

"I told you nothing would work, Doc. He doesn't want you to tell the story." Cindy's voice had become husky, almost seductive.

Eyes beginning to widen in panic and confusion, Feld darted his gaze between the tree and Cindy. His face was a burning question, but his voice was a choked, airless thing stuck in his throat.

Suddenly before him, impossibly, hung the bodies of four women. A fifth rope swung in a nonexistent breeze; the air was perfectly still, yet, back and forth, to and fro, the bodies swayed in time with the empty rope.

Cindy changed before his eyes. Her blonde hair went brittle and dark gray, her twenty-something year old skin bloomed with rot and liverspots. Teeth became long, yellowed, decayed splinters displayed in a horrific grin

(oh god she has fangs she has fangs oh god what's going on here)

and her voice was impossibly seductive.

(oh how can that be how can she speak she's dead she's dead she's a fucking corpse)

as she spoke in a bedroom whisper "Don't run, Abraham. We want you to meet someone."

(I have to run I have to go this is not happening)

So of course he ran.

Laughter of five women followed him as he crashed through the underbrush of a path that wasn't there anymore, as he tried to run back to a world he'd never know again.

When I think of the word “monster” I think of my daughter.

It was an involuntary reflex, an automatic thought as my academic husband would have called it, the association between “daughter” and “monster” carved into the recesses of my brain, my neurons easily connecting the two concepts together.

I know it is not the correct way to feel about one’s own child, and for many years I punished myself for it. Over and over I admonished myself for feeling the way I did. It was abhorrent, going against every natural human instinct to love and care for one’s flesh and blood.

For a mother it was especially unforgivable.

To be fair, to this day, I am convinced my daughter is a monster.

I knew from the moment I held her in my arms, the way her pale blue eyes absorbed all the light in the room, reflecting nothing back, like a demon. I felt no surge of love when they gave her to me wrapped in pale pink fabric, after hours of exhausting labor. The only thing I felt when her skin touched mine was pure disgust, the nausea causing my eyes to water.

My husband Erick mistook the tears in my eyes to be from joy.

“She is beautiful isn’t she?” He had smiled so brightly then, as he took my child from me and held her in his arms, like he had just been given the most precious gift. “Arla. I want to name her Arla.”

“I’m… not feeling well.” I had managed to choke out. Even then I knew, I knew what I was feeling was abnormal… deplorable. Erick would not have forgiven me. It was not a forgivable thing.

“Of course, of course, honey.” Erick barely took his eyes off her. He was charmed already, my husband, the first of many that my daughter would have under her spell. Everybody it seemed, except for me.

—

Arla was sixteen when the deaths started.

There were dead animals before that, of course, pets mysteriously disappearing or getting ill. I could never prove it, there were always perfectly reasonable explanations, with Arla’s beaming innocent face dispelling any suspicions. It was also possible, of course, that I was simply insane, and that I had spent the last sixteen years harboring a sick delusion about my daughter, like the deplorable broken human being that I am.

Trust me, that thought never strayed far from the back of my mind, a whisper of doubt in every interaction, every innocent comment, every seemingly innocuous event that could have a thousand meanings and repercussions.

Arla was never overtly malicious to me, but here and there, she would do something so unexpectedly hurtful, and she would look fascinated, absolutely riveted, at her power to wound me. It was like she was surprised at her own strength, at her ability to affect other people. I often got this feeling around Arla, that everyone in the world existed only to entertain her.

Nobody else seemed to share these feelings about my daughter, of course.

That was okay, I was rather adept at pretending now. I’ve had sixteen years of practice, after all. Two… maybe three more years and Arla would flee the nest and I would be able to finally breathe again. Two years. That was hardly any time at all.

I was perfectly ready to continue our farce of a happy family for another few years, burying all my dysfunctional feelings under practiced smiles and nice suburban rituals, but then that one cursed afternoon, while doing some half-hearted house cleaning... I found the lock box under Arla’s bed.

After that I could no longer keep pretending.

—

I stared at the contents of the box in front of me in quiet trepidation. Even then, even then, my brain looked for other explanations, for more innocent reasons, for what Arla had been keeping under her bed.

“Mom.”

I stiffened. A chill ran down my spine. I shook it off as I turned my head to look at my daughter.

Arla stood by the kitchen counter with her dark copper hair in a messy bun, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and shorts way too short for a sixteen year old. She was beautiful, people always said, ever since she was little. She was not merely pretty, no, that word denoted a level of wholesome innocence, soft symmetrical features that was pleasant to look at. No, Arla had that rare kind of bewitching beauty that stopped people in their tracks, to the point that it was unsettling.

At this moment, she looked like she had just woken up, the hint of sleep still in her eyes, and somehow that made her look more ethereal.

“Hey darling.” I said, my mouth dry.

Arla shot me an amused look. Her pale blue eyes glinted beneath impossibly long lashes, first resting on my face, then landing on the open box on the dining table in front of me. She remained silent.

“Arla… I found this under your bed.” I said lamely.

She looked back at me and the glance between us made the air in the room feel thin.

I swallowed. Not for the first time I wondered how completely abnormal it was, the way my daughter made me feel, as if I was as small as an ant, an insect she was thinking of crushing under her heel.

There was just something about her eyes. It was blue, so blue. A pale, unnatural color. Vampiric.

Suddenly, she shrugged, and the weird aura dissipated. "And?”

And?

I turned back to the contents of the box. There were at least ten of them. Different colors and textures. Locks of hair each bundled together with a thin piece of pink ribbon. One particular lock of hair looked like it came from a friend of Arla's from middle school. The one with the thick dark curls. The one who went missing five summers ago.

I picked up another lock that was shorter than the rest. A flaxen bundle with a hint of gray. Like Erick's.

“Where did these come from, Arla?” I asked, tears stinging the back of my eyes. Was it possible? Despite everything I was still hoping I have simply gone insane, that maybe my mind just broke sixteen years ago, a sort of postpartum psychosis that never went away, that maybe, maybe my daughter was simply my daughter, an ordinary girl with an unfortunate mother. I tried, I really tried, to be loving to her throughout the years, even though I… was afraid of her.

Arla sighed and pulled a chair to sit down across from me. She suddenly looked older than her sixteen years. She held my gaze.

“I know you think I’m evil, mother.”

“I don’t…”

“Stop.” Arla held her hand up, interrupting my protestations. “I know, mother.”

I closed my eyes, and I realized I was crying, two trails of tears had made their way down my cheeks. Inexplicably, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of relief. I knew then that it was finally out there, in the ether, something close to the truth, the invisible walls between us finally broken. I could let them out now, these feelings I have been so ashamed of.

“I didn’t kill them.” Arla said, her voice gentle and even, as if she was talking to a child. “I know that’s hard for you to believe. You’ve always been the only person to see it, you know, the darkness in me, nobody else could.”

I took a breath.

“Look at me, mother.” Arla commanded with quiet urgency. “Really look.”

I opened my eyes and gasped, a scream caught in my throat.

Sitting in front of me was not my beautiful daughter, instead, it was a deep gray humanoid apparition, with black voids for eyes, wings like those of a vulture, and large angled horns… like a demon’s.

“Don’t be afraid.” The creature said. “I know how it looks, but I’m not evil, mother. I simply… am.” It motioned to the locks of hair in the box. “It was their time. I loved them, all of them, that’s why I kept these. But it was their time. Do you understand?”

“I…”

“It will be your time too, mother, someday.” The apparition was gradually becoming hazy, morphing back into the familiar form of my daughter. The copper hair, the pale blue eyes, the unnaturally straight teeth. Suddenly I was looking at Arla again, and she was smiling. “But not yet, you see? But when the day comes, I want to be there, to guide you. Most people don’t see the real me, they only see this.” She motioned to herself, the perfection of it, the beauty and youth. “I’m sorry I can’t be as comforting for you... But you brought me into this world, so of course you could see what I really am.”

“And what’s that?” I managed to ask.

“Death.” Arla said simply. A sadness crossed her face. “Every so often, I take human form. I find it necessary, to continue to appreciate the lives that I take. Also... to love. Though I know I could never love the way humans do... Not really.” She held my gaze. "I envy you."

A breath of air felt stuck in my chest. “Arla…”

“It’s okay, mother.” She smiled, then reached across the table to touch my hand. I had to fight the urge to recoil. “You will never love me, I know. But believe it or not, I love you, in the way I know how, I really do, and that’s enough, okay?”

I released the breath that I was holding. Part of my brain wondered if I was actually having this conversation. Or if my delusion has reached its pinnacle. But one look at my daughter, the unsettling beautiful face, the feeling of her cold hand on mine, and I knew, I knew in my heart that it was true.

My daughter, the monster.

“It’s okay, mother.” The monster said again. A small nod, as if giving permission.

A weight I didn't know I had on my chest lifted. Somehow I was no longer afraid. Instead, I was... grateful.

I lifted my gaze to catch my daughter's eyes and gave her a half-hearted smile.

"Thank you, Arla." In one swift motion I swung the knife I was holding across the monster's slender neck, an explosion of red blurring the edges of my vision, and finally.... finally, for the first time in sixteen years, I could breathe.

---

It was hot outside and their car swirled over the road, tires glued to the asphalt. Eddie Vedder’s Society was playing in the background. They watched the last bit of civilisation float by through the window. The thermometer read 31°C, but inside the A/C was on full power. A few small billboards on the side of the road were the last remnants of the society they were leaving behind. Even though the speed limit was 70, our speed was at a comfortable 75.

The inside of the car was silent, except for the indie playlist on Spotify to break some of that silence. Maybe they should have taken two cars, in that case, he could have driven alone. It wasn’t that much difference with the situation now, but at least he could have played his music loud. Even sing along if the song was right.

Nathan looked in his rearview mirror at his friends. Peter was talking to Allison, the girl he was dating at the time. Nathan made it very clear this supposed to be a trip for the four of them. But Peter threatened not to come if he couldn’t bring her along. This happened every time he was dating someone new, which happened every other week. Between girlfriends, he would swipe through Tinder to find his next dream girl.

Right next to them was Melissa, swiping through Instagram as her life depended on it. Which in some way it did. She got fired for the third time in less than a year. Now, she was desperately trying to become the next Instagram influencer. She was trying to spend her last remaining minutes on her phone. Scrolling through that app that was controlling her life.

That’s why Nathan had planned a whole adventure-packed weekend, away from civilisation. As far as that was possible in a small country like Belgium. The nearest town was over ten km away and the nearest road two km. To get to their cabin, they had to leave their car at the park entrance and walk the last few km. Another reason Nathan had told them to pack light for this trip. After all, it was only for one weekend.

They had been planning this trip for months now, all for different reasons. One thing was sure, they all needed a break from their daily life. Disconnect from society, like Sami always used to say. Sami was the one person he thought would keep him sane during this drive. He was sitting right next to him on the passenger's seat. It seemed like he got lost in, what seemed to the rest of them, his untroubled mind. Nathan thought he was in some kind of deep trance, trying to make his mind clear. The soft snoring made it very clear he was only sleeping.

It wouldn’t be long before Mellissa would get cut off from her digital life. Nathan had been taking this road every summer so he knew exactly when this would occur. In a few minutes he would drive past the last gas station they would see for km’s. After that turn, they would all get cut off from civilisation.

In this part of the woods there was barely any cell service, let alone they had wifi. A weekend without internet and social media, that was the whole idea of this trip. They had to rely on old-school fun and games. Nathan even brought a game of Monopoly, well knowing it might end up in another fight. In the end, this trip was all about reconnecting as friends. Re-establish their relationship with nature.

Nathan took his eyes off the road for only one second, long enough to take a look at his friends in the backseat. It was enough to nearly cause a crash. Something was lying in the middle of the road. The moment his eyes returned to the road, he had to quickly manoeuvre the car around it. That caused Melissa to drop her phone underneath his seat. His handling happened so fast, that even Sami bumped his head against the window. Waking him up in the process.

“What the hell Nathan?” Peter said.

He didn’t take the time to answer him immediately. First, he had to make sure to bring the car to a stop at the side of the road. His hands firmly gripped around the steering wheel. He stared in his rearview mirror to see what exactly he avoided crashing into. Something big was lying in the middle of the road. It happened more around these parts that deer ran into cars while crossing the road. It happened to Nathan before, that’s why he was able to react at such speed. This time he was able to avoid a collision, but there was a time he wasn’t so lucky.

“Are you okay?” Sami asked while he noticed he was bleeding himself.

“That was close,” he answered.

He unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car. He had to make sure it was a deer that was blocking the way.

“Hey guys, come give me hand!”

Peter turned his head and saw Nathan squatted next to a big hump in the road. He tapped Sami on his shoulder and then walked towards him.

“Is that a deer?” Sami asked.

“Good thing you didn’t hit that. Someone else wasn’t that lucky though.”

Nathan looked at both of them and then pointed to the side of the deer.

“I don’t think a car killed it. See these marks? It looks like another animal killed it.”

“What animal would be able to take down a deer this big?” Sami asked.

“My guess would be a wolf,” Nathan answered without giving it any thought.

There hadn’t been any sighting of a wolf in more than a hundred years in Belgium. It was not until last summer when there was a new sighting. Because it had been so long, it was all over the news. Nathan was the first one to welcome them back to their country. Well-knowing they were here before mankind was. We had invaded their territory and not the other way around. Not everyone agreed with him. As soon as the wolves made clear they were planning to stay, they started to attack the farmer’s livestock. It started with chickens, but over time their prey became larger and larger. Even after they attacked the livestock of Nathan’s farm, he remained a big supporter of the wolf.

“Just help me get it to the side of the road.”

Nathan already had his hands around one of its legs and he was making clear he couldn’t drag it alone. Peter didn’t hesitate and immediately grabbed the other leg. Sami couldn’t handle blood that well, but when he saw them struggling, he finally gave them a hand. Once they made sure no other car could hit it, they got back in their car and continued the last few km. It was the last stretch before their adventure-packed weekend could begin.

They arrived at the cabin around eight in the evening. That way they had plenty of time to get settled. Make themselves comfortable before their weekend began. Nathan had planned it so they could enjoy their evenings playing games. While during the day, they would do adventurous things.

His family cabin had everything they would need. In the shed out back were six bikes and three kayaks. Their family would rent this place to relatives whenever someone wanted to escape city life. Nathan made sure he came here every summer. Most of the time he came alone, but this time he wanted to bring along his friends.

The cabin stood deep inside the forest. Since it was the only cabin around, it consisted mainly of glass. It almost felt like you were still sitting outside, surrounded by the stillness of the woods. Nathan’s parents always dreamt about a log cabin life, but when their farm started to boom, they gave up on the idea. They still kept the cabin for a quick getaway. After periods of hard work, they enjoyed sitting on the porch enjoying the view. The faint smell of woodsmoke made them dream about a life they could have had. The only thing that would make it better was a hot tub. So they built one on the porch. To keep the idea of going back to basic, they made it a wood-fired tub. It may take a little longer, but it was worth it for the satisfaction. And that woodsmoke, that’s what Nathan loved the most. Nothing beats the smell of burning the same wood that made living this way possible. On the rare occasion it snowed in Belgium, he would sometimes come during winter as well. There was something serene about sitting naked in a hot tub when it was -2°C. The whole place would transform into a winter wonderland, engulfed in snow.

When they were finally settled in, Nathan had already put up the Monopoly board on the wooden table. That way they could play while sitting in front of the fireplace. Sami was trying to get the fire started. Nathan kept offering a lighter, but he insisted to make one by hand. After several tries, he finally gave up and accepted the lighter. Mere seconds later, the fire was starting to crack. Sami forgot all about his unsuccessful attempts. The sight of fire was enough to make everything disappear for a while. Before Sami could break into another trance, Melissa tapped him on the shoulder to ask if he was ready to lose. There was always a small discussion about who would take what token. Back when they first started playing, they decided who would take what token. Peter got the dog, Nathan had the car, Sami the hat and Melissa got the thimble. That would leave the shoe for Allison that night.

It was all fun, right until the moment everyone started to work against Peter. They knew he couldn’t stand losing, so they were trying to bankrupt him to trigger a reaction out of him. For some reason, he always seemed to end up in jail, so when his dog flew back behind bars for the fifth time, he had enough. He slammed his fists on the table in anger, hoping it would mess up the board set. Unfortunately for him, the table was solid wood and none of the other tokens moved even a little. This seemed to anger him even more and out of frustration he picked up the entire board and threw it upside down. The tokens flew high in the air, scattering all over the rug. Sami’s car almost flew right into the fire, but at this point, he wouldn’t even care. He would be so fascinated by the fire that he would watch it melt until it was completely cauterised by the flames.

“I’m done! I'm going to bed!”

The rest of the gang started laughing. They all knew this would happen and it was exactly what they were going for. But maybe Peter had a good idea about going to bed. Nathan had planned a whole day for them the next day and it might be better if they were all well-rested.

Peter and Allison were still lying in bed, enjoying the few hours they had as lovers. Sami was outside cutting wood while Nathan and Melissa were preparing breakfast. Nathan had offered her to help him, to keep her mind busy. She started the day restless. She was walking around the cabin with her phone in hand, looking for some kind of signal. Now her mind drifted between beating the eggs and frying bacon. Everything in the cabin was meant for manual labour, so Nathan had to grind their coffee by hand. Back home everything was automatic so it took him some time, and small blisters, to grind enough beans.

“So what do you have planned for us?”

Peter walked into the kitchen in his boxers. He was the only one that wasn’t completely dressed yet. No one dared asked the question they all had in mind, the mere sight of him standing in his underwear said enough.

“Allison is in the shower, she’ll be right out. So Nathan, what’s the plan for today?”

“You’re gonna love it,” he said, “I thought we first start with a tour around the neighbourhood. We could take the bikes to make it a bit more adventurous. And after that, I thought we could take the kayak’s out and head down the river. What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me,” Allison said, drying off her hair.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower and we’re good to go.”

“Nobody is leaving before breakfast, I’ve put too much work into it.”

Everyone else started laughing, making Allison even angrier.

“It’s not that hard to make bacon and eggs you know,” Sami laughed, while he started scooping up his plate.

After breakfast, they all went to the shed out in the back. Nathan’s parents had told them there should be six bikes, but they couldn’t tell in what state they would be. It’s been a while since anyone used them. When they saw that almost every tire was flat, Mellisa suggested hiking around instead. That way they could see even more, even spot some of the wildlife Nathan always talked about. It wasn’t that uncommon to see wild deer or even boars in this part of the woods.

Nathan knew about a path that led along old train tracks. They were used during the war but neglected afterwards. There were plans to re-use them, but since this place was so remote, no one bothered. Nature took back control and it gave some kind of eerie vibe around the place.

Walking alongside the tracks made Sami think of the movie Stand by Me. He started to fantasise about finding a dead body of their own. He wondered how the rest of the group would react and what their plan would be. Sami loved movies. He always seemed to imagine himself in the same kind of scenarios every time he went somewhere. If they had to take a boat to this place, you could be sure he was thinking about it getting shot by enemy forces.

Near the end of the tracks, Peter stopped.

“Did you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I could swear I heard some kind of animal nearby. It kinda sounded like a dog or something.”

“We’re all alone here Peter, no way it could be a dog.”

“Maybe we’re not alone,” Allison said, “somehow I sense like someone is watching us.”

Her skin tingled and everyone started listening with great intensity. They could hear the wind rustling through the treetops and the birds chirping.

Suddenly Sami started making a steady increasing chugging sound. Imitating a train coming their way.

“Not funny Sami!”

Melissa punched him on the shoulder, but couldn’t resist a slight grin. Allison still felt uneasy, the feeling of someone watching them was still there. Slowly she turned around, expecting her eyes to connect with another hiker or even a dog for that matter. Nothing was there. Nothing but the knowing of something was out there, watching them. Then she heard it, the same soft growling her boyfriend had heard earlier.

“Can we go back now?” she asked the rest of the group.

The rest of them still didn’t hear anything, but they could tell she was feeling anxious. It could have been the setting of an abandoned railroad track and the dense forest that spooked her. Still, they decided to head back to the cabin. The hike took longer than Nathan expected and kayaking down the river would have to wait until the next day. They traced back their steps along the track and headed back to the cabin. All the while, Allison was sure she could hear footsteps following their every track.

The whole gang sat around the fire, watching the embers dance away. Before heading back in, Peter had started a fire to heat the hot tub. His idea of spending the night was to relax with his new girlfriend. What better way to get to know each other even better than sitting half-naked in a hot tub. Peter even suggested doing it naked. But Allison felt uncomfortable doing that in front of his friends. Even though they would stay inside the rest of the night, at least that’s what they promised Peter. They had plenty of other games and now that the sore loser wasn’t playing, they might finish a game for once. The smell of burning wood was now everywhere. The woodsmoke of the fireplace met with the smoke from outside. Soon they would mingle and their origins would be something entirely new.

Allison gently submerged her foot in the water. Making sure the temperature was right before she got in. Peter was already in there, splashing some of the water at Allison.

“The temperature is fine, just get in.”

He even stretched out his hand to help her get in. At first, they sat opposite from each other, but Peter wanted to be close to her. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, even some other things if the rest of the gang wasn’t looking. He moved closer and closer, trying to disrupt the water all at once. Until their bodies finally touched. It didn’t take long before his hand was on her leg. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what he was trying to do. He kept moving his hand up and down, trying to get her in the mood. His head was resting on her shoulders, occasionally lifted to kiss her neck. Allison’s gaze was moving between Peter and the cabin. This was the only time Peter wished it didn’t exist out of all that glass. They could see Nathan and the rest playing some kind of game, but they were too far to see which one. If they could see them, that would mean they could see her and Peter, which made her feel uncomfortable. She wanted Peter just as much as he wanted her. Seeing their friends on the other side of that enormous glass window made her cautious.

“C’mon, no one’s looking. Trust me.” Peter said.

Again he brought his lips to her neck and this time she let her guard down. It did seem like their friends were too busy with their game to notice what was going on outside. She started moving her hand between his legs and her lips sought the company of his.

Peter’s breathing quickened, but Allison suddenly stopped and her head tilted upwards. She felt a strange, cold feeling coming over her, even though it was hot outside. Peter didn’t feel anything, his was mind was still wondering why she stopped.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what? There’s nothing out here.”

“Exactly, where are all the birds and the insects?”

In a forest like this, there should be sounds like that all the time. That’s one of the things they liked when they first arrived at the cabin. Birds were singing, insects buzzing around without a worry in the world. Yet all those sounds have died and complete silence crept over the trees.

Allison got goosebumps when she heard it first. It was faint and still far away, but the second time it was louder and more menacing. A low growl. She grew up around dogs, so it was a sound she was quite familiar with. But this growl was different, she felt it more than she heard it and it was coming closer. In the distance, a twig snapped and she looked at Peter. Yet he didn’t look worried and his hands kept running up her leg.

“Peter stop it! There’s something out there!”

She was scanning the area, trying to find the source where the sound came from. All she could see was the peaceful forest. It was hard to tell where it came from, but she knew it was close.

Peter saw her shivering and then he noticed the goosebumps on her arms. He didn’t know it was because she was cold or out of fear. He tried playing it cool, telling her he would protect her from the angry troll that roamed these woods. He tried holding back his laughter, unsuccessful.

“Screw this! I’m going back inside.”

Allison pushed Peter’s hand off of her leg and got out of the hot tub without even drying herself off. She kept looking at the forest as she wrapped a towel around her body and made her way back to the cabin. Peter wondered what that was all about. He was sure nothing was out there.

That’s when he finally noticed all the usual noises of the forest had come to a halt. It almost seemed as if they all stopped making noise to remain invisible. Another twig snapped and Peter heard a long and mournful howl. Peter tried to imagine what made that sound. It made him feel uncomfortable and he decided to join the rest inside, where he would feel safe. His hands looked for a towel, but Allison had taken both towels with her.

There it was again, but this time it sounded wilder. And closer. Peter turned his head over the edge, looking if he could find another towel. Another twig broke and Peter froze. A pair of yellow eyes was staring straight at him. Every instinct in his body told him to get away. A shadow emerged from the bushes and a clear silhouette of a gray fierce wolf was standing right in front of Peter. Its ears flat, teeth exposed. Another rumbling growl ripped from its throat. There was foam around the edges of its mouth, dripping on the ground. Peter had seen Cujo before and he knew this wolf could be potentially rabid. He had to watch his every move trying not to spook it. Every move he made could be life-threatening at this point. He slowly turned his head to see if his friends had heard it too, but they were still preoccupied with their game. They were all laughing and he couldn’t even see Allison. Before he could even turn his head back around, and think about his next move, there was a loud splash.

Something had jumped in there with him and now he found himself struggling to get out. He was halfway out of the tub when something grabbed his leg. Its teeth sank in and Peter could hear his flesh tearing apart. He screamed for help, emptying the last bit of air that was in his lungs. He tried holding on to the edge of the tub, while the rest of his body was being dragged underwater. All he could do now was hope it was loud enough for his friends to hear.

Nathan heard Peter screaming outside. Allison came back inside a few minutes earlier, running straight to their room. She looked scared and was trembling all over. At first, Nathan thought she was cold and they had a fight or something. But now that he heard Peter scream, he knew something was wrong. The second time he heard Peter scream, the rest of the gang seemed to have heard it too. They jumped up and looked at each other.

“Was that Peter?” Melissa asked.

“I think so, but I can’t see him anywhere.”

Sami was looking outside, trying to find Peter. He was nowhere to be seen. Sami dropped his bottle of beer out of shock. Seeing Sami look out the window in horror, Nathan ran towards him. What got him so spooked?

There wasn’t any sign of Peter outside. The water in the hot tub was quiet, but when they ran outside, they saw it coloured crimson red. Nathan looked around and started calling Peter’s name. He looked around and then he noticed a small trail of blood leading out of the tub. He ran to the other side and saw the trail getting bigger and bigger, leading back into the dense forest.

Allison saw the group standing next to the hot tub. She wanted to go to Peter and tell him she overreacted. She knew there was nothing to be scared of. It was the forest after all. There aren’t any dangerous animals in Belgium. She joined the group outside, trying to find Peter. But all she could see was a group reeling from the shock what had happened and a hot tub filled with red water. No Peter though! Allison got stunned by the sight of the trail leading to the woods and fell to her knees.

“I…I told him something was out there,” she sobbed, “but he wouldn’t listen.”

She cried out his name and started running towards the trees. Sami rushed over to her to stop her. She cried out his name once more.

“PETER!”

Sami used his hand to cover her mouth.

“Sssh! We don’t know what’s out there. It might still be around.”

They all looked around to see if they could spot anything, but it was too dark to see. Nathan ran back inside and looked for a flashlight. In a cabin like this, that used a generator for powers, was bound to have a few lying around. It didn’t take him long before he was able to find two. There should be more, but for now, this would do the trick. Without knowing what was out there, it wouldn’t be smart to go looking for him in the darkness of these woods. Nathan turned on the flashlights and gave one to Melissa. Sami was still trying to calm down Allison. She almost broke free and it took all of Sami’s might to hold her down. He didn’t expect her to be this strong, but it was the adrenaline that was taking over her body.

Nathan shone his light to the edge of the woods. The beams of light illuminated the trail of blood and it made him shiver. The thought of Peter dying in those woods was getting real. He knew there was nothing he could do right now. Not without putting his life, or the lives of his friends, in jeopardy. He let the light pass every inch of every tree, hoping there was something that could give them a clue.

“What’s that?” Allison asked, “Go back.”

Allison shone her light to the same spot that Nathan had just covered. It shocked both of them what they saw. A reflection of two yellow eyes glared back at them. First, it was one pair, but when Allison dropped her flashlight out of shock, more of them appeared. A few moments later, twelve eyes were staring at the group and one of them started to get closer. The leaves trembled as the animal scurried through them.

Holding the flashlight in one hand, and his phone in the other, he shone the light straight at it. He knew there wasn’t any service, but at this moment he was acting on pure muscle memory. He wanted to call for help, yet he knew he couldn’t. The animal crept closer and by now Nathan could tell it was a half-starved, bloodied wolf. When the light hit its fangs, he could see some flesh hanging from the edge of its mouth. He knew it must be from Peter.

Soon the group found themselves surrounded by a whole pack of hungry wolves. More and more of them emerged from the bushes. Their golden eyes widened and ears flat. The alpha let out a wild growl and it approached even closer. Without making sudden movements, Nathan gestured the others to go back inside. Slowly. The wolf fixated on Nathan and didn’t seem to pay attention to the others. When they finally made it back inside, Nathan started backing up. He didn’t want to turn his back on a pack of hungry wolves. Melissa was holding the door open and told Nathan to come inside. The sound of her voice caused the wolf to charge forward, ready to attack Nathan.

Nathan barely made it inside and the wolf’s nose slammed right into the glass door. For a moment they thought the glass might break, but it was strong enough to withhold a storm. It was built so it could withstand a tree crashing into it. Knowing this, made them feel safe inside, but the pack of wolves were surrounding the cabin. There was no way out without crossing their path. A few of them let out mournful howls. Either to state they had to wait a little longer for their supper or to attract others. Nathan hoped it was neither one of those and he assumed it was a sound of defeat. He felt superior and started laughing at the alpha that was still right outside the glass door. His enthusiasm soon faded when he looked closer. He saw the thick, white foam dripping over the pieces of flesh that used to belong to Peter.

He backed up, without taking his eyes off the alpha, and joined the rest of the group in front of the fire.

Allison seemed to have calmed down, but she was weeping in short bursts. The realisation that she would never see Peter again had hit her hard. Melissa switched places with Sami. He knew that Melissa would do a better job in comforting her. He thought Nathan could use him to come up with a plan. They had to decide what their next move would be. They couldn’t stay here. First, they had to make sure they survived the night. While a pack of starving wolves surrounded their cabin.

“So now what?” Sami asked Nathan.

“I don’t know, but wolves are nocturnal. I guess we have to ride it out and wait for them to get sick of us.”

Nathan was trying to sound tough, but his voice trembled when he said that. They decided they would both keep watch, while they let the women rest. When it came to running, they might need all their strength. Meanwhile, Nathan and Sami switched turns in keeping watch, hoping the pack would soon give up.

The alpha stayed right in front of the door, keeping his golden eyes fixated on Nathan. It was as if it could only see him and not the others. It even crossed his mind he would let the others leave out the back door when morning came. Hoping the wolves considered him as their prey. That seemed impossible though, the pack circled the cabin. Almost as if they were alternating their rounds as well.

Each time they growled, their body shook backwards. They were using all their force to let them know they were still out there. Waiting for them to come outside so they could rip them to shreds.

Morning came and the bright sunshine poured through the huge glass window, wrapping them in a warm blanket of light. Nathan was still sitting in front of the door. Even he couldn’t keep his eyes open during the night and had fallen asleep.

Sami walked over to him and placed his hands on his shoulder.

“Wake up Nathan.”

Nathan’s eyes opened and he leapt to his feet. His head moved from left to right, scouring the area outside.

“Where are they? I can’t see them anymore.”

There was no sign of the wolves outside and Sami said he must have been right before.

“Maybe they did only hunt at night. They left us as soon as you fell asleep,” he told Nathan, “the important part is that they’re gone for now.”

Nathan couldn’t argue with that. After all, he couldn’t see any trace of them anymore. But in the corner of his eye, he could still see the dried up trail of blood. Deep down, he could still sense the alpha. He was still out there, waiting for him to come out.

They couldn’t stay here for much longer. They had rented the cabin for the weekend. Starting from Monday, other people would occupy this place. They had to warn them, tell them there was a pack of hungry wolves roaming these woods. They wouldn’t be safe here. Nathan and the rest agreed to stay a few more hours to make sure the wolves were gone.

The hours passed by slowly and they couldn’t stop thinking about Peter. Sami felt bad they had to leave his body behind, wherever it was. How were they supposed to tell the authorities what happened without proof? How were they even going to tell his family they didn’t even have the body of their only son?

During those hours, Allison had told them exactly what happened to them last night. How they started fooling around and how she had heard a noise coming from the woods. She told them Peter didn’t believe her and was making fun of her. After she came back inside, she had no idea the source of that noise had taken Peter. She kept asking herself what would have happened if she had stayed in the tub with him. Would they have still attacked him? Or would they have attacked them both? Allison couldn’t think about it anymore and started crying again.

She did love Peter. If only she knew Peter wasn’t a one-woman kind of man, but they didn’t want to break that illusion for her. Instead, Nathan looked around the cabin for something that could calm her down. They had a medicine cabinet that was stocked up on everything they could encounter in the woods.

I bet they didn’t think about an attack by vicious wolves, Nathan thought to himself. He was rummaging through the cabinet. At least he did find some sedatives in there.

When Allison had finally calmed down a little, Nathan wanted to go outside for a bit. He wanted to be sure the wolves were gone. They still had to hike a few km’s back to their car and the last thing he wanted was getting ambushed. If that happened, they were done for. They had to make sure they got out of there, so they could warn others. Tell the authorities there are wolves around here, even if it meant they would kill them to keep people safe.

Nathan was a supporter of wolves coming back to this country. But after what happened to Peter, he didn’t know what to think anymore. He thought about the foam that was coming out of their mouths. He stuck it inside his head they must be rabid. That way he could justify their faith in his mind.

Nathan carefully opened the door and stepped outside. His nerves were shot. He walked around the deck, trying not to look at the hot tub. There wasn’t any trace of the wolves. Nathan looked at the forest and closed his eyes. This would be his final test. He heard the close sounds of chirping birds, buzzing insects and croaking frogs. The forest had come back to life. The wolves had gone away and he was confident they could make it back to their car.

After a very tense hike, they finally reached their car at the park entrance. They didn’t let their guard down the entire time. With each sound they heard, they stopped their movement and looked around. Making sure it was a harmless animal. By doing this, they doubled the time it took to get to their car. It was already starting to get dark outside. They wanted to make sure they were back at their car before the sun went completely under.

Now they were safely inside, protected by two tons of steel. No way in hell a wolf could break in there. Nathan checked his cellphone, looking for a signal. He knew he still had to drive back to that gas station to get a signal, but it couldn’t hurt to check already. He wanted to call the authorities as soon as possible.

Nathan turned on the ignition and brought movement to their car. He could finally release all that tension that was hanging over his shoulders. Nathan looked in his rearview mirror and saw Melissa and Allison falling asleep. Sami was sitting right next to him and this time he would stay awake. Nathan looked one last time at the park entrance in his mirror. He could swear a pair of yellow eyes was staring at him from out the bushes. He turned their car on the main road and as soon as their headlights faded away, so did the pair of golden eyes. In the distant, Nathan could hear a single, wild howl. Right before he heard the sound of shattering glass.

It was always quiet in the company truck. The clunky rattling keeps one humble, acting as a constant reminder that at any moment, everything could fall apart. Yet, we remain held together by rusted bolts and greasy, interlocking framework. That delicate balance has been interrupted ever since we got this truck in. There's something behind me each time I slip into the driver's seat, silently looming with unseen hands and breath brushing across the back of my neck. No matter how many times I confront that nagging feeling and glance in the mirror, the only thing reflected is the interior of the truck and my own overstrung eyes.

I'm not sure if it's a lack of sleep, general carelessness for my health or something else, but my skin has become pale and sickly. I feel increasingly tired and fatigued as the days pass by. Not even the countless amounts of caffeinated beverages or medical stimulants seem to help. I'm hardly old, but my hair is growing gray and wispy. It's become so thin that it lightly wafts even without the breeze - only in the truck, though. I've seen the doctor for countless other reasons. Shortness of breath, mostly. I was sure I'd developed something like bronchitis, perhaps from the different products and their chemical smells that pervade the truck. It causes me to abruptly choke on occasion. The doctor did seem worried about some red markings around my throat, but I assured them that it was likely from the truck's seatbelt being rustled against my skin. Surely there was a logical explanation. Surely the dark shadows in the corners of my peripherals are simple visual hallucinations. That can be a symptom of sleep deprivation, right? It has to be. Every time I whip my head around to ensure I'm only imagining things, I'm met with the same old truck. Same old supplies, same old buckets nestled in the back.

I keep seeing it. It's behind me but I can never catch it. It doesn't dare leave the truck, but the effect it has on me persists.

I've asked not to have the night shift anymore as a result of my declining health. It's impossible to drive, even if I kept the bright lights on the whole time. It's as if the hallucinations progress to vision loss at night. I can't see anything in my peripherals; shadows fill the corners of my eyes in long, sprawling, pointed shapes creeping into the center of my vision. It would be irresponsible of me to continue driving in such a condition. It goes away in the morning. It must be some sort of condition associated with low light environments. Surely.

I've always been a good driver, but I seem to swerve and lose focus more often these days. Too many times I've had close calls, almost scraping against a passing vehicle before veering away from the angry civilian giving me an incredulous look. Too many times I've had to pull into the nearest parking lot to step out and recollect myself.

I never seem to have issues when a coworker joins me in the truck. I feel light, calm, even less anxious. The burning warmth against my neck disappears and I can breathe freely as if I weren't in the truck at all. Yet, as soon as they leave that suffocating feeling returns.

The company refuses to give me a replacement vehicle, or even just take the truck back. I've offered to buy my own and use it instead. They've had multiple mechanics check the truck for damage, faulty parts, anything that could explain why I would constantly pester and insist on having a new, or rather any condition, vehicle. It's gotten to the point where they've blocked me from submitting requests.

I should leave the company, but I find myself hesitating. Perhaps the burning heat that clasps my throat in the truck has become comfortable. My cold-by-comparison home, devoid of companionship or any life aside from my trundling form, has almost left me desiring the stifling atmosphere of the truck.

Sometimes when I'm off of work, I wander outside late at night, ending up in that driver seat with no plans to drive. I just sit. I sit and try to breathe no matter how challenging it has gotten. It's become a prickly feeling. The long shadows slowly move towards the center of my vision, as they tend to when I spend a night in the truck, but it's almost like I'm passing out and my vision becomes darker and darker as I struggle to remain conscious. My eyes float around the truck and land on the rearview, only to be met with eyes. They seem unfamiliar. Inhuman.

For the past week, I've seen oddities about my house. Little bits of rope by my bed when I've never owned one. The knives from my kitchen drawers are out of place. Doors are open that I swear I had shut. Even the floorboards seem to creak a bit more with each step these days. But I try not to question these things. I'm not one for paranoia, and I'm too busy to dwell on little curiosities.

My car tires crunched over the gravel as I pulled into my driveway. I had developed a pounding migraine and wanted nothing more than a couple of Advil and a permanent residence in between my couch cushions. Stepping inside my house tonight, it felt extra quiet, and for a second I longed for someone to come home to; a boyfriend, a dog, a housemate. "Maybe I'll visit Mom soon," I thought out loud to myself, and the silence answered with more silence.

Suddenly, too tired to eat or even check a single text (if there even were any waiting) I trudged to my bed and laid down in the dark. A house light flickered outside my window and moths circled its hazy ring. The window was smudged with oily fingerprints and I struggled to remember when I last cleaned it. I also struggled to remember when I last opened it. It didn't matter, I was sure.

Looking back on myself, moments ago, dwelling in the darkness of my room I should have noticed it. The signs that I wasn't alone, and that I hadn't been for a long time. The hidden presence in my home occupied the shadows but left signs of their intrusion and weighed me down with their always-watching eyes. But really thinking about it, was there ever a way to escape? Was this inevitable even if I had packed my bags and run away to a far-off room to sit in silence? I think he was always waiting and always would be.

As I stared at my ceiling, the complete blackness of my room engulfed me. I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or closed, or maybe I was floating in space. But then he came. The cold metal of a kitchen knife leaning into my neck, a heavy weight across my body, and a hand across my mouth. All I could see in this seemingly pitch-black room was the glowing white eyes staring into me from above.

Frozen in fear and shock, he wouldn't have needed the sock to muffle my screams; they would have never come. He was so swift I thought, actually, I think, he might not even be human. He might be some sort of devil. His eyes stayed there, pinning down my soul and daring me to dream up any other reality. Somehow, while his hovering eyes stripped away my cognizance, he had bound my entire body by rope. I was elevated, moving, quickly, without my feet because they were well bound. I heard the sound of dry materials scraping against each other and had no idea where we were except that we couldn't have left my bedroom so soon.

For the first time, I was shocked into reality as my body was pressed and manipulated between two boards. Panicked I started to let out muffled screams and twist in the rough ropes around my body. The broken bulb flickered outside my bedroom window. I had never seen it from this angle. When had it gone out earlier? Its quivering glow showed me the faintest silhouettes of my room and the eerie figure of a man as he shoved at me. His silhouette had no boundaries. He blended into the night. And I could see that as he pushed my body, it made no sense for me to be anywhere but between the walls of my own bedroom. As the rope cut into me and beads of sweat rolled down my forehead into my eyes, I began to shake with uncontrollable fear and my breaths became so short that the blackness of my vision became tangled with static grey.

My vision is again that of a black void. Between these boards and sheetrock is nothing but a silence known only by the dead. It might not have been moments ago that I lay in my bed and challenged the darkness. It might have been years. There's no such thing as time between these walls. Somehow, I know that I'll exist here forever. In some time, months, or decades, a new resident will move into this house. It won't just be my body, but also my mind that stays in these drywalls. I'll always wait, and I'll always watch because now I know I'm the man.

Do you know what's between your walls?

Cup to lips, tea spilled over my tongue. Yanking back, I grimaced, seething noisily in the dark of my living room while pouring bits of blackened water over my book. "Hot!"

"You should be more careful," my wife chastised me from the corner of the living room, sitting along the length of the sofa.

"I thought I let it set long enough. I'm fine." I answered ruminatively, though I could hear her chuckling much to my light annoyance. Still, I smiled, knowing she was there with me. In the dark of the hour as I read through my latest author's work. A work I was editing tastefully in hopes to release his manuscript in the coming weeks.

"Well, either way or not. I only hope your author-friend isn't going to be too upset the manuscript is brown," she chuckled, standing up from the couch to finally cross the robe over herself. I only know because I was ogling her the moment I heard her get up.

My eyes wandered over the cast of her frame, watching her saunter up to me as her gleaming brown eyes glowed with that bright cyan hue about them. Then, when her fingers stretched out across the space between us, the light caught them, making her fingers translucent. "I love you," I whispered.

"I know you do," she whispered back.

I waited, waited for the tender feeling of her hand to brush my cheek which never came. No, only the shadow of coldness pressed in where her palm should have been against my cheek. Then it slid up to my ear and as she leaned in, the gaping hole in her chest beneath her white nightgown was revealed.

"Go to bed, Cheshire," she whispered.

"When I lay under the Earth beside you," I whispered back. Opening my eyes, I noticed her visage was gone. I knew she could only hold form for small moments at a time, but my mind liked to replay the bits as if she were still here. Still mine, nestled warmly in my arms. Putting the manuscript aside, along with my tea to the other small table to my left, I rose up from my recliner.

My footsteps were heavy as I tried to drag my legs up so as not to scrape my feet across the floor. It was only once I got to the front door that I fingered the strap of my shotgun, pulling it up from the propped position I had beside my old leather mudding boots. "Bespot the monster, forget the dream. Bespot the monster, forget the dream." And I opened the front door into the black of the night, staring into the darkness that only crept and lapped at the edge of my tiny house in the woods. The only thing keeping it from coming at me was the light from my windows and the smell of citrus peels littered from one end of the property up to the front door. A common ritual that I had done once a week to keep myself from being jumped at while unawares.

"Come out, Alice! I know you're out there!"

Silence.

"Fucking bitch, I know how psychotic you are!" Stepping out of my front door, I let my boots crunch over drying citric peels and dead leaves, crossing up to the boundary where I started to see her visible form lurking. She was massive tonight, towing a towering figure with golden strings of hair that draped across the floor like sinew. If it weren't for the fact that I knew what they were, I would have thought it was spun gold, but that was a trick.

"Chester," a voice beckoned. "Chester, I am sorry."

"You are not sorry, you old witch," I answered defiantly. In an instant, she was upon me at the barrier of the property, hair forward, flying crazily around her as she stopped just a breath from me. I only had to stick my nose right outside of it and it would have been lost. Devoured and cleaved from me in that breath. "You do not scare me," I told her stiffly, standing my ground.

"And you do not bore me," she answered back, stretching her lips over her teeth until they peeled back, revealing the foul stench that assaulted my senses.

I rose my hand up under the forcarm, pointing at her chest. "It's a shame Lily was kind enough to let you in," I breathed.

"I was cold," she answered me, pressing her hands up along the barrier. I could see her arms stretching along the length it, seemingly endlessly trying to find a way in. A way in that she could peel back even the tiniest tear so she could get at me.

"And you stole her heart and ate it."

"The Queen stole her heart."

"That's a lie," I answered back, aiming straight for the scar that ribboned across her chest. Terror gripped me. It long assaulted me that the last tie to my wife would wither away in an instant if I shot her, if I shot that heart, but I had to let Lily go in peace or I'd be trapping her forever with me and Alice would continue to worry Lily each night, visiting me.

"I would not come back if I did not feel the tug," Alice groaned. "Let me hug you Cheshire."

"No."

"Let me hold you," she wept.

"No."

"Let me touch the flesh I yearn for, oh I need you. I need to. I crave it so terribly," she moaned.

"Fuck. You." My hand shook, holding the barrel at her chest. I noticed I was testing my limits, knowing that her white apron was nearly pressed to the muzzle while the light blue line of fabric seemed to obscure anything behind her.

"Chesir-"

BANG! The sound of the shotgun going off rang in my ears, and her plaintive pleas turned to screams as she jerked back. I heard her yank to the trees, tangling in them as the limbs snapped and groaned from her thrashing. My ears were burning, ringing quickly after the noise settled and echoed out in my head and into the dark of the forest. I know I missed. I purposely missed and tonight would be another night in which I only wounded her, but she would return again. Tomorrow night and we would dance pretty words again until I could let Lily go. There was only one thing keeping me from jumping out into the night with her. Little Louise, our daughter, and what would I have to say for myself in death if I left her alone?

"Nooo!" she screamed. I could hear the hollow cry of pain and anger as it grew more distant, as it rang out into the night filtering in sharply with my deadening hearing. I knew I should get ear plugs, it would reduce my anxiety and keep me from second guessing it all, but hearing her plea with me was like poison on the throat, but fuck it was delicious. It was hard to believe I wanted it as bad as she did. I wanted her heart too. I wanted Lily's heart, because if I had it against my chest again, I'd feel whole once more, and it was hard to live with a half empty heart. I couldn't even smile for it, not unless we were close again.

Waddling with not a joy in the world, he knocked on that door. Its hinges were rusted over by the sand dunes of time. Almost all my memories were eroding, unable to survive the barren sands. This door, however, was an oasis that replenished me, and all those gone days were revived. The dent in the bottom right corner of the door reminded me of petty squabbles fought among siblings. Yellow paint peeled off its sturdy front and I smiled remembering the memories made beyond this threshold when the paint was still wet. The home-baked meals that enchanted my gaze away from the TV on Sundays, Mom's hugs that snuggled my deepest fears away, and Dad's bedtime stories that beat even the cleverest Roald Dhal tale. I knocked now with the urgency one has when charging towards a loved one.

No answer. Strange as I recall contacting Mother once I landed on my return. I knocked again, a more stern incessant knock than before. Nothing.

I scrummaged in my pocket past old slips and forgotten coins until my hands got a grip of my phone. Annoyed now, I called my mother but it just rang and rang. Once more I called but it did the same. I followed this by calling all my siblings and my dad but as with the others before it they, just, rang. I called my one and only reliable sibling again and like a dog, they picked up the line after a second try. Wheezed breathing came from the other side, it made my brows frown in concern and my mind race. I asked them if they could come open the door because I needed a rest. No reply. The wheezing of their voice becomes more hoarse.

I do not scare easily but when the wind picked up and tickled up my neck I shivered. The shivering was not from the cool wind but from the manic cries that burst from the other end like a symphony. I pulled the phone from my ear in confusion.

At this point, the sky was ushering people inside their bungalows and sketchy clouds set the scene for my anxiety to take center stage. My feet were aching from the plane ride but my neck was stiff from the current circumstances.

I stepped back from the yellow door and peeked around the sides of the large house. Compelled by the calmness familiarity gifts me I trudged around the side of the house to the back. The cloak of night shrouded all my senses and made even the crunch of a tree branch seem like the end of my days. I was on high alert as I waddled forward and then I saw it.

Faintly I could make out the washing line that stretched from the corner of the yard to the red shed. I reached out and felt the clothes. Still wet. Possessed by curiosity and by the commands of my gurgling stomach I headed to the red shed. Cue the hacksaw killer or the insane scientist were the thoughts in my mind. Humor was something I long used to deflect horror as I often did as a child when something horrible happened.

When I was 16 years old my Uncle, Trevor, fell and busted his head open at camp. My sister was the one who saw it all happen and it traumatized her. I coped by using humor to soothe myself from the obvious tragedy. This tool I would use sadly time and again as death plagued my family like words robbed poets of peace of mind. I inched closer and closer to the red shed that looked less dangerous as I neared.

I undid the latch that held what I wondered and what was apart. I felt like Prospero as if my revels had ended and it was time to take my proverbial bow. The latch hitched open making a clinging sound of metal against metal. One breath in and i pushed the door open to reveal...

Really, nothing, there was nothing there but old tools hanging from ceilings, all the discarded bits of toys long forgotten and medals won. I expected a big horror but it seems the only horror was my reflection in an old mirror in the far end of the shed. Irritated by my mind's overzealous hunt, I slammed the shed shut not bothering to latch it as I stormed towards the back of the house and turned the doorknob, without a flinch.

My stomach now conquered my every being and all thoughts of finding my family were extinguished by my need for food.

I strode confidently through the house making the floorboards groan in response. I made my way to the kitchen guided by years of traveling this very same route. I stretched out my hand to find the handle to the heaven i so sought after. The kitchen light pushed against the darkness while i bathed in its white clinical glow. My eyes traveled over my sibling's torsos and past my father's and mother's dismembered heads. Next to Dad's hand, I found the butter and jam. I grabbed the butter and jam but i first high-fived Dad and thanked mom for the lunch, she always made the best lunch. I then stopped and sighed with relief as now i remembered where they were, i sometimes forget these little things.

Humming a careless tune I buttered and jammed two breads and began chomping on them both. While chomping away i realised why mom, dad, and my siblings did not respond because they were all in pieces over the return of their beloved son. I laughed wickedly, as this was the tool i used to cope with such tragedies. I grinned with jam slipping down the side of my chin,i licked it up with one swoop of my tongue. I went down to the cellar to get a white wine bottle to celebrate my return from abroad when i saw my reliable sibling, one hand tied the other gripping their phone. Sweat competed with one another as they raced down my siblings' taut faces.

They grinned with satisfaction and then the true horror unfolded. A snatch of the phone a smash of the head, thump, thump, silence. I heard the sound of sirens wallowing down the road, so i ran to the front porch and gripped my suitcases i left on the porch, one hand on my siblings' phone. The officers pulled up looking rather blue. I told them i called because I feared something happened to my family. Suspicious eyes rested upon me after they investigated the area so I cracked a joke that left them bawling and their suspicious eyes turned quickly to sympathy as they told me what they saw. I welled up just enough tears to deserve of such a tragedy. Death plagued my family and I was but boy trying to get through it with a bit of humor, What was so wrong about that? Just like the time I cracked open my uncle's head because watching him fall made me giggle.

Haha, to think Uncle's head was full of pink gumballs, amusing.

The absence of memory is a scary thing. If you can't remember something, it’s impossible to move on with your life. Perhaps it’s something as simple as forgetting that song you heard, or where you put your sunglasses, or maybe even your own name. No matter what it is, forgetfulness will push you to insanity, and keep pushing and pushing, spiraling you deeper and deeper into the chasm of despair, until it is the only thing that remains. You cannot kill forgetfulness, because it does not exist. It is not an object, it is not a concept, it is the exact ABSENCE of everything. Even if you remember something, it is only because forgetfulness is letting you think that you won. Lulling you into a false sense of security before it finally swoops into your life, and destroys you from the inside out before you can even blink. And the last thing you will ever remember is that you forgot.

“The last thing you will ever remember is that you forgot. Huh. That’s a pretty good line. I had one more thing I wanted to write down to finish the story but I must have forgo-”

The writer of this story has been taken over by forgetfulness, and has vanished from existence. He has been destroyed, faded, perished, forgotten…

“Frick!” I gasped allowed, clutching tight to my severed leg, barely recognisable underneath the layer of tattered skin, blood and frayed material. I held the rock high above my head with my free hand, ready for strike 2. As it came down, I heard the crunch of bone, tears trickled out of my eyes, though all I felt was triumph. I smiled joyously through the pain. As my knuckles turned whiter and whiter as they gripped my leg ever tighter. I did like the pain; my body just couldn’t help its natural reflexes.

A clatter came from the top of the street, at least a hundred meters, from where I was situated. I looked up and saw, emerging over the crest of the hill, a filth covered man dragging a sack. He stopped every few seconds to let out slow, wheezy breaths. Each one sounding like his last. As his silhouette became more defined, I could see the many cuts and bruises coating his body, almost like grotesque body paint. A few years ago, I would have offered to help, asked what had happened, even given him some of my few supplies, not now. Not when the world was in peril, everyone dead, or worse. A zombie apocalypse with no zombies. Now offering help was a death sentence, a sure way to an early grave.

I looked at the man, he couldn’t have been older than 50. He was clearly not in a good way, judging by his blood-stained shirt and pants. I looked at his sack. My stomach growled.

Finally, he was less than a meter away. It was time to see if this man would help or not. I groaned loudly, clutching my leg once more. He whipped his head around and stared.

“You dead?” He asked, taking a wary step back. I shook my head pathetically. He nodded and edged closer.

“Do you need help?” He asked. I had to stop myself rolling my eyes, what a stupid question.

“Yes” I croaked, moving my leg slightly and swearing as the pain hit me. The man still looked unsure.

“Please,” I begged. “I promise I’ve no weapons, and I sure as hell can’t attack you with this”, I gestured at my limp left leg. This seemed to relax the man. And he came to a crouching position beside me. His sack dumped on the ground next to him, a little out of my reach.

“What can I do?” He asked, “I’m no doctor, though I reckon you’d need one to fix that.” He glanced at my leg, shuddering slightly.

“Just have a look”, I begged. “I’m sure there are still shards of something stuck in it.” Nodding the man bent down, and slowly began to pull away the layers of torn skin, peering into the deep holes in the flesh, and cuts. He was concentrating so hard.

“I’m Angus by the way-.” He was cut short, as I stabbed the sharpened rock into the exposed part of his neck. Leaving a deep gash, running from his hairline down to the Thoracic section of his spine. Enough to stop him cold. He slumped forward straight on to my injured leg. The pain felt like electricity coursing through my veins, keeping me alive!

I shoved him off and he rolled pitifully on to the floor, dead as a door nail. I stood and snatched up the sack. I tipped it upside down, and the body of a dog fell with a thunk to the asphalt. Whether the dog had been the man’s companion, next meal or both didn’t really matter. I picked up the sharpened rock. Ready to feast.

To different types of meat tonight I thought. Very fancy!

The pot was boiling over. A mountain of broth was being belched out from under the glass lid and drops of brown foam stained the once glistening stovetop. But Florence didn’t notice.

The woman was once again frozen in time. Her blank gaze was focused solely on the plate in her hands, which she had scrubbed several times now. The lid of the pot began to jump, letting out small hisses and chitters, as if it were some uneased animal. Florence paid it no mind. And she probably would have let the stove catch fire if her husband hadn’t walked in then and there.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” Eugene spat, fumbling with the pot, before whipping around to face his now wide-eyed wife. A part of him hoped she would show some sign of surprise, or even cry, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. He knew she would bow her head and whisper a monotonous, “I’m sorry,” before cleaning up the unsightly mess. As she got down on her knees to wipe up the remnant of the spilled broth, he watched her, somewhat dissatisfied with her quiet submission. But he spoke nothing on the matter, for he was a reclusive man, who shut himself in with his own dangerous thoughts. Off he stalked to his study, leaving Florence alone on the kitchen floor.

After completing her task, the woman rose to her feet, unsure of what to do. Eugene had left without a word or gesture to something that needed to be done, and she was momentarily free. What an odd feeling. She blinked. Once, then twice, her eyes slowly losing some of the blankness that so often resided there.

Florence drifted from the kitchen into the hallway, seeing it for what it was, a vast empty space, filled with trinkets and pictures that she had never paid mind to. Her pale fingers ran over a chipped figurine of a praying cherub, before drifting up the rose-patterned wall to the dull oaken frame of a picture. It was of a woman. A woman with black curls, like her, but she was not her, for her eyes shone with contagious glee that Florence had never known. Who was this woman, this strange doppelganger who hung upon the wall?

A biting desire rose up in Florence then, a desire to find out more about the woman who lived on in the house through pictures and embroidery. She went from room to room, her gaze now keen and insightful, for this task had been ordained by her, and her alone. In some rooms she found nothing, but in others she found little hints to another existence before hers, scattered like shards of glass.

At last, her feet landed before the last unexplored terrain. Eugene’s study. A chill of fearful hesitation ran up Florence’s spine, and she stood frozen once more. She wasn’t supposed to enter that room, not unless she had been called. The thought of investigating further began to slip, little by little, into the recess of her hazy mind. But her spirit grabbed at it, snapping her out of her stupor. It wouldn’t let this go. Not now, when she had finally been acting on her own.

She pushed the door open. A small fire was blazing in the hearth, but the room itself was cold in spirit. Eugene was nowhere to be found. There were even more pictures of Florence’s doppelganger here, each lovingly nestled in places where the viewer could pine over them. Beside one of these photographs on a side table, lay a leather-bound book. Florence’s slender hands cradled it as she flipped it open and began to read:

“My darling, my heart aches as I watch you. I cannot stand to watch you wallowing in illness. It pains me to my core.”

The spindly, coarse writing was of her husband’s hand, but what darling was he speaking of? Was this directed towards her? A frown twisted her lips. It couldn’t be. Eugene was seldom affectionate towards her. She read on:

“A part of me rejoices that you near death, for you will be put out of your misery, and I will be able to love the woman who stole the other half of my heart. But, ah–! My mistress does not have your warm smile and eyes, and her touch is cold and teasing, not warm like yours. Yet I love her, in some ways. But it is you that I miss, and long for when the night grows cold, not her. If only- If only I could have both of you at once. If only her cattish spirit was dampened, and she was more mellow and sweet— like you!"

Curious, Florence turned the page, eager to see what other unexpected words would come.

“Who says that I cannot have both? As I write this, I feel young and spry; it is almost frightening. My love, my true love, you may be buried under a willow tree several miles away, but tonight we will speak again! I have found the answer to my problems, dearest. My mistress can become you; I must only alter her mind by way of a surgical procedure. It is called a lobotomy. By midnight, Eloise Walker will no longer be- in her place will remain your meek and tender love.”

The book fell to the wooden floor with a dull crack. And Eloise Walker stood frozen once more, not in time, but in fear. How long had she been living in this house, wearing another woman’s clothes and sleeping in her bed? How long had she donned the mask of this poor soul? She clutched at her face in agony that she did not truly feel, gripping it as if she wanted to rip into her skull and bring back the rest of the memories that had been selfishly stolen away.

Her body convulsed with an unreleased cry, and she shoved it further down into her throat. What would she do now? She couldn’t go on living the way she had, not after reading those sickening pledges of mad love. She must flee. With this thought in mind, Eloise picked the book up.

Click.

She did not have to turn around to know that Eugene Spencer stood behind her.

She could practically feel his wide, enraged gaze; hear his lips curling back in a hateful scowl.

The gleam of his hunting rifle bounced off the smooth base of a nearby lamp.

His voice hissed out, raggedly,

“You’re not supposed to be in here, Florence.”

When she did not respond, he gripped the rifle, barking like a rabid dog,

“Did you hear me, Florence? I’ve told you time and time again to stay out- so get out!” He threw a furious gesticulation to the door with his right hand, panting heavily.

An answer then came, not in the soft, monotone voice, but in a rather firm tone that Eugene had nearly forgotten.

“My name is Eloise Walker.”

The man gritted his teeth in a show of savagery that revealed his inner nature, and his finger did not falter as it jerked back fiercely on the trigger. Her words stung. They stung because they were true. But Eugene hated the truth.

That night the fire blazed outside.

Eugene watched with morose, half-hearted satisfaction as the remnants of Eloise were spat out by the flames and carried away by the wind.

That night he would write:

“I feel as if you have died a second death my love. My last connection to you was rather uncooperative, and her folly has been the end of her. I must admit that she was right. An Eloise Walker will never be my Florence. That being said, another woman may be. I simply have to find the right one. And once I do, you will never leave me again."