u/CBenson1273

“How are you, Emma?”

I looked up from where I was sitting on my bed to see Sarah looking at me with concern.  

“I’m fine, Sarah.”

“Are you sure? I know it’s a big day for you…”

Today would be the first time I went out since I escaped. After the bruises and broken bones, I was focused on getting away more than anything else. I thought that meant I could leave it all behind forever. But life doesn’t always work out like we want it to. 

“I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“You all have helped me so much. I’m ready for this.”

She looked me over carefully. “Ok, if you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. Really.”

“You know you’re safe here, right? We’d never let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

She stared at me for several moments before she left. I waited until I was sure she was gone and dropped the mask. She was right. I wasn’t fine. But I had to do this or I’d never be ok. I couldn’t stay in this house forever. 

Things had escalated with Derek so fast that it had made my head spin. When we’d met, he’d been so sweet, courteous and romantic. He’d held open doors, paid for our dates, even charmed my parents. 

But then the mask had started to slip. Kindness had turned to cruelty, gentleness to violence. The first time he’d hit me, I’d excused it. When he’d threatened to kill me, I’d known I had to run. Alone, with no money and nowhere to go, I’d found this place. 

I hadn’t left a day since. 

But today was the day. Today, for the first time since I’d arrived, I had to leave the safety of this shelter and go back into the outside world. I had an interview for a job. If I got it, I could start to rebuild my life, reclaim what I’d lost. 

I just had to get there. 

I stood and got dressed. My wardrobe was lacking; I hadn’t had time to grab many clothes when I’d fled, but the shelter had gotten me a couple of interview-appropriate outfits. I then left my room and, buoyed by the well wishes of the staff and other residents, headed outside for the first time in months. 

The interview went well. I was nervous, and there was a large gap on my resume that I had to explain (I said I was taking care of a sick relative), but I was determined, and the manager seemed to like me. I left, thinking that maybe I could actually make this work, maybe I could rebuild my life. 

I was headed back toward the shelter when I got a feeling. Like I wasn’t alone. Which was weird because I was on the street, so of course I wasn’t alone. But this was different. I recognized this feeling.

He was here. I was certain of it. 

I looked around but saw nothing. It occurred to me that maybe it was my imagination, my paranoia at being away from the safety of the shelter for the first time in months. But I knew that, if he found me, he’d be angry. I remembered the other times he’d been angry. I had to move. 

I kept the same pace, not wanting to draw attention. At the next gap in traffic I crossed the street and ducked between two cars. I waited a moment, then I ran down a side street. I was only minutes from the shelter. 

I turned down an alley, not seeing Derek but knowing he was behind me. But it was a dead end. There was nowhere to go. 

I turned around. Maybe I was wrong, maybe he wasn’t following—

“Hello, Emma.”

That voice. I’d hoped I’d never hear it again. 

“What do you want, Derek?”

He laughed. “What do I want? You deserted me, Emma.”

“I had to leave.”

“Did I say you could leave?”

“There! That attitude is exactly why I had to get out. You always saw me as property, something you owned and could control. I’m a person, Derek! Why couldn’t you treat me like one?”

He looked at me with disdain. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to listen to you whine constantly? ‘I want to be loved,’ ‘I want to be respected,’ ‘why don’t you appreciate me?’ You’re a child, Emma. And like any child, you need guidance and a firm hand. But it’s my fault; I was too easy on you. From now on I plan to give you the discipline you deserve. You’ll never run away again.”

He began to walk toward me.

“Stay back!” I yelled. 

“Or what? What are you doing to do, Emma?”

A voice rang out in the alley. “You have more to worry about than her.”

Suddenly shots rang out from every direction. But they weren’t for me. I stood motionless while bullet after bullet penetrated Derek, jerking back and forth until he fell to the ground. Miraculously he was still alive - or it would have been miraculous if he hadn’t been left alive on purpose. 

A woman appeared from nowhere and looked down at him. Then she looked at me. “Would you care to do the honors?”

I nodded and took the gun she handed me. I looked down at Derek, lying on the ground, barely conscious. 

“You always said I needed you, that I’d be nothing without you. But it turns out that all I ever needed was me. And now, I’m finally rid of you.”

I pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger. 

I handed the gun back. 

“Thanks, Sarah.”

“No problem. I told you you were safe here. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m finally free.”

“What say we go and celebrate your newfound freedom?”

“Sounds good,” I replied. 

“We just have to make sure we don’t get too drunk,” she said as we walked away. “It’s Cindy’s ex-boyfriend’s turn tomorrow.”

It was the scream that stayed with me. and haunting, like someone had recorded their worst nightmare and played it back at three times normal speed. 

We entered the house as usual, in the dead of night. My crew and I raid old houses like this, looking for anything that we can sell. Abandoned houses usually mean low or no security, and sometimes people leave behind junk they don’t know is valuable. 

Mitch, Jordan, and I entered through the back window and spread out - Mitch took the ground floor, Jordan took the second floor, and I took the top. The top was riskier - harder to get out of if we had company - but I was good at it. 

I was going through the place, same as normal, when I entered a room with a large screen and a projector, kind of like a theater. When I walked through the door, there was a “click” and the projector started moving, showing an old movie on the screen. At least, I thought it was a movie. 

It focused on a person. I couldn’t make out who because it was dark and the view started from the feet up. But I noticed spikes. Red and thick, one going through the top of each foot. 

From there, the camera panned up to the legs, which had been flayed, the skin removed slowly in a way that likely ensured the victim would feel the most pain. 

At this point, I looked around, searching for someone who was running the projector, but no one was there. 

And then I heard it. The scream. 

“AIIEEEEE!!”

I jumped up, looking around frantically as my breathing spiked. Somehow, though the person screaming was on video, the sound seemed as if it were coming from all around me, every direction at once. I didn’t just hear it - I felt it. In my bones. Like some long-suppressed memory that had violently pushed its way to the surface. 

I decided to get the hell out of there. I ran to the door through which I’d entered the room. But, although it had been open before, now it was sealed shut as if it were glued to the frame. I pulled with all my strength, but to no avail. While I continued to try the door, I heard a noise behind me. I turned around and another video started to play on the screen. 

By itself. 

On the screen was a different person. At least, I thought it was a different person; I couldn’t see the face, but the clothes and the lighting were dissimilar from those in the first video. And there were no spikes through the feet. 

Because there were no feet. 

Instead, the ankles ended in bloody stumps that dragged against the floor. And, as the camera panned slowly up, I saw slash marks. Dozens of slash marks, crossing the body at all angles, so much blood covering the naked skin that the body looked like it had been dipped in red paint. With that kind of blood loss, the only thing I was certain of was that he was dead. No one could have lived through this. Poor bastard. 

“AIIEEEEE!!” Though I’d heard it before, the primal scream shook me again. I’d heard screams before - of anger, of frustration, of grief. But there could only be one cause for this scream. 

Terror. Complete, utter terror. 

Focusing, I looked at the video again, studying it. The perspective was the same as before, except this time, the camera continued to pan up the body until it reached the face. No. No, that wasn’t possible. 

The face. I recognized it. 

It was mine. 

The same nose. The same mouth. The same green eyes. The same scar under my lower lip. The same curly brown hair. 

How was this possible?

And then another video started. 

The violence was different. The clothes, the wound pattern, the instrument used and spatters of blood, all unlike those from previous video. But the face was the same. And that scream…

I couldn’t stay here; I had to get out. I tried the door again, but it wouldn’t open. I jerked at it repeatedly, with increasing force, but no luck. 

Suddenly I heard a noise behind me. I looked - there was nothing there. 

Desperately, I threw my body into it, but it wouldn’t budge.

The noise got louder.

I looked around and saw a window in the corner. In a fit of desperate inspiration, I picked up a chair and threw it against a window. Then again. And again. Eventually the window cracked and shattered, sending glass flying outside the room. Without hesitation, I crawled through the window, scraping myself on the broken glass. 

I ran downstairs, calling out to Mitch and Jordan as I went. 

“Guys! We’ve gotta go! NOW!”

And when I got downstairs, I found them. 

Or what was left of them.

Their dismembered bodies lay on the floor, limbs spread around in trails of blood. 

My mind went blank - the scream from the video echoes in my ears. All I could think was “get out, get out, get out.” I turned and ran toward the door. 

It wouldn’t open. 

I looked around - the windows were fifteen feet up, there was no way I could reach them. I turned, ready to fight whatever came down.

Then a noise came from my right, like a ripping. I looked over - a tear was opening in the air. Before I could run, an arm emerged. Then a torso. Then a face. 

Oh my God. 

“Come on,” said a face that looked exactly like mine. “They’re coming. We don’t have much time.”

“Who’s coming?” I asked, too stunned to move. 

He paused, then looked at me with a deathly stare. “You are.”

Sarah walked in through the front door when she got home from work. 

“The weirdest thing happened today,” she said. 

“What’s that?”

“I know how this sounds, but I could swear that a car was following me earlier today.”

“I’m sure it was nothing, honey. Probably just a coincidence. It happens.”

“I thought so too, at first,” she replied, “but every time I looked back, they were there, behind other cars like they didn’t want to be seen. I made a couple of last-minute turns; each time, the car turned the same way.”

“Do you see them outside now?”

She walked to the window. “No one’s there.”

“See? There you go. It was nothing. Just a coincidence.”

“I guess,” she said, dropping it but clearly unconvinced. 

Three days later, I got a call from Sarah. 

“Hello?”

“David! Where are you?” She sounded panicked. 

“I’m at a client meeting. What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I think so, but someone just ran me off the road!”

“What?!” I asked, paying full attention. 

“On my way back from lunch, that same car from the other day sideswiped me and forced me into a ditch! They didn’t even slow down!”

My breath quickened. “Where are you?”

“Emory Hospital in Midtown.”

“I’m on my way.” Forty-five minutes later I was standing beside her hospital bed. 

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Physically, yes,” she replied, “but I’m freaked out. Why would someone do this?”

I sighed. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?” she asked, looking at me in surprise. 

“Do you remember how I told you my last relationship was toxic?”

“Yes, but you never wanted to talk about it so I didn't push.”

“Well, the reason it ended was that Natalie, my ex-girlfriend, was abusive. She wasn’t that bad at first - just overly critical and demanding. But eventually she started verbally abusing me - telling me I was poor, good-for-nothing, worthless. I ignored it at first, thinking some people are just unhappy or show love differently. The first time she hit me, I made excuses for her. But when she took a knife and said she’d kill herself if I didn’t do what she wanted and it would be my fault, I knew it was over. She had no family, so she was completely fixated on me. I couldn’t deal with it. So I quit my job, packed my stuff, and moved across the country. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going; I haven’t seen her or anyone from my old life since that day.”

“That’s… horrible. I’m sorry you had to go through it. You think that had something to do with this?”

“One of Natalie’s issues was her insane jealousy. One time she saw me talking to a female classmate - we were discussing details of the class project we’d been teamed up for. Natalie told me that, if she ever saw me with her again, she’d cut her into pieces and leave her on her parents’ front porch. I’ll never forget it - she was perfectly calm, her voice never rose at all. I told myself she wasn’t serious, but I knew deep down something was wrong.”

Sarah stared at me, stunned. 

“There’s more. Last week, I received a letter at my office. It was signed with XOXO and a heart. That’s how she always signed her letters.”

Sarah sat silently. “So what do we do?”

“Well, you shouldn’t be going anywhere alone. You should start carrying pepper spray. We should get a security system for the house. And we should call the police and file a report. Even if they can’t do anything now, having it on file will help if anything else happens.”

“Okay.”

The next morning, we went to the police station. After several hours, we left with a case number and instructions to call the emergency line if anything else happened. I also called a security company and made an appointment for the following week. It wasn’t perfect, but doing something made us feel better. 

Two nights later, Sarah and I were relaxing at home watching a movie when she looked up at me, startled. 

“What?” I asked. 

“I heard a noise outside.”

“It’s probably just the neighbors.”

“It didn’t sound like them. Can you go check? Please?”

I sighed. “Of course, honey.” I went out and looked around for a bit, then came back in a minute later. 

“Nothing there; just a dog roaming around.”

She relaxed visibly. “Ok, good.”

We’d restarted the movie when there was a louder noise outside. 

“That wasn’t a dog,” Sarah said nervously. 

“I’ll check again,” I said. “Be right back.”

I looked around outside; still nothing. I headed back inside. 

“There’s nothing ther—”

I stopped in my tracks. 

Natalie stood behind Sarah, a gun pointed at her head.  Then she looked at me, aimed, and pulled the trigger. 

————-

“And that’s everything you remember?” asked the detective, taking notes as I lay in my hospital bed. 

“That’s it. My ex pulled the trigger and I remember a sharp pain and everything went black.”

“Fortunately for you, the bullet missed your vital organs; you should be out of the hospital by next week.”

“What about Sarah? Is she ok? No one will tell me anything!”

The detective looked at me sympathetically. “I’m.. afraid she didn’t make it.”

“That’s all for now, Mr. Andrews,” she said, standing from her chair. “If we have any more questions, we’ll contact you. Get some rest - we’ll find whoever did this.”

I watched her leave, then wiped the tears from my eyes. Learning to cry on demand had been a useful lesson. The police would investigate, but without the murder weapon, witnesses, or evidence, they wouldn’t get far. I’d disposed of the gun and made sure no one else was around. 

And they’d never find my ex - not unless they scraped the incinerator I burned her body in years ago. At least she was finally good for something.

The young man stepped into the carnival trailer, rain falling off of him as he dried his shoes on the mat. He nervously approached the woman sitting at the small table. 

“Are you - um - Madame Midnight?”

“I am,” she replied. “What can I do for you?”

He hesitated. 

“Speak up, young man. I don’t have all night.”

“Sorry. I just… I need your help.”

“Help with what?”

“Well, I heard you can… talk to the dead?”

“Perhaps. With whom do you wish to speak?”

“My… my dad. He died last week. It was so sudden - I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

She looked the boy over. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” he replied nervously. 

“Does your mother know you’re here?”

The boy looked saddened. “I don’t have a mother. She and my sister died. It’s just me and my dad. Well, was.”

She looked at the forlorn boy standing before her and made a decision. “Very well. Be seated.”

He sat. 

“Do you know what I do?”

He looked unsure. “You talk to dead people?”

She tried not to roll her eyes. “A gross oversimplification. I am what is called a ‘medium’, or ‘seer’. I summon the spirits of the dead to speak through me. Do you have something that belonged to your father?”

The boy reached into his pocket and handed her a necktie. “This was his favorite tie - he wore it every day.”

“I suppose this will suffice. Alright, do exactly as I tell you. Otherwise, things might get… complicated. Do you understand?.” After he nodded, she lit a candle and closed her eyes. 

“Spirits of the beyond, we call upon you to do that which only you can. We beseech you to allow this young man to say a final goodbye to his father.”

For a moment, there was nothing. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Silence!!” Madame Midnight replied. “The spirits will respond in their own time.”

Then a cold came over the room; the medium’s posture and visage changed. 

“Who interrupts my slumber?”, a voice not hers uttered through her mouth. 

“Your son,” the boy replied, voice shaking with disbelief. “Is it really you, Dad?”

“It is.”

“What was our favorite place when I was young?”

There was a long silence. 

“The lake behind our house.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “It IS you!” he said, amazed. 

“What would you say to me?”

At that moment, the boy stood and flung two knives from his hands. 

“Burn!”

The young man said something in Latin, and the spirit caught fire and began to scream. 

“Now you can burn for eternity, exactly what you deserve for murdering my mother and sister. I’m glad you remember the lake - it’s where I left the pieces of your body after I killed you.”

“And you,” the boy said, looking down at the medium with knives protruding from her eyes. “I'm sorry, but you’re a psychic. You really should have seen this coming.”

I can’t believe I let myself get talked into this. 

It all started last week. 

“Remmy.”

“No.”

“Remmmyyy.”

“No.”

“Remmy, come on. I need you on this.”

“Jackie, you can’t seriously expect me to go to a furry convention. Those people are fucking weird.”

“I know. But the fact is, the blog hasn’t been doing that well lately - we’re competing with every kid with a phone and a WiFi connection. Visits are down, revenue is falling. We need this.”

“So send Jimmy.”

“Jimmy is at his parents' vow renewal, Maxine is out with dental surgery, and Joe moved to California for an IT internship. I haven’t got anyone else.”

Then she gave me that look - the one that always gets me, the one with the eyes and the mouth and…

“Fine. I’ll do it. But you owe me one.”

“Absolutely - anything you want! Tickets are at the desk downstairs. Go get me a story!”

And that’s how I found myself at FurryFest 2026, the region’s largest Furry convention. 

The weirdness started right from the jump. I got admitted ok; apparently, you didn’t have to be dressed as a furry to attend, which was nice. I thanked the attendants and headed for the auditorium. 

It was as weird as I expected. 

All around me, people were dressed as animals - dogs, cats, bears, rabbits, squirrels, and everything else imaginable. The costumes got more and more elaborate the further I walked, going from cheap store-bought costumes to elaborately detailed outfits that were clearly labors of love. I saw realistic paws, colorful fur, even fully-articulated tails.

And among it all, I saw an amazing sense of camaraderie. These people liked each other, respected each other. More people should be like that. 

Of course, that couldn’t last. 

I was walking down the hall when I felt someone bump into me. 

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

I looked back and saw who’d made contact. He was tall, maybe 6’2”, with broad shoulders and an angry expression. And he was dressed like a giant fucking beaver. 

I looked at him, stunned. Then I shook my head, chuckled, and walked away. 

“Hey! Who the fuck do you think you are, laughing at me?” He flexed his arms and puffed up his chest - at least, that’s what it seemed like beneath the costume. 

“You know,” I said, turning back and looking directly at him, “the whole ‘intimidating’ act would work a lot better if you weren’t dressed like a giant beaver.”

The lady who was with him, I’m assuming his girlfriend, snorted quickly before she could stop herself. He quickly looked at her. 

“What are you laughing at?”

I couldn’t see her face, but I knew what fear felt like. And she was terrified. 

“Hey, buddy? Why don’t you stop picking on your girl? Or is that how you prove to yourself you’re a big man?”

“Why, you…” he started, glaring at me with pure rage (I assumed). 

“Cody, look,” said the woman with him. Dozens of onlookers stood watching, including two security officers. I could see the calculation in his posture. 

He looked at me. “We’ll meet again,” he said. “You should be careful; conventions can be dangerous places.”

I watched him walk away, dragging his girlfriend after him. I knew a threat when I heard one; I’d have to keep any eye out for him. 

I wandered the hall, observing the people around me. I saw hundreds of people dressed like animals, people who were strange but harmless, even friendly. But I kept my eyes open for trouble. 

As my father once said, if you look for trouble long enough, one of two things will happen. If you’re unlucky, you’ll find it. If you’re truly unlucky, it’ll find you. 

By the time things began winding down for the day, I had what I needed for the story. Jackie would be happy - this should make a good lead. Then I heard screams from a vacant conference room down the hall. 

“No! Stop!” 

It sounded like the girl from earlier. I followed the sound of her protests and burst into the room when I felt something crack against the back of my head. 

Minutes later, I opened my eyes. I was laying on the floor, my hands cuffed behind my back. Then the jackass from earlier strolled over, out of costume this time. 

“I can’t believe you fell for that. All Cindy had to do was give a few fake screams and you came running.”

I looked over at her; she shrugged apologetically. I couldn’t blame her; she likely hadn’t had a choice. I’m guessing she often didn’t have a choice with him involved. 

“I bet you think you’re something special, don’t you? You ain' t - you’re just like the rest of us. I bet you won’t be so cocky after my boys and I beat the crap out of you.” He looked at me and cracked his knuckles. 

“Cody, is it?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Cody, you’ve made three pretty bad mistakes, here.”

“Oh, I have, have I?”

“You have,” I replied. 

“And what would those be?” he asked, a smug smirk adorning his face. 

“One, you assumed I was actually unconscious.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Two, you assumed these handcuffs could hold me,” I said, tossing the cuffs on the floor near his feet. His smile looked a little less smug now. 

“Neat trick. And three?”

“Three,” I said, feeling my clothes burst around me as I shifted, fur erupting from my skin as claws extended from my hands, “you assumed I was ever like you.”

I stood over him, all nine feet and 500 pounds of my true form revealed. His face now wore a mask of pure terror. 

“What?” I asked, my voice deeper in my Alpha form as my claws moved forward like lightning and punctured his chest, closing around his heart as he screamed silently. “You seemed to enjoy fake fur so much, I thought you’d appreciate the real thing.”

Do you know what it is to be cursed? Not unlucky, but truly cursed? I do. If you do not, trust me - you should drop to your knees and thank your gods for their mercy. 

I have always been different. As a child, I played like other children, laughed and ran and jumped. But I never got sick. Not once. And when injury befell me, I healed faster than other children. 

Life continued on that way until it didn’t. One day I came home to find my parents wracked with pain, coughing into rags spotted with blood. I tried to care for them, but it was no use. Everywhere I looked, blood and bodies littered the streets. It was the Year of Our Lord 1347. The plague had come. 

After burying my parents, I left our village to start over. Everyone I knew was dead, but, for some unknown reason, I had been spared. Years went by. I settled in a new place, building a small cabin near the river. At first I lived a solitary life, but eventually I began to get acquainted with the people around me. I even met a woman and got married. But over time I noticed something. 

I was not aging. 

I tried to hide it, and for a while it worked. Mary and I had a son, Liam - he was the joy of my life, smart and strong and inquisitive. He always managed to see the good in people. For the first time in years, I was happy.

Then, one day, I came home from a hunt and found our cottage burning. I forced open the doors sealed from the outside, but I was too late; the bodies of Mary and Liam lay on the ground, breathing no more.

I did not know exactly who had done it, but I knew why. I’d started to notice strange looks when I went into the village square, but I’d ignored them. Now my wife and son were dead. 

In my rage, I went into the village that night and killed every man, woman, and child I saw. I killed until the streets ran red with blood. But it did no good; my family was still dead. 

I buried Mary and Liam in graves I dug out back, then packed what few things I still owned and disappeared in the middle of the night. I wandered until I found a town far away, where I did odd jobs during the day and drank away my sorrows at night. Eventually men from the town began going to war; having nothing to live for, I joined them. 

I was a natural; after all I’d suffered, killing the enemy didn’t bother me. We marched across the continent, engaging in battle after battle, until I had killed so many that their faces blurred together. We marched through cities full of wealth and villages ravaged by famine before we even arrived; we laid waste to them all. At night, other soldiers would drink and sing songs of victory, but all I saw as I lay were the faces of my wife and child, staring at me, as if blaming me for failing to save them. And they were right. 

Eventually, the war ended. I took what meager earnings I’d accrued and traveled to a remote island, where I built a small dwelling in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by the presence of animals and the silence of nature. I wished for nothing more than to be alone for whatever time I had left. 

And alone I was; physically, at least. But the ghosts of Mary and Liam still haunted me. In some ways, seeing them, even like this, was almost comforting. But the guilt weighed on me, suffocated me, like a heavy blanket that I could not lift no matter how hard I tried. I drank until I blacked out. I screamed until I had no voice left. I railed violently against the heavens, cursing God for his cruelty. Nothing helped. Finally, I took the weapon I had used to kill hundreds in battle, pointed it at my head, and pulled the trigger. 

I awoke to the sight of the moon, staring down at me uncaringly. I sat up, surprised. Why was I alive? Then I became aware that I was not alone.

Three figures sat in a circle around me, each tall and imposing, each staring at me as if awaiting… something. 

“Who are you?” I asked, befuddled. “Why are you here?”

The first figure laughed from astride its white horse. “Still as dense as ever, I see.”

“Be patient with him,” said the second from astride his red steed. “He has been through a great deal. Though I will say, he made me proud.”

“He has been through much, but the time has come for this sojourn to end.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“Do you truly not know?” asked the first. 

“You dream each night of Mary and Liam. Would you like the power to see them again?” The woman atop the black horse raised her hand and an image of my wife and son appeared in the air. 

“What sorcery is this?!?” I demanded. 

“No sorcery, only truth. Would you like to see them again? This is the second time we have asked; we can ask only once more.”

“I warn you: if you say yes,” said the black rider, “mankind may not survive.”

I stared at all of them, thinking over what I wanted and what I was willing to do, of what had been taken from me and what I had taken in return. And I knew my answer. 

“Yes.”

The first figure waved his hand, and a fourth horse, as tall and majestic as the others, appeared before me. 

“Come brother. This world, these people, have reached their end. We have much work to do.”

I climbed astride the pale horse and followed the three horsemen into the night. 

I awoke in a strange bed in a strange room. Where was I? How did I get here? I was so terrified I sat bolt upright. 

“Where am I?” I half shouted, panicking. 

A young man came rushing in. He seemed as if he knew me. He came to the bed and reached out to steady me. 

“It’s ok, Mom. You’re at home. You just forgot.”

He laid me back down in bed and put the covers over me. 

“Why did you call me mom?”

He sighed. “It’s me, Mom. Patrick. Your son.”

I looked at him in confusion. “I don’t have a son.”

Looking at me with sadness, he took my hand and spoke patiently. “Of course you do, Mom. You’ve just forgotten. Did you take your medication today?”

“Medication?”

“Yes, Mom.” He reached out and took my hand. “You have Alzheimer’s. You take medication to help with the symptoms. Here, I’ll get it for you.”

He reached for a bottle on the shelf and poured out two pills, which he gave me with a glass of water. “Dr. Evans says it’s important that you take these every day. I know I gave them to you this morning. Did you spit them out again?”

“Spit them out? I-I don’t remember…”

He sighed again, as if this weren’t the first time he’d seen this. “Go ahead and take those. Do I need to watch you swallow them? You have to take them every day - otherwise your symptoms will get worse.” He motioned to my hands, where I held the pills and water. I raised them to my mouth and swallowed them and then sipped the water while he watched. 

“Good. Here’s the tv remote and here are your crossword puzzles. I’ll be just outside - call me if you need anything.” 

I looked after him as he left. Then I picked up the remote and turned on the tv. The Price is Right was on - my favorite. 

The next day I woke up again. I called out and Patrick appeared immediately. 

“Is everything alright?”

“I have to use the bathroom. And I’m hungry.”

“Ok, let’s take care of the first one first.” He helped me rise and walked me to the bathroom. When I came back out, he was there and helped me back to bed. After getting me settled, he handed me my pills and water. 

“Go ahead and take these, then you can relax while I get some food ready. It shouldn’t be long.”

I did as he asked and he left, coming back later with a tray of eggs, bacon, and oatmeal. 

“Do you want me to help you eat?”

“No, I can do it. I’m not an invalid.”

I tried to eat, struggling for a few minutes before I dropped the spoon on the bed. Without saying a word, he came back, picked up the spoon, and fed me my breakfast, one bite at a time. When I was finished, he took the tray and left while I turned the tv to my show. 

The next few days were the same - wake up, take meds, eat, watch tv, go to sleep. I must have had a more exciting life once, but if so, I couldn’t remember it - everything was fuzzy. The days started to blend together. 

One day I woke up yelling. Patrick came running in. 

“Did you have a nightmare?”

I was practically in tears. “I-I think so. I can barely remember it now. But I was so terrified…” I broke down and the tears flowed. 

Patrick came closer and put his arms around me. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. I was lying in bed when this… shape appeared in the room. It was like a dark blob, but I couldn’t tell exactly where it began or ended. And it started to move toward me. I tried to escape it, but it was like I was frozen. Just when I thought it had me, I woke up.”

“I’ve heard of dreams like that before. Are you feeling guilty about something?”

“Not that I can think of,” I replied. 

“Are you sure? The dream must mean something. Really think about it.”

I tried, but nothing came. “I’m sorry. It’s my Alzheimer’s - I can’t think clearly.”

“Yeah, about that. You don’t actually have Alzheimer’s.”

I… I didn’t have… what?

“I-I don’t understand…”

“You don’t have Alzheimer’s. But you do have the symptoms; you can thank the pills I’ve been giving you. Don’t worry - you won’t have to suffer much longer. You're already starting to fade - your heart should be stopping soon.”

“But… why…”

“You truly don’t remember, do you? The yelling, the insults, the bruises you left on me from the stick, the belt, your hands. The broken bones I suffered. The lies you told to other adults when I asked for help. The ways you made me hate myself. And those words you said to me at the end, words that almost broke me before I finally escaped you.”

I thought back; words rose from the back of my mind and poured from my lips like a flood, sudden and devastating. 

“I don’t have a son.”

Patrick looked at me, his blank stare morphing into a bitter grimace. 

“That’s what you said, over and over, as you hit me. You would only ever believe you had a daughter. But I stopped being your daughter long ago. So now I’ll no longer have a mother. And you’ll have nothing at all.”

He got up and walked from the room. As I felt my heart slowing and my vision began to blur, he turned back a final time. 

“Patricia says goodbye.”

We drove home from the hospital in silence. This was the third time we’d gone through this. It’s amazing how it never hurts any less. 

“It’s alright, honey,” says Stan, gripping my hand tightly but softly. “We can try again. I’m just glad that you’re ok.”

But it wasn’t alright. It was the third time. 

“What if I never…? What if I’m just not meant to be a mother?”

“Don’t say that!” he said. “You’ll be an incredible mother. This is just a hiccup. We’ll get there eventually, and this will all have been worth it.”

I hoped he was right. 

We got home and I went to our bedroom. I left him to make the calls; I just wanted to lay down and forget this day ever happened. I closed my eyes, dreaming of a little boy with my blonde hair and Stan’s hazel eyes. 

I work up later to the smell of chicken fettuccine alfredo wafting into the room. I stepped out and walked to the kitchen. 

“Hey, honey. I got you something to eat. I thougt you might be hungry.”

I looked at that table - he’d ordered my favorite food from my favorite restaurant. I was so lucky to have him. I sat down as we ate in silence. 

The next day, the doorbell rang. Stan was out at work, so I opened it. 

“Hey, girl!”

It was my best friend, Julie. She’d been my “ride-or-die” since I was nine years old. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, stop it. Did you think I’d let my girl go through her tough time alone? Scoot over, I brought coffee and pastries.”

She came in and sat with me. Her presence made me feel better, like I might eventually feel human again. 

“You ok?”

“Just a headache.”

“Ok, relax. I’ll get you some aspirin.”

Five minutes later, she came back. “Hey, Lils,” she asked hesitantly. “Did you know about these?” She handed me a bottle. 

“No, why?” I looked at the label - misoprostol. “I’ve never heard of this. What is it?”

She paused. “Well, it’s one of two drugs used together to cause the end of a pregnancy.”

“That can’t be right. Why would those be here?”

She paused again. “I found them hidden in the back of Stan’s medicine cabinet. You didn’t have any aspirin, so I thought he might.”

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing!” she quickly replied. “Only… why would Stan have these? He was supportive of you getting pregnant, right?”

“Of course. He’s been there with me every step of the way.”

“Okay,” she said. But I could feel her doubt.

One day, several months later, Stan came home from work. 

“Hey, babe! How was work?”

“Just another day. Tom is stressed out over this project, and, as usual, he’s stressing the rest of us out with him.”

“I’m sorry, babe. Why don’t you come relax.”

I led him to the couch, poured his favorite drink, and sat the glass in front of him while fluffing the cushions and turning on the tv to his favorite sports channel. He gladly drank it, exhaling as the stress of the day poured out of him. 

Then I started to give him a massage. 

“What’s all this for?”

“Well, I just thought, with how hard you’ve been working to support us, you deserved to be taken care of.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“Honey?”

“Yeah, babe?” he asked, relaxing under my hands. 

“How would you feel if I got pregnant again?”

I felt the smallest twinge in his neck. 

“Of course I’d be thrilled, honey! I know how much you want a child. But are you sure you're up for it? It was so hard on you the last time…”

“It was. And it was even harder not knowing why it happened - I couldn’t help blaming myself. Why did my body keep letting me down? Was there something wrong with me?”

“We’ve been over this, honey. You can’t blame yourself. It just wasn’t the right time. Things will work out when they’re supposed to.”

“I know. I don’t blame myself any more. I blame you.”

…

“What?”

“Oh, did you think I’d never find the misoprostol pills you’ve been hiding?”

He stood up, sweat forming on his brow. “I can explain…”

“You can explain why you killed my babies? Do you realize I’d have three children by now? I’d be what I always dreamed of - a mother. You took that away from me.”

“Honey, there are things going on you don’t know.”

“Such as?”

He gulped. “When we got married, the priest took me aside and told me something that scared the daylights out of me.”

“Oh?”

“He said that our child, yours and mine, would be the antichrist, that it would lay waste to the world and bring about the end of humanity. He said I had to make sure you never gave birth.”

“And you believed him?”

“Not at first. But the things he showed me… I couldn’t deny it.”

“So, instead of leaving me or being honest with me, you just decided to kill our children?”

He gulped. “I-I couldn’t think of another way.”

“So, in your mind, murder was the best way to solve the problem?”

He was silent. 

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way. It makes this next part easier.”

Suddenly he began to choke. 

“L-Lilly?”

“I’m sorry, Stan. But you’re a threat to my baby and I can’t allow that.”

As he fell to the ground and began foaming at the mouth, I put my hand on my stomach. The priest was taken care of, and now Stan was, too. If I had to choose between them, the world, and my baby…

Well, for a mother, that was no choice at all. 

Limit posters?

Hello all,

I asked this question elsewhere and it was recommended to me to come ask here. I’m having an issue with my sub where random people keep posting without permission. Is there a way to limit who can post on my sub while still allowing anyone to comment? Ideally I’d like only people I designate (largely just me) to be able to post but anyone to comment. I was told AutoModerator could do this. I’d appreciate any insight here. Thanks in advance!

Limit posters?

Hello all,

I’m having an issue with my sub where random people keep posting without permission. Is there a way to limit who can post on my sub while still allowing anyone to comment? Ideally I’d like only people I designate to be able to post but anyone to comment. Thanks in advance! (I primarily use iOS.)

Hello all,

I’m having an issue with my sub where random people keep posting without permission. Is there a way to limit who can post on my sub while still allowing anyone to comment? Ideally I’d like only people I designate to be able to post but anyone to comment. Thanks in advance!

“Mommy, can we go to the zoo today?”

I looked at my son, smiling and hopeful as he stood in my bedroom doorway. I'd told him we could do anything he wanted today; I’d do anything for that smile. 

“Of course we can, honey! Come eat breakfast, then we’ll get ready to go.”

I made eggs and bacon, which he ate while sitting at the table in his crocodile pajamas, and then we got dressed and headed out. 

We drove along quiet roads until we got to the zoo. There was only one attendant on duty, and he waved us through without paying. I waved back at him and parked, then got Timmy and told him inside. The place was fairly deserted, but the animal exhibits were full with their residents. 

We toured the entire zoo, visiting the chimpanzees and the snakes and the birds. Of course Timmy loved the crocodiles. I even got him a shirt that said “See you later, Crocodile” - once I explained the joke he thought it was hysterical. 

Afterward we went and had lunch at his favorite pizza place. I let him get everything, even things he’d never had before but wanted to try because they looked cool on the menu. Who’d have thought he’d love pineapple on pizza?

We even went and had ice cream afterward - I wasn’t planning to, but he looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes and I couldn’t say no. 

Watching him smile and giggle, I was glad he wasn’t sad about his father. We hadn’t seen him for six months; I doubt we ever would again. 

After ice cream, we went and played in the park. Timmy loved flying kites, so I pulled out the one I’d brought and we flew it for hours. It wasn’t as bright outside as usual, but he had a great time nonetheless. 

After the park, I took him home and we watched a few episodes of his favorite show. I even did the voices of the main characters - that never failed to crack him up. 

By this point, he was starting to get tired, so I took him to bed, tucked him in, and read him his favorite bedtime story, “Where the Wild Things Are.” At the end, as his eyes were drooping, he looked up at me. 

“Mommy, what’s an asteroid?”

Startled, I looked at him. 

“Where’d you hear that word, buddy?”

“It was in the paper you were reading yesterday. I sounded it out!”

“Very good, buddy. An asteroid is just a big rock in space.”

“Oh, ok.”

He paused, as if thinking. 

“Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“How far is 200 miles?”

I thought for a moment. 

“Well, you know how we went and visited your Aunt Jean in Santa Barbara last summer?”

“Yes?”

“Well, that’s about 200 miles from here.”

He paused again. 

“So an asteroid 200 miles long would go from here to Aunt Jean?”

“Pretty much.”

His voice got quieter. “Is that what’s coming here?”

I paused, my voice choking up. “That’s what they say. But don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be ok.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am, sweetheart. Would I lie to you?”

At this, he looked relieved. “No, never. Thank Mommy!” he exclaimed in relief, throwing his arms around me. I hugged him back and tucked him back in bed. 

“Alright, you go to sleep now. Pleasant dreams. We’ll have an even better day tomorrow!”

“Ok, Goodnight Mommy!”

I sat in his room until he fell asleep. I hated lying to him, but perhaps I hadn’t. Perhaps today was only the first of a thousand thousand perfect, heavenly days. 

Staring at my son’s sleeping form, I prayed that would be true. 

Ever since I was a little girl, my Papa has said I’m the most beautiful girl in the world. Mama died when I was a baby, so Papa is the only family I have. But he’s the best Papa in the world. 

Papa is a sientist, which means he’s really smart and works with kemikals. Sometimes he has to work late, so I have a sitter. Amanda is really nice - she always plays games with me and bakes cookies. She even brushes my hair - I saw her do hers once and she started doing mine, too. It’s super relaxing. 

But not everybody is nice. I go to school every day (I’m in the third grade), and I have to see Britney. She’s NOT nice. She always makes fun of me: how I look, what I wear, how I talk. She says my nose is too big and my eyes are too small. Papa says I get my eyes and nose from Mama, and since she was perfect, I must be, too. He says she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and since I take after her, I must be the most beautiful girl in the world. Papa loved Mama very much, and while I don’t really remember her, he says she was perfect. I think he’s still sad that she’s gone. But I try to be a good girl so that maybe he won’t be sad. 

Britney is always mean, but the other day she was SUPER mean. She said that Mama probly thought I was ugly too and that’s probly why she died. That really hurt. When I got home, Amanda hugged me and made me cookies. I didn’t want to tell Papa what Britney said ‘cause I didn't want him to be sad. But I guess Amanda told him anyway when he got home, ‘cause he talked to me after he talked to her. But he didn’t seem sad. He seemed mad. REALLY mad. He kept saying “stupid administrashun” and “give them a piece of my mind” - I don’t know what an administrashun is, but he seemed really unhappy with it. He had to be mad ‘cause he always says we’re not supposed to say ‘stupid,’ but he said it a LOT. 

The next day he came to the school, which he never does. I don’t know what happened, but when he got home that night he still seemed mad. (He said it wasn’t at me, but maybe I did something wrong? I really hope not.) He just kept saying “they’ll all pay.” I wanted Amanda to brush my hair - it always made me feel better - but she didn’t come and both our brushes were gone. I guess I’d ask again tomorrow. 

This morning I wake up to go to school but the bus doesn’t come. I guess the school is closed? I don’t know what happened, but I sneak a look over Papa’s shoulder when he’s watching tv. The man on the tv says there is something that made all women have their faces messed up. The pictures show woman after woman crying with scars on their faces and the shapes wrong, like my doll when I put it in the microwave. The man says it happened to all women everywhere, but that can't be right ‘cause I feel fine. I wonder if Britney’s okay - if she’s not, I guess she can’t make fun of me anymore. The man on the tv also says it has something to do with kemikals - Papa works with those, so maybe he’ll know what happened. I ask him, but all he does is smile and say “now they’ll *have* to see that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

I don’t know what he means, but he doesn’t seem mad anymore. That makes me happy.

“Let’s go in here!”

We’d come across a curio shop on the street, Victoria’s Vintage Values, and, even though I wasn’t really in the mood, my husband grabbed my hand and dragged me inside. 

We walked through the door and were immediately surrounded by random items of all kinds. Antique cabinets, furniture, cameras, clocks, dolls, and everything in between, all stacked randomly with no apparent system. It all seemed curiously strange. 

An elderly woman behind the counter spoke to us. “Welcome. How can I help you?”

My husband looked at her. “So you’re Victoria?”

She nodded. “Welcome to my store. We have many items - you’re welcome to look around.”

Derek started wandering around the store, poking at an item every few steps. I stood quietly. 

“So what do you think of my humble shop?” Victoria asked me. 

“It's lovely. I’ve always been interested—”

“She likes it fine, don’t you, doll?” my husband said, giving me a look. 

I just closed my mouth and nodded, the words ‘I don’t keep you around to think’ echoing in my mind. Victoria looked at me, staring so intently that I nervously pulled down my sleeves; I felt as if she were seeing through me. But she said nothing. After a moment, she looked over at my husband. 

“Are you finding anything you like?”

“Not really. This is all crap I don’t need.”

I winced, but the proprietor looked unphased. 

“I totally understand. If you’ll come up here, I think I have something a discerning customer like yourself might appreciate.”

Derek walked to the front counter while Victoria retrieved a box from a back room and placed it on the counter. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

“Open it.”

He lifted the lid to find an ornate gold watch. 

“This watch was found in the estate of a wealthy sheik after his death. It passed through many hands before I acquired it. Legend has it that the watch will provide whatever is needed most.”

My husband took out the watch, looking it over. “How much?”

“For you, only $100.”

“For this piece of junk? I’ll give you $50.”

“I couldn’t possibly let it go for less than $75.”

“Fine,” he said, pulling out the cash and putting it on the counter. Victoria took it and handed him the box. 

“I hope it brings a change to your circumstances.”

“It better,” Derek said. I could see it in his eyes - dreams of endless wealth, beautiful slaves, enemies bowing at his feet. The same things all small men want. But I knew better than to say anything. “Come on, Jenny,” he said, leaving the store, and I followed him, as expected. I turned back briefly to see Victoria watching me as I left. 

Later that day, I was at home, cooking and cleaning while Derek was watching television. His phone buzzed while he was in the bathroom; I saw a brief message with a woman’s name before it disappeared. I wasn’t surprised; I knew who he was, just like I knew the price I’d pay if I said anything. I looked at my arms, the bruises from yesterday still tender under long sleeves, bruises the shopowner had almost seen. The price of speaking up. 

“I’m going out,” he said after checking his phone. “Business meeting. Don’t wait up.” After he left, I exhaled. I could finally relax. I finished cleaning and cooking dinner, leaving the food on the stove. I watched a few episodes of my favorite show. I thought about calling a friend, but I hadn’t spoken to them much lately since Derek complained. Later, I took a shower and washed my hair. Derek still wasn’t home, not that that was new - he often came home in the middle of the night, if at all. Usually drunk. And angry. Dressing in my pajamas, I lay in bed and went to sleep. 

The next morning, I woke up to the sun shining on my face. I turned over in bed to sleep more, then decided to get out of bed and start the day. I felt a little off - maybe I shouldn’t have stayed up so late. Feeling a pressing need, I went into the bathroom to relieve myself. And stopped. 

What?

I was standing there, trying to make sense of things, when I heard a loud, high-pitched scream from downstairs. 

“ARRGGGHHHH!!”

Suddenly Derek came bursting through the door. “We have to go! Right now!!”

I threw on a coat and shoes and hurried to the car, adjusting the passenger seat and getting in. In fifteen minutes, we were back at Victoria’s Vintage Values. Derek stormed in with me following closely behind. 

“VICTORIA! Where are you!”

Victoria came out from her office and looked at us from behind the counter. 

“What can I do for you?” she asked, smirking. 

“WHAT CAN YOU DO FOR ME?!? LOOK AT ME!!”

“I am,” she replied, chuckling. “I think you look quite attractive. In fact, I feel like I’m seeing a whole new side of you.”

“But I’m HER!”

He pointed at me, the former occupant of the body he now inhabited. I looked him over - his thin legs, long, brown hair, narrow waist, youthful face now covered with worry lines. Is this what I looked like to everyone else? I looked down at myself, now in my husband’s body, with his, no, my broad shoulders, thick legs, and rough but handsome face. I felt… different. Strong. I’d never felt strong before. 

“FIX THIS!” screamed Derek at the shopowner. 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to fix.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NOTHING TO FIX? I’M A WOMAN!”

“So I see.”

“SO CHANGE ME BACK!”

“Unfortunately, the change is permanent. But look at the bright side. All those women you abused,” she glanced over at me knowingly, “now you’ll know how they felt.”

“FUCK THIS! YOU SAID THE WATCH WOULD PROVIDE WHATEVER WAS NEEDED MOST!”

“I did,” she agreed. “But I never said it would provide what YOU needed most.”

I’ve been friends with Renee for several years now. Not best friends, but fairly close. About a year ago, Renee met Michael on a blind date. Three months ago, Michael proposed and Renee accepted. 

She asked me to be one of her bridesmaids, and I happily accepted. But it gradually became clear that her expectations were a bit… extreme. First she wanted to pick the bridesmaids dresses - we were paying for them ourselves, but every bride deserves to have the wedding she wants, so we kept quiet. 

Then she wanted to exclude certain plus-ones because she “didn’t know them well enough,” although they’d all been friends for years. That didn't go over as well - I was single, but when three of her bridesmaids threatened to drop out if their significant others weren’t invited, Renee relented. But she wasn’t happy about it. 

Then she wanted an extravagant bachelorette party. And when I say extravagant, I mean trip to Puerto Rico, 5-star hotel, fancy car - the works. And she wanted *us* to pay for it all. We did the math - it would come out to $3,500 dollars per person, on top of our travel to the wedding, hotels, bridesmaids dresses, and everything else. It was ridiculous. But you only get married once (ideally), so we swallowed hard and went along. 

All of that I could live with. But then, ten days before the wedding, she mentioned that she’d appreciate it if I’d cut my hair to go along with her theme. “What theme?” I asked, but she just said I’d do it if I really cared about her. 

The thing is, my hair has a real significance to me. I inherited it from my mother, who got it from her mother before her. Its length and texture ran in our family. Cutting it would be betraying my family, my history. It wasn’t something I was willing to change. 

When I told Renee that, she threw a fit. “It’s just hair,” she said. “It’s my wedding - I deserve to be happy.” “If you were really a friend, you’d do this for me.” I *was* her friend, but this just wasn’t something I could do. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. 

Then the pressure campaign started. “This is really important to Renee, can’t you just go along?” “It’s just hair - does your pride really matter more than my sister’s happiness?” “I know it seems silly, but Renee’s really hung up on this hair thing. I’d really appreciate it if you'd just do this so she’ll let it go.” None of them understood - this was a hard line for me. 

Then came the passive-aggressive online posts. 

“Isn’t it great when people respect your right to have the wedding you want?”

“A little inconvenience shouldn’t be too much for the people you love.”

“It’s in times of stress that you find out who your real friends are.”

And Renee wouldn’t stop. She started excluding me from bridesmaid meetings. Her friends started looking at me funny. Conversations would stop when I walked up. I considered just withdrawing from the bridal party. If she wanted someone else as a bridesmaid, she could have them; I didn't care anymore. 

And then it stopped. The snide comments, the online posts, the pressure from her side - suddenly it was all gone. One of the other bridesmaids told me that Renee had said that a hairstyle wasn’t worth ruining our friendship. I was happy she’d decided to respect my feelings. I even bought an expensive “thank you” gift to show my appreciation. I was beyond ready to move on. 

The night before the wedding, the bride wanted to go clubbing - a last chance to enjoy “the single life” before settling down. We went all out - VIP seating, bottle service, the works. After my third drink, I started to feel a little odd. I excused myself to go to the restroom; while there, I became woozy and had to sit down. I leaned my head against the wall of the stall and everything went dark. 

I woke up to Renee and two of her bridesmaids standing over me. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” said Renee. “The powder I added to your drink was supposed to have you out a little while longer.”

“You sp-spiked my drink?” I asked, shocked that people I’d considered friends would do this. 

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t supposed to hurt you, just knock you out for an hour or so. I guess you’re tougher than you look. Oh, well. Just relax - this will all be over soon.”

The two bridesmaids approached me, each grabbing one of my arms. Normally I could have shaken them off, but I was still feeling tired and nauseated from whatever they’d put in my drink. 

Then Renee pulled out a pair of scissors.

“Say goodbye to your hair, bitch. I just wanted you to clip it before, but now I think I’ll take it all.”

I struggled, but I still couldn’t move my arms. As Renee moved the scissors toward me, in desperation, I revealed my true appearance. Then I looked at Renee. 

She looked back at me in terror, but it was too late. I watched as her face, and then the rest of her, instantly turned to stone. Then I looked at the other two bridesmaids, and they joined her in her eternal rest. 

I pulled my arms; the rocks, formerly fingers of the two bridesmaids, crumbled as I came free.

I stood and walked to the mirror; stared at myself, concentrated, and reverted back to my human form. The lines on my face smoothed out, my eyes returned from dark and bloodshot to their deep blue color, and the snakes atop my head reverted to my blonde locks. I reapplied my make-up, brushed my hair, and stepped back outside. I regretted what I’d had to do, but my ancestors would have been proud. 

Never mess with a descendant of Medusa.

I’ve been friends with Renee for several years now. Not best friends, but fairly close. About a year ago, Renee met Michael on a blind date. Three months ago, Michael proposed and Renee accepted. 

She asked me to be one of her bridesmaids, and I happily accepted. But it gradually became clear that her expectations were a bit… extreme. First she wanted to pick the bridesmaids dresses - we were paying for them ourselves, but every bride deserves to have the wedding she wants, so we kept quiet. 

Then she wanted to exclude certain plus-ones because she “didn’t know them well enough,” although they’d all been friends for years. That didn't go over as well - I was single, but when three of her bridesmaids threatened to drop out if their significant others weren’t invited, Renee relented. But she wasn’t happy about it. 

Then she wanted an extravagant bachelorette party. And when I say extravagant, I mean trip to Puerto Rico, 5-star hotel, fancy car - the works. And she wanted *us* to pay for it all. We did the math - it would come out to $3,500 dollars per person, on top of our travel to the wedding, hotels, bridesmaids dresses, and everything else. It was ridiculous. But you only get married once (ideally), so we swallowed hard and went along. 

All of that I could live with. But then, ten days before the wedding, she mentioned that she’d appreciate it if I’d cut my hair to go along with her theme. “What theme?” I asked, but she just said I’d do it if I really cared about her. 

The thing is, my hair has a real significance to me. I inherited it from my mother, who got it from her mother before her. Its length and texture ran in our family. Cutting it would be betraying my family, my history. It wasn’t something I was willing to change. 

When I told Renee that, she threw a fit. “It’s just hair,” she said. “It’s my wedding - I deserve to be happy.” “If you were really a friend, you’d do this for me.” I *was* her friend, but this just wasn’t something I could do. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. 

Then the pressure campaign started. “This is really important to Renee, can’t you just go along?” “It’s just hair - does your pride really matter more than my sister’s happiness?” “I know it seems silly, but Renee’s really hung up on this hair thing. I’d really appreciate it if you'd just do this so she’ll let it go.” None of them understood - this was a hard line for me. 

Then came the passive-aggressive online posts. 

“Isn’t it great when people respect your right to have the wedding you want?”

“A little inconvenience shouldn’t be too much for the people you love.”

“It’s in times of stress that you find out who your real friends are.”

And Renee wouldn’t stop. She started excluding me from bridesmaid meetings. Her friends started looking at me funny. Conversations would stop when I walked up. I considered just withdrawing from the bridal party. If she wanted someone else as a bridesmaid, she could have them; I didn't care anymore. 

And then it stopped. The snide comments, the online posts, the pressure from her side - suddenly it was all gone. One of the other bridesmaids told me that Renee had said that a hairstyle wasn’t worth ruining our friendship. I was happy she’d decided to respect my feelings. I even bought an expensive “thank you” gift to show my appreciation. I was beyond ready to move on. 

The night before the wedding, the bride wanted to go clubbing - a last chance to enjoy “the single life” before settling down. We went all out - VIP seating, bottle service, the works. After my third drink, I started to feel a little odd. I excused myself to go to the restroom; while there, I became woozy and had to sit down. I leaned my head against the wall of the stall and everything went dark. 

I woke up to Renee and two of her bridesmaids standing over me. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” said Renee. “The powder I added to your drink was supposed to have you out a little while longer.”

“You sp-spiked my drink?” I asked, shocked that people I’d considered friends would do this. 

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t supposed to hurt you, just knock you out for an hour or so. I guess you’re tougher than you look. Oh, well. Just relax - this will all be over soon.”

The two bridesmaids approached me, each grabbing one of my arms. Normally I could have shaken them off, but I was still feeling tired and nauseated from whatever they’d put in my drink. 

Then Renee pulled out a pair of scissors.

“Say goodbye to your hair, bitch. I just wanted you to clip it before, but now I think I’ll take it all.”

I struggled, but I still couldn’t move my arms. As Renee moved the scissors toward me, in desperation, I revealed my true appearance. Then I looked at Renee. 

She looked back at me in terror, but it was too late. I watched as her face, and then the rest of her, instantly turned to stone. Then I looked at the other two bridesmaids, and they joined her in her eternal rest. 

I pulled my arms; the rocks, formerly fingers of the two bridesmaids, crumbled as I came free.

I stood and walked to the mirror; stared at myself, concentrated, and reverted back to my human form. The lines on my face smoothed out, my eyes returned from dark and bloodshot to their deep blue color, and the snakes atop my head reverted to my blonde locks. I reapplied my make-up, brushed my hair, and stepped back outside. I regretted what I’d had to do, but my ancestors would have been proud. 

Never mess with a descendant of Medusa.

“How are we on supplies?” I asked my wife. 

She sighed. “I used the last of the eggs and flour this morning, and the beans are almost gone. We can get some herbs from the garden, but…”

“…we’ll need to go on a supply run soon,” I finished. 

We looked at each other. Neither of us had to say anything; we both knew what it meant. I began to prepare while she went to let the kids know. 

The next morning, I arranged all of our things into four packs - one each for me, Olivia, Maya, and Liam. Each had the necessities for our trip: some water, spare clothes, towels and sunglasses for the brightness of day, and a knife, in case…  in case. I pulled each of the kids to me by their shoulders, looking in their eyes one at a time while their mother watched. 

“We’ve made this trip before. I know it’s a lot. I know you’re scared. But you can do it. Just stay with your mother and me at all times, and everything will be fine. We’ll make it through like we have before. And remember - never stray from the path.”

I hugged them both, Olivia did the same, and we were off. 

We exited the door, removed the covering hiding the entrance, and headed out into the daylight for the first time in years. 

The sight still amazed me. 

I remembered my childhood. The world had seemed limitless, with the sun shining brightly down upon beautiful fields of endless grass and towering trees. 

Now, all that was left was wasteland. 

The aliens had come fifteen years ago, promising peace and cooperation. We’d believed them. 

That was our first mistake. We never got a second. 

Now, fifteen years later, the Earth was devastated. Entire cities gone; 90% of the population wiped out. The Earth no longer ours to control. 

I led Olivia, Liam, and Maya on a path through the undergrowth, leading into where the city used to be. Last time we’d done this, we’d been lucky to find the remains of a store. Everything fresh was long gone - looted by other survivors or rotted away - but there had been some storable goods and packets of medicine left untouched. We’d have to hope we'd get that lucky again. 

My eyes were constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of the Xynth - the closest the human tongue could come to pronouncing their name. “Keep your eyes open, everyone. At the first sign of anything wrong, duck behind the nearest covering and go completely still.”

Of course, that was just wishful thinking. The most terrifying thing about the Xynth was what we *didn’t* know. Even now, after they’d killed 90% of humanity, no one knew exactly how. There was little reliable information; the few who had seen them and lived reported only vague impressions of “wrongness” and “terror.” Nothing regarding their appearance or abilities. They were an absolute mystery. 

We traversed the broken landscape, keeping silent as we moved to avoid predators, both terrestrial and otherwise. Passing a bridge, we heard a noise. 

“Nathan…” whispered my wife, worriedly. 

I motioned for everyone to take cover. Then I crept forward slowly, trying not to show how terrified I was in case the children were watching. I kept listening and heard another noise, faint but unquestionable. I approached slowly, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. The noise was coming from a pile of debris; I moved the pieces and there it was. 

A man. Injured, bloody, barely conscious, with a badly-bleeding gash on his forehead and a leg that was bent at an unnatural angle. He was whispering; I leaned in closer to hear. 

“Ambush…”

I jumped and looked around in all directions, but I couldn’t see anyone. Instinctively, I threw the man’s arm over my shoulder and dragged him with us as we left. 

Miles away, we decided to settle down for the night. I built a small fire under an overpass; we huddled for warmth, hidden by surrounding debris. I tended to the stranger’s wounds as we waited for dawn. 

I could tell the moment he regained consciousness; every muscle in his body tensed. 

“Relax, friend. We mean you no harm. We found you injured and shared our fire with you. We’ve used this underpass before; we even carved our initials into the wall years ago. You’re safe here.”

He looked at me suspiciously but made no move to attack. Neither did I. Eventually he spoke. 

“Are they here?”

“Are who here?” I asked. 

“*The* *Xynth*. I was ambushed by three of them; I barely made it out alive. And that only by hiding in garbage.”

“So you know what they look like?”

He looked at me in shock. “You mean you *don’t know*?”

I stared back at him. “No. We don’t know their appearance or their abilities. We don’t know how they defeated us. We’ve speculated that they can fly or have superhuman strength, that they resemble prehistoric reptiles or flying behemoths . But nobody who’s seen one has lived to tell the tale.”

He shook his head. “How are you still *alive*?”

“What do you mean? What *are* they?”

He looked at me. “We always thought that, if aliens came, they’d attack us with overwhelming physical strength or advanced scientific knowledge. But none of those is their primary skill.”

“What is?” I asked, riveted. 

“Infiltration.”

“What?”

“They have two gifts. They can take the form of any living being, and they can alter memories.”

“That’s all? Why should that concern us?”

He looked behind me at my family sleeping on the ground. 

“They’re your family?”

“Yes, of course.”

He looked at me intensely. *“Were they always?”*

I looked at our initials, scratched into the wall. “N-O-L.” Nathan. Olivia. Liam. 

No M. 

I looked over at the girl I knew as Maya, my daughter. She lay in the dark, staring at me, eyes open and glowing a crimson red. 

“How are we on supplies?” I asked my wife. 

She sighed. “I used the last of the eggs and flour this morning, and the beans are almost gone. We can get some herbs from the garden, but…”

“…we’ll need to go on a supply run soon,” I finished. 

We looked at each other. Neither of us had to say anything; we both knew what it meant. I began to prepare while she went to let the kids know. 

The next morning, I arranged all of our things into four packs - one each for me, Olivia, Maya, and Liam. Each had the necessities for our trip: some water, spare clothes, towels and sunglasses for the brightness of day, and a knife, in case…  in case. I pulled each of the kids to me by their shoulders, looking in their eyes one at a time while their mother watched. 

“We’ve made this trip before. I know it’s a lot. I know you’re scared. But you can do it. Just stay with your mother and me at all times, and everything will be fine. We’ll make it through like we have before. And remember - never stray from the path.”

I hugged them both, Olivia did the same, and we were off. 

We exited the door, removed the covering hiding the entrance, and headed out into the daylight for the first time in years. 

The sight still amazed me. 

I remembered my childhood. The world had seemed limitless, with the sun shining brightly down upon beautiful fields of endless grass and towering trees. 

Now, all that was left was wasteland. 

The aliens had come fifteen years ago, promising peace and cooperation. We’d believed them. 

That was our first mistake. We never got a second. 

Now, fifteen years later, the Earth was devastated. Entire cities gone; 90% of the population wiped out. The Earth no longer ours to control. 

I led Olivia, Liam, and Maya on a path through the undergrowth, leading into where the city used to be. Last time we’d done this, we’d been lucky to find the remains of a store. Everything fresh was long gone - looted by other survivors or rotted away - but there had been some storable goods and packets of medicine left untouched. We’d have to hope we'd get that lucky again. 

My eyes were constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of the Xynth - the closest the human tongue could come to pronouncing their name. “Keep your eyes open, everyone. At the first sign of anything wrong, duck behind the nearest covering and go completely still.”

Of course, that was just wishful thinking. The most terrifying thing about the Xynth was what we *didn’t* know. Even now, after they’d killed 90% of humanity, no one knew exactly how. There was little reliable information; the few who had seen them and lived reported only vague impressions of “wrongness” and “terror.” Nothing regarding their appearance or abilities. They were an absolute mystery. 

We traversed the broken landscape, keeping silent as we moved to avoid predators, both terrestrial and otherwise. Passing a bridge, we heard a noise. 

“Nathan…” whispered my wife, worriedly. 

I motioned for everyone to take cover. Then I crept forward slowly, trying not to show how terrified I was in case the children were watching. I kept listening and heard another noise, faint but unquestionable. I approached slowly, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. The noise was coming from a pile of debris; I moved the pieces and there it was. 

A man. Injured, bloody, barely conscious, with a badly-bleeding gash on his forehead and a leg that was bent at an unnatural angle. He was whispering; I leaned in closer to hear. 

“Ambush…”

I jumped and looked around in all directions, but I couldn’t see anyone. Instinctively, I threw the man’s arm over my shoulder and dragged him with us as we left. 

Miles away, we decided to settle down for the night. I built a small fire under an overpass; we huddled for warmth, hidden by surrounding debris. I tended to the stranger’s wounds as we waited for dawn. 

I could tell the moment he regained consciousness; every muscle in his body tensed. 

“Relax, friend. We mean you no harm. We found you injured and shared our fire with you. We’ve used this underpass before; we even carved our initials into the wall years ago. You’re safe here.”

He looked at me suspiciously but made no move to attack. Neither did I. Eventually he spoke. 

“Are they here?”

“Are who here?” I asked. 

“*The* *Xynth*. I was ambushed by three of them; I barely made it out alive. And that only by hiding in garbage.”

“So you know what they look like?”

He looked at me in shock. “You mean you *don’t know*?”

I stared back at him. “No. We don’t know their appearance or their abilities. We don’t know how they defeated us. We’ve speculated that they can fly or have superhuman strength, that they resemble prehistoric reptiles or flying behemoths . But nobody who’s seen one has lived to tell the tale.”

He shook his head. “How are you still *alive*?”

“What do you mean? What *are* they?”

He looked at me. “We always thought that, if aliens came, they’d attack us with overwhelming physical strength or advanced scientific knowledge. But none of those is their primary skill.”

“What is?” I asked, riveted. 

“Infiltration.”

“What?”

“They have two gifts. They can take the form of any living being, and they can alter memories.”

“That’s all? Why should that concern us?”

He looked behind me at my family sleeping on the ground. 

“They’re your family?”

“Yes, of course.”

He looked at me intensely. *“Were they always?”*

I looked at our initials, scratched into the wall. “N-O-L.” Nathan. Olivia. Liam. 

No M. 

I looked over at the girl I knew as Maya, my daughter. She lay in the dark, staring at me, eyes open and glowing a crimson red. 

I sit on the sofa in my living room, staring ahead blankly as the second hand on the old-fashioned analog clock moves in its never ending cycle. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Did you ever notice how time moves too quickly and too slowly, all at once?”

I think about Andy’s question. I have. I’ve been thinking about time a lot lately. You tend to focus on things more when you realize they’ll be gone soon. 

“Yeah.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. Time’s just funny like that, I guess.”

We sit in silence. 

“There’s got to be something else we can try, something we haven’t thought of,” says Jenny desperately. “Maybe we could—“

“Tried it.”

“What if we—“

“Tried it.”

She looks at me, scared and frustrated. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply with resignation. “We’ve tried everything. There’s no way out. We just have to accept it.”

“What if I’m not like you, Aaron? What if I can’t accept it?”

I shrug silently. I have no comfort to offer; that time is long past. 

“My son is just turning eighteen. It’s too soon for his life to be over. It’s not fair!” Jenny exclaims in frustration. 

No one replies - what is there to say?

“How much time do you think we have?” asks Meredith, breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know,” I reply. “Days? Hours?”

“Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Travel,” I reply. “I always wanted to go to Greece.”

“Why Greece?”

“It just always seemed like a cool place to go.”

Then Andy chimes in. “I always wanted to open a small bookstore.”

“Is that some kind of sick joke?”

“No, I’m serious,” he says to Meredith. “I’d relax every day while selling travel books to tourists, like that guy in that movie. The one with the girl from ‘Pretty Woman?’”

“‘Notting Hill.’” I reply. “Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts’”

“That’s the one. I always thought that would be a great life.”

“I always wanted to be a princess,” adds Jenny, looking around. “I know it’s stupid, but it’s been my dream since I was a kid.”

“Nothing wrong with dreaming,” I say. 

“What about you, Meredith?” asks Andy. 

“I… no, it’s stupid.”

“Come on, say it. No point in holding back now.”

“Well,” she says hesitantly, “I’ve always been so shy. I feel like I missed out on most of life because I was afraid to do what I really wanted. And now… I just want to have one completely uninhibited, passionate night, where I do everything I’ve always been afraid to do.”

The room goes quiet. 

“Well,” I reply, “it’s too bad there’s no one here you’re interested in.”

“Actually,” she replies nervously, “I’ve always kind of had a crush on you, but I never thought you felt the same.”

I wasn’t expecting that. But given the circumstances…

“I suppose I could be interested? If you were?”

She pauses, looking at my face intently. Then she walks over, takes my hand, and leads me upstairs, and for the first time in days I don’t think about the future, only now. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“What do you think it will be like?” Meredith asks as she lies curled into me. 

“I have no idea. Hopefully peaceful. I wouldn’t mind if it were peaceful.”

“Do you really not think there’s anything we can do? Is there no hope?”

I think, then shake my head. “I can’t think of anything we haven’t tried. It’s just… out of our hands.”

“Well,” she says, after a pause, “if this is the end, I’m glad I got to spend a night with you.”

I look over at her. “Me, too,” I say, and take her hand. 

By mutual unspoken agreement, we get dressed and head downstairs. If this is the end, we want to be with everyone. When we get there, the smell of food emenates from the kitchen. 

“I figured we might as well eat something - no reason to be hungry.”

I nod to Jenny gratefully as I fill a plate with homemade tacos. 

Later, after plates are cleared, we all sit around the living room. The room has been the setting for many loud get-together over the years, playing games and watching movies and exchanging jokes. Today it’s quiet, as if noise would be an unwelcome intruder. We all feel it - the uneasiness in our chests telling us the time is near. 

Jenny looks around. “Should we… I don’t know, pray or hold hands or something?”

I shrug. “If praying will make you feel better, feel free.”

She lowers her head. “Our Father, who art in Heaven…” The rest of us silently nod our heads and think our own thoughts. 

“I like the holding hands idea,” Meredith says after the prayer finishes. She holds out her hand toward me. I take it. Andy and Jenny join in until we’re all connected, in reality as well as fate. 

“I hope it doesn’t hurt,” says Jenny. 

“I’m sure it will fine,” replies Andy. 

I look up at everyone, gripping Meredith’s hand tight. “It’s been an honor knowin—”

…

…

————————

“Are you okay?” asks Sally, knowing her husband's moods well after all these years. 

“Fine,” John replies, sitting at his desk. “I’m just really going to miss them. They’ve been with me for so long, they’re like family.”

“I know,” Sally says. “But you said yourself there was nowhere left for them to go. Sometimes you have to move on.”

“I know. It’s just tough. I really wanted to see how Meredith and Aaron worked out, you know?”

She pats his arm. “I know.”

With that, he takes a breath and hits delete, watching the words disappear like sand through his fingers until only a lone cursor stares back at him from the blank screen, waiting for him to start anew. 

His second draft would be better. 

“How are we on supplies?” I asked my wife. 

She sighed. “I used the last of the eggs and flour this morning, and the beans are almost gone. We can get some herbs from the garden, but…”

“…we’ll need to go on a supply run soon,” I finished. 

We looked at each other. Neither of us had to say anything; we both knew what it meant. I began to prepare while she went to let the kids know. 

The next morning, I arranged all of our things into four packs - one each for me, Olivia, Maya, and Liam. Each had the necessities for our trip: some water, spare clothes, towels and sunglasses for the brightness of day, and a knife, in case…  in case. I pulled each of the kids to me by their shoulders, looking in their eyes one at a time while their mother watched. 

“We’ve made this trip before. I know it’s a lot. I know you’re scared. But you can do it. Just stay with your mother and me at all times, and everything will be fine. We’ll make it through like we have before. And remember - never stray from the path.”

I hugged them both, Olivia did the same, and we were off. 

We exited the door, removed the covering hiding the entrance, and headed out into the daylight for the first time in years. 

The sight still amazed me. 

I remembered my childhood. The world had seemed limitless, with the sun shining brightly down upon beautiful fields of endless grass and towering trees. 

Now, all that was left was wasteland. 

The aliens had come fifteen years ago, promising peace and cooperation. We’d believed them. 

That was our first mistake. We never got a second. 

Now, fifteen years later, the Earth was devastated. Entire cities gone; 90% of the population wiped out. The Earth no longer ours to control. 

I led Olivia, Liam, and Maya on a path through the undergrowth, leading into where the city used to be. Last time we’d done this, we’d been lucky to find the remains of a store. Everything fresh was long gone - looted by other survivors or rotted away - but there had been some storable goods and packets of medicine left untouched. We’d have to hope we'd get that lucky again. 

My eyes were constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of the Xynth - the closest the human tongue could come to pronouncing their name. “Keep your eyes open, everyone. At the first sign of anything wrong, duck behind the nearest covering and go completely still.”

Of course, that was just wishful thinking. The most terrifying thing about the Xynth was what we didn’t know. Even now, after they’d killed 90% of humanity, no one knew exactly how. There was little reliable information; the few who had seen them and lived reported only vague impressions of “wrongness” and “terror.” Nothing regarding their appearance or abilities. They were an absolute mystery. 

We traversed the broken landscape, keeping silent as we moved to avoid predators, both terrestrial and otherwise. Passing a bridge, we heard a noise. 

“Nathan…” whispered my wife, worriedly. 

I motioned for everyone to take cover. Then I crept forward slowly, trying not to show how terrified I was in case the children were watching. I kept listening and heard another noise, faint but unquestionable. I approached slowly, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. The noise was coming from a pile of debris; I moved the pieces and there it was. 

A man. Injured, bloody, barely conscious, with a badly-bleeding gash on his forehead and a leg that was bent at an unnatural angle. He was whispering; I leaned in closer to hear. 

“Ambush…”

I jumped and looked around in all directions, but I couldn’t see anyone. Instinctively, I threw the man’s arm over my shoulder and dragged him with us as we left. 

Miles away, we decided to settle down for the night. I built a small fire under an overpass; we huddled for warmth, hidden by surrounding debris. I tended to the stranger’s wounds as we waited for dawn. 

I could tell the moment he regained consciousness; every muscle in his body tensed. 

“Relax, friend. We mean you no harm. We found you injured and shared our fire with you. We’ve used this underpass before; we even carved our initials into the wall years ago. You’re safe here.”

He looked at me suspiciously but made no move to attack. Neither did I. Eventually he spoke. 

“Are they here?”

“Are who here?” I asked. 

“The Xynth. I was ambushed by three of them; I barely made it out alive. And that only by hiding in garbage.”

“So you know what they look like?”

He looked at me in shock. “You mean you don’t know?”

I stared back at him. “No. We don’t know their appearance or their abilities. We don’t know how they defeated us. We’ve speculated that they can fly or have superhuman strength, that they resemble prehistoric reptiles or flying behemoths . But nobody who’s seen one has lived to tell the tale.”

He shook his head. “How are you still alive?”

“What do you mean? What are they?”

He looked at me. “We always thought that, if aliens came, they’d attack us with overwhelming physical strength or advanced scientific knowledge. But none of those is their primary skill.”

“What is?” I asked, riveted. 

“Infiltration.”

“What?”

“They have two gifts. They can take the form of any living being, and they can alter memories.”

“That’s all? Why should that concern us?”

He looked behind me at my family sleeping on the ground. 

“They’re your family?”

“Yes, of course.”

He looked at me intensely. “Were they always?”

I looked at our initials, scratched into the wall. “N-O-L.” Nathan. Olivia. Liam. 

No M. 

I looked over at the girl I knew as Maya, my daughter. She lay in the dark, staring at me, eyes open and glowing a crimson red.