u/Ooston9000

Hello reader. This is my first story writing female characters as the lead. As a male writer, I mostly would like to know if they feel realistic, believable and your general thoughts on the story. I always do a read4read as well.

The sky was alive with light, green and violet rivers flowing across an endless black veil.

Riley stood on the roof of the planetarium she worked at, staring up in awe. No long drive to a dark field, no waiting for rare storm alerts. The aurora had come to her, bright, and alive. She whispered to herself, “This is it. This is the aurora I have been searching for.”

Mara chimed in sarcastically, “Yes Ri, the universe saw how sad your dating life is and gave you a light show instead.”

Riley jumped and gave a little laugh. “When did you get here? You know how long I have been waiting for a storm like this. It’s something special and you couldn’t ask for a better view.”

They stood together on the roof, the noisy city sounds fading into the void beneath the show.

“I’m bored. I’m gonna get some sleep,” Mara said.

Riley looked at her like she was crazy. “Don’t you want to stay? I brought an extra sleeping bag.”

“You’re going to sleep up here?” Mara exclaimed.

“Well why not? How often do you get to see an aurora in the city?”

“Don’t freeze to death up here Ri. Dan already gave me a hard time for giving away free tickets. I don’t want to have to explain why you are a popsicle.”

Riley laughed and said good night to Mara. Even with the days being warm, Mara was right. The night was freezing. Riley thought as she set out her sleeping bag. She settled in to gaze at the aurora but the freezing air forced her to retreat to the warmth of the building. Beautiful dancing lights filled Riley’s head and mesmerized her thoughts. Eventually, she couldn’t stay awake.

Riley woke to the same glow. No sunrise or dimmed lights, just the aurora still pouring across the sky like dye over spilled ink.

She sat up in the sleeping bag, neck stiff, eyes gritty from staring too long. Riley went back to the rooftop. The city below looked off. The sun had not risen and the aurora was still present, casting the city in the perpetual twilight. The steel and glass buildings reflecting green and violet instead of the golden sun that should be present.

Riley rubbed her arms against the chill. Mara was right. I would have been a popsicle if I slept out here.

The lights curling and swirling in unfamiliar patterns. Riley shivered and headed for the roof door. She packed up her belongings and started to descend.

Downstairs in the planetarium’s dim lobby she found Mara already there, nursing coffee from a thermos, looking annoyed at being up so early.

“You survived,” Mara said dryly. “No frostbite? No alien abduction?” “No,” said Riley. “You were right. You would have needed to peel me off the roof.”

As Riley reached for the coffee, Mara said, “I tried calling you. I was just about to come up there.” She checked her phone. Dead.

Mara’s smirk faded a fraction. “You should have heard the radio on the way here. ‘Unprecedented geomagnetic event.’ Signs and lights are flickering all downtown. Some nut jobs online are saying it’s the end times. Yeah right!”

Riley stared through one of the large windows. The aurora oppressed her vision.

“It’s not fading,” she said to Mara. “Auroras almost always fade by the morning, and being in the city it should be completely gone by now.”

Mara followed her gaze. For once she didn’t joke.

“Any idea what’s going on?” she asked.

Riley had no answer.

The planetarium was closed Sundays, so no shows, no school groups, no reason to open the doors. “I gotta head out soon. Got a long drive out to see my parents,” Mara said. Her mom was insisting on a family barbecue up north. “If the sky’s still doing its thing, at least there’ll be burgers,” Mara said. “I’ll call you later. I’m going to see if I can figure out why the storm is still visible, and what's up with the sun while you're gone.” “Alright. Later.”

Riley walked towards the stairs and descended to the basement. The basement was just for storage and the single office. She slipped into the cramped space, the stacks of astronomy journals and star charts on the walls. An ancient computer sat on the desk. Research on this thing is going to be slow, Riley thought. A TV sat in the corner but no one really used it. The windowless closet of a room was filled with the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint smell of old, slightly mildewy paper.

She powered on the computer, plugged in her dead phone to charge, and started digging. She poured over website after website of bizarre solar storm anomalies. Extended aurora events, record-breaking geomagnetic storms, sun disappearing because of an aurora, the Carrington event. Transcribed articles from the 1800s, NASA reports, forum threads full of panicked amateurs. Nothing matched this. Riley was both excited and terrified. A once in a lifetime event. But what is going on?

As Mara drove north, she rolled down the windows and immediately was flooded with cold air. She rolled back them up quickly. What the hell! That weather guy said it was supposed to be warm today. The aurora filled the windshield, brighter on the open highway, no buildings to block it. She drove in silence, glancing up now and then, half-amused. “You’re really committed to this light show huh?” she muttered to the sky.

Riley looked at her phone and saw it was nearly night again, or what was supposed to be night. She checked occasionally during her research and the sun still never rose. The aurora twisted in green and violet waves. If the sun was out it was unable to pierce through the colorful display.

Riley called Mara to check in.

“What up Ri? How goes the super exciting space nerd research?”

“Shut up Mara. Are you on your way back?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in twenty. I grabbed a plate for you too. My step dad might be a tool but at least he can cook.”

“Thanks, see you then.”

Riley ventured back to the roof to see the lights again. They seemed… brighter. The colors shifted and flowed, bouncing off the glass and steel city in a display of wonder that Riley could only have wished for. Even with the odd weather, people were coming and going, staring at the lights while they went about their evening.

Riley went back to the office and turned on the TV. Maybe the news will have something.

“A truly unique solar event is unfolding as we speak. The northern lights have proceeded throughout the day and appear to be continuing into the night. While experts are stumped as no Coronal Mass Ejections were detected on any instruments, no noticeable effects have come from the storm and radiation levels appear to be normal. It looks like it’s going to be another amazing show tonight, so take the kids out and see the wonder of the universe. Now let’s go to Alex with sports.”

Riley shut down the TV.

Riley’s stomach tightened. No CMEs. No radiation spike. No explanation at all. Yet the sky kept shining.

She paced the office, the hum of the old computer buzzing in her brain. Mara would be back soon, just twenty minutes. The thought grounded her a little.

Up on the roof again, the aurora had grown bolder. Greens deepened to emerald fire, violets bled into deep indigo, swirling in slow, hypnotic spirals. Reflections danced across rooftops and windows like living paint. People below walked with heads tilted back, phones raised, laughing or murmuring in awe.

Riley leaned on the railing. “Come on,” she whispered to the lights. “Give me a clue. Something. Anything.”

The aurora ignored her pleas for an answer. The colors continued to glow and persist. Riley shivered at the cold and stepped back. A knot formed in her throat and her stomach tightened.

Downstairs, the lobby door creaked open. Footsteps echoed with Mara’s familiar quick stride.

“Ri! Special delivery: barbecue and bad news about your aurora obsession.”

Riley hurried down. Mara stood there, paper plate in hand, foil-wrapped and steaming. Her grin was the same, but her eyes caught the skylight’s glow as she glanced towards the lights.

“You okay?” Riley asked.

Mara shrugged. “Tired. Family stuff. Sky's still being a drama-queen.” She handed over the plate. “Eat. You look like you haven’t since yesterday.”

Riley took it and managed a few bites but her mind was solely focused. “The news is calling it a solar event but there are no CMEs. No explanation, it doesn’t make any sense.”

Mara snorted. “Experts are stumped. Shocker.” She glanced up again. “It’s… prettier tonight, though. Almost makes you forget the sun’s AWOL.”

Riley followed her gaze. The lights were still flowing. She looked back at Mara. Her face looked different. Less her sarcastic self.

Neither spoke for a moment.

“You don’t understand. Whatever's happening is new. Even the most intense solar storms never stopped the sun from rising,” Riley exclaimed.

Then Mara said, quieter, “You think it’ll stop?”

Riley didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she believed it would.

Mara looked at Riley with concern. “Why don’t you crash at my place? You know you’re always welcome to my spare room.”

“Y-yeah. Ok,” Riley gathered her stuff trying to piece together any explanation. They drove to Mara’s apartment, passing street and city lights washed out by the looming display.

While Mara made up the guest bed, Panic began to set in for Riley, “Mara, I’m starting to get really freaked out. This isn’t normal and I just can’t explain…”

Mara cut her off with a hug and said, “We can figure out all of this tomorrow. Someone will have figured this out soon and we can go back to our boring day jobs. But you can’t freak out because you’re the science nerd and if you freak out, then I’ll really freak out.”

Riley laughed, slightly reassured and said, “OK. Sleep and then we figure this out.”

Riley lay there in bed, still working out what could be happening before sleep took her.

Riley awoke to a dark room. She checked her phone. It was early but the sun should be up. I should check, Riley thought to herself.

She got out of bed and walked to the living room and froze. Mara was standing in the dark room, staring out of the window at the aurora.

“Mara?” Riley whispered.

Mara didn’t move. Didn’t even react.

“Mara!” Riley shouted this time.

Mara turned to Riley and said, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Mara. How long have you been staring at the lights?”

Mara hesitated, “I don’t know. I lost track of time. I got up to go pee around midnight and then I started looking out the window. That’s the last thing I remember until I heard you yell my name.” “Mara. That was seven hours ago. You really don’t remember anything?” “No,” Mara replied with a hint of worry in her voice.

Riley went to pull Mara away from the window and she looked at the aurora.

It had somehow gotten even brighter. It appeared as if it was daylight but the emerald and indigo lights were ever-present. Then Riley looked to the streets. Hundreds of people were out on the streets. Frozen in place and staring upwards. The people. Are they-glowing?

Riley told Mara they needed to go back to the planetarium. Riley wasn’t sure why she said to go back there. But where else would they even go? Riley didn’t think any other place might hold the answer, Mara agreed wordlessly and gathered a few things, never taking her eyes off the windows.

Riley and Mara walked out of the apartment building into the street. The crowd of people looked like an ant colony. Swarms of people in every direction. Their heads tilted skyward and mouths slack. The city was like a colorful library. Normally in the city you could barely think it was so loud. Now, just silence under the endless glow.

Riley grabbed Mara’s wrist. “We can’t drive, there’s too many people. Come on.”

They started to walk in the direction of the planetarium. They walked up to someone in the crowd. “Hey! What are you doing?” Riley shouted. She looked at the woman’s face. She was staring at the sky with a euphoric look on her face. Riley could see her mouth moving in some kind of soundless chant or prayer. Riley noticed her arms. Glowing green and purple pulses flowing through her veins. Pulsing and bulging like a radioactive river.

Riley recoiled, She looked at Mara who was also eyeing the sky. Riley grabbed her again and started moving faster, dodging between motionless bodies. Mara stumbled with every step. Riley yanked harder. “Mara, keep your eyes down and keep moving. Don’t touch anyone. I don’t know what’s wrong with them.”

Riley noticed her skin tingling like a static shock was threatening to zap her at any moment. The air was heavy and eerily alive. She had the sense that a million eyes were staring down at her from the lights above her. Riley’s pulse quickened and her hands went sweaty.

Riley risked a glance back and she stopped in her tracks. She saw a little girl in the crowd. She was gazing at the sky with the same euphoric, twisted grin on her face. Her mouth, muttering the same unheard and rapid chorus. The girl began to float. Slow and gentle, her shoes dangling inches above the pavement. Then a man beside her rose, arms dangling limply at his sides, his face with the same euphoric, muttering. Then more. One by one, bodies ascended, glowing veins pulsing brighter with each foot gained, emerald and indigo threads crawling across skin. No wails of pain or expressions of fear. Just a silent rapture into the swirling lights.

Riley’s breath caught in her throat, and her grip on Mara slipped.

Mara’s voice came small. “Ri… my arms feel weird.” Riley looked and saw faint green threads shimmered under Mara’s skin.

The sight scared Riley and she backed away out of instinct. She bumped into a tall, thin man who was facing away from the girls. He shot around in a rapid, unnatural spin and grabbed her, wrapping her in his arms. “GET OFF OF ME! MARA HELP ME!” Riley panicked and fought to get away but she wasn’t strong enough to break his manic grip. Mara stared at Riley with pleading eyes but the aurora drew her gaze up. “You must join the light,” he said with a manic laughter in his voice. “Mara, look at me. I need your help. Please, please, please don’t let me go.” Mara’s eyes filled with tears but she didn’t look away. Mara isn’t going to save me! The man began to rise. Riley felt her feet leave the ground. “MARA!” Mara’s eyes fell back to Riley, and she rushed to her friend. “Wrench his arms!” Riley shouted. Both the girls furiously attacked his arms, his grip faltered and they fell to the ground with a thud. They looked back to the man, and he already turned back to the aurora.

“Are you ok,” Riley asked Mara, hugging her, relieved to have her friend back. “Yeah. I-I think so.” Riley pulled Mara up and said, “We need to keep going.”

They pushed through the growing gaps where people had lifted away being careful to avoid anyone still on the ground. The aurora pulsing a deep and satisfied swell as the city lights dimmed further beneath it.

Riley and Mara reached the Planetarium and made their way to the basement. Riley turned on the TV to see if there was any news. The TV showed a No Broadcast Signal. She flipped through the channels. The repeating words on each station taunting her with their lack of help.

Riley started with the journals again. I must have missed something. The scribbled notes and crude drawings blurred from page to page. Mara stood by the door, facing the direction of the lights. Journal after journal and newspaper clipping that revealed nothing. Riley didn’t even notice that Mara had slipped out the door. Riley looked up at the empty office and panic set in. “Mara? Mara?”

Riley made her way to the lobby and Mara was standing at the open doorway looking up at the aurora. Riley’s palms were sweating again and her heart beat like a crescendoing drum, “Mara. What are you doing? It’s not safe up here.” Mara looked back at her. Riley barely recognized her. Mara’s sarcastic smirk and carefree attitude were stolen and a euphoric grin adorned her face. Mara’s arms, legs and neck were bright green and pulsing. “No Ri. You are wrong about the lights. It’s not a threat but a gift,” Mara said in her trance-like state. Her voice was cold and soulless behind that grin. “Come with me Ri. I don’t want to go without my best friend. Come with me. Please?”

Riley began to tear up and begged, “No no no no no, Mara, please don’t go. Please. We can survive and stay together. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.” Riley’s face was fully drenched with tears. Mara stared her void eyes into Riley’s, “Last chance Ri. It’s time to go.” “I can’t,” Riley cried. Mara stepped outside, she looked at the sky once again and began to drift up. Riley crumpled, screaming for her friend, “Mara! Don’t go. Don’t leave me please.” Mara was already above the door frame, and Riley couldn’t see her anymore. She wept uncontrollably for her loss.

Riley wasn’t sure how long she stayed there, making sure to keep her back to the open door. She stood still sniffling and closed the front doors. As she shut them, she saw the veins in her hands glowing. Riley snapped her eyes shut and told herself it was just a reflection from outside. She tucked her hands into her sleeves and tried to deny what she had seen.

Riley shuffled back to the office. She shut the door behind her and threw herself into the chair slamming her head on the desk. She looked up at the computer and caught her reflection on the dark screen. Riley looked closer. She saw the capillaries of her eyes were green. Unnerving green worms wriggling around her corneas. Riley’s stomach dropped. I am not going to be like everyone else out there. I am going to figure this out. Another thought entered Riley’s mind that was foreign and mysterious but it was still her internal voice. No Riley. You won't. You have searched these books and found nothing. But I can show you true happiness. Riley fought back against this intruding thought. All you do is take. You took all of those people. You took my friend. Mara went to it. The thought was soft and non-threatening. Mara experienced the auroras bliss and so can I. Not a chance. Give it time Riley. The intruding thoughts subsided for now.

Riley grabbed another book, convinced if she could find the answer the sly thoughts would go away. As Riley tried to read her eyes kept drifting towards the door. She would catch herself. No. That’s exactly what this thing wants. Focus. Fight it. Hours of papers yielded nothing. Not a single lead or clue. It’s hopeless. Whatever this thing is, the answer isn’t here. Riley stood from the chair and stared towards the exit. I wonder what it looks like up there. Maybe I should go check. Riley reached her hand for the door and froze. NO. Of course not. I will not go up there. I...I should turn the knob. Riley wrenched her hand off the door and she threw herself to the floor. She tucked her knees to her chest. Just go look Riley. Stay put. You want to be happy. Riley’s thoughts were a constant blur. Which thoughts were hers now, she didn’t know. Go to the lights. Be with Mara. Stay here. I don’t want to die in this damn office. Fight it. There is no fighting it. Don’t give in. I want to see the lights. I want to be happy.

Riley’s thoughts went blank except for one. Go to the light. A warm, comforting sensation flooded her body. Go to the light. Radiating from her chest and filling her skin like internal sunlight. Go to the light. Euphoria overtook her every emotion. Go to the light. She stood. Riley opened the door and walked as if she was a marionette to the lobby. Go to the light. Riley shambled to the stairs leading to the roof. Go to the light. She exited onto the roof and stared at the lights. Riley’s eyes widened and her smile grew. I’m going to the light, Riley thought as her feet left the rooftop.

*story notes*

I wrote this story after watching the latest creepcast episode in about 2 hours.

I ran down the stairs. I was going to be late for work. I reached the bottom and I saw it.

A...plant?

Why is there a plant in my hallway? I checked my doors. All locked and no windows broken. I’m going to be late for work. I will figure this out later. I grabbed the green invader by the pot and threw it in my trash. I went to work and by lunch had nearly forgotten about my nighttime guest. I went out with some co-workers, had a few drinks and some food and crashed back into my bed.

My alarm went off and I dragged myself out of bed. I head down to the kitchen for some breakfast. I saw it again.

That same plant. I checked my doors again and by the back door was another plant. It was also in a pot but looked different from the first. Still green, still a plant, but I don’t know the first thing about plants. Now there’s another?

I grabbed them both and threw them in the trash. I rechecked all of my doors and windows. They were all locked. I made my coffee and toast and went off to work. I asked my co-workers if any of them had been over to my house. They all said they went home after the bar. I didn’t go out tonight.

I drove home thinking of who would be getting into my house. Could be my mom and dad. But they wouldn’t leave me a plant. I guess if one of my co-workers had found my spare key they could have gotten in to prank me. It seemed unlikely but not impossible. There is at least two guys who would do a prank this stupid.

I got home. Found a new place for my spare key and checked the trash. Both broken pots and root exposed plants were still in my trash. I went inside, made my dinner and read a book into the evening. I did one last loop around the house, checking the doors and windows. I went to bed.

As I woke up, I curled and whipped the blanket out of shock. There was another plant by my bedside. Are the others here too? I bolted downstairs and my potted mysteries were back in their place. I went back upstairs to look at the new plant. It was larger than the other two. With a thick trunk and large green leaves it looked more like a tree than a plant.

I checked my house again. Locked down like a cell. Who is doing this? I called my boss and told him I needed a personal day. He tried to pry a little, but when I didn’t divulge anything out of the ordinary, he told me to take care. I sat on my couch for a few minutes to think.

Okay. Someone has to be messing with me. I am going to catch them in the act. I went to the store and bought a camera system.

Back at the house I began to install the cameras in the main rooms and halls. I also removed the spare key I hid outside and threw the plants out once again. The day passed quickly with the work, and I sat with my laptop checking the cameras. Making sure they were working and recording right. I went to bed late that night, uneasy and more afraid of the idea of an invader than some plants.

I awoke to find the same plant by my bedside. I got dressed and started to go to the stairs when I saw a new plant. A bushy, green, spiky plant at the top of my stairs. I ignored it and went down to the living room. I checked the laptop.

I scanned each camera for hours. I checked every corner, every flit of movement or shadow crawling around the house got scrutinized. I finally found my answer. There was no invader, or prankster. At 4:37am exactly, all of the plants just...appeared. One second, they are not there and then next, plants. I checked all the way until I woke up. I never saw anyone.

Okay. Think. Think. On the one hand, plants don’t just appear out of nowhere. On the other hand, nothing malicious was being done. The plants just show up. They aren’t harming anything.

I decided that today I wouldn’t throw the plants out. Maybe there won’t be a new one tomorrow.

There was a new plant the next day. A large plant with extending branches hung from one of my curtain rods. I threw the plants out and they returned the next day along with a new friend. Maybe I burn them? That could work.

I gathered up the growing numbers and made a pile in the back yard. I lit them ablaze with a blow torch from the garage. The charred remains formed a black pile of ash in the back yard. Hopefully this is finally over.

I awoke to find the plants back in their places. Bringing yet another with them. Weeks went by. No matter how I disposed of them they came back. There had to be hundreds by now. It was getting tough to walk around.

It’s been over two months. The plants are piling on top of each other. It looks like a jungle in here. Is this really even my house anymore​? I went to the door and tried to get past all of the plants. They were growing up to the ceiling and across the walls. I tried to reach past them to get out the door, but I couldn’t. The backdoor was the same and the windows. I was trapped. Another week went by trapped in my house. At this point I knew more plants had arrived each night but I could never tell the difference. I’ve run out of food. The ground is filled with dirt and roots poking out of the plants.

The hunger was starting to get to me. I bet I could eat these plants. I didn’t have a better idea. I nibbled on a plant in the bedroom. It tasted awful. It was crunchy, earthy, and bitter. But I had no choice.

I woke up to my green hell. I felt weird. My hands were shaking. I extended my fingers and saw little green sprouts coming from my nail beds. I felt little green swords poking out of my back under my shirt. I crawled my way to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The whites of my eyes were a deep green.

I laughed. Nothing was funny of course. I realized in that moment that I was going to join the plants. I crawled back to my room and consumed more plants. I ate until my stomach felt like splitting. I could feel the plants worming their way through my body. Poking out of pores and replacing my skin.

Another day and I don’t never remember what I looked like before. My green skin, my viney hair, my brown rooty feet. I am not a person anymore. I have joined the plants.

Dr. Elias Crowe woke before dawn in the small apartment above the clinic. The building settled with familiar groans in the winter cold. At forty-three he moved with a steady but slowing care. He brewed his coffee and headed downstairs to unlock the door. The town had no hospital or urgent care. He was the only doctor in town. General practice during the day and coroner when needed. The modest pay chipped steadily at the medical school debt that still loomed, and he preferred it that way: steady, predictable, far from city scrutiny.

The waiting room carried the familiar smell of antiseptic and wet coats. Patients trickled in early, bundled against the cold, with the usual complaints. Coughs, strains, the slow wear of rural life. Elias kept his own routine simple: no family, no ties beyond these walls. When someone asked why he chose a place this small, he gave the same easy reply. “The countryside needs doctors too.” It was true enough, and no one pressed.

Outside, the main street lay quiet under fresh snow. Only the plow truck broke the silence. Lights glowed in the diner across the road. Elias glanced at the first chart, already prepping for the day’s lineup of stitches, scripts, and the hope no case would stretch beyond what he could handle alone. He told himself it was temporary. He had been telling himself that since he arrived.

First up: Mrs. Abernathy, seventy-eight, shuffling in with a cough that rattled her ribs. Elias listened. Crackles in the lower lobes, nothing new. "Bronchitis again," he said, writing the script for antibiotics. "And maybe this time quit smoking. That habit's doing more damage than the cold." She gave a small, wry smile. The same one every visit. Took the paper, folded it into her pocket, and left for the pharmacy down the street.

Next: Tim, nineteen, wrist swollen from a fall while fixing the barn roof. Elias manipulated the wrist, felt the bones shift slightly under pressure. Movement was good with no obvious fractures, just strain. "Ice it, elevate, no heavy lifting for at least a week." Tim grinned, sheepish. "Thanks, Doc. Dad'll kill me if I break anything else." Elias watched him go. The door bell chimed soft.

He rubbed his temple. Headache started again. A quick swallow of water, a few aspirin and he opened the next file. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Dr. Crowe finished with Tim and glanced at the clock. Eleven-thirty. No more walk-ins. The waiting room sat empty except for the faint hum of the heater. He checked his phone: one message from the sheriff. "Body at the old mill road. Guy collapsed while walking home. Looks natural. Need you out there before the snow buries him." “I’ll be there in a few,” said Elias.

He exhaled, rubbed the back of his neck. Coroner calls were part of the job. Extra cash was always nice. He grabbed his coat, the field kit, and stepped outside, closing down the clinic. Snow had started again, soft and relentless, blanketing the street. He drove the truck past the cut down corn rows, their remaining stalks piercing the snow like the spines of a fish. Past the rusted silo, until the road bent toward the mill and he saw a shape slumped against a guardrail.

The sheriff was already there, pacing uncomfortably. "It's Sean Sullivan, local sheep farmer. Walked home from the bar last night. Nothing looks to be off."

Crowe knelt and gloved up. He had known Sean. He was a good man. Coroner calls in a small town where you know everyone was always difficult for Elias. He forced himself into a clinical mindset. The body, male, forties, wool sweater, jeans, was face-up now. Skin pale but unmarked. Eyes open, pupils fixed. No obvious trauma. "We'll take him back," Crowe said. "Could be cardiac. Or a stroke. I'll check it out and get you a report."

The sheriff helped load him into the back. Crowe drove slowly. Snow crunched under tires. The morgue brought a morbid sense of dread. Even as a doctor, Elias struggled with death. He unzipped the bag and began his routine. External exam first: no wounds, Livor patterns were consistent with the believed time of death. He noted the weight, height, clothing (wool sweater, jeans, boots caked with snow), various moles and scars. Next he made the Y-incision: shoulders to sternum to pubis. The skin parted easily. The subcutaneous fat was thinner than expected for a middle-aged man. He retracted the flaps and inspected the abdominal cavity. No free fluid or foreign bodies. Organs looked in place at a glance.

But they felt wrong under gloved fingers. The liver gave too much when he palpated it, squishy, like pressing on a water balloon instead of the usual firm resilience. A faint, sour odor rose from the open cavity, not quite rot but close enough to make his nose wrinkle. He grabbed the spleen gently; the capsule tore with barely any pressure, splitting open and oozing dark, thin blood that spread faster than normal across the table and through his fingers. Crowe paused, frowned. "The spleen is diffluent," he muttered. He wiped it away, continued.

He reached the neck structures next, thyroid, larynx, then moved to the head. Scalp peeled back without resistance. He grabbed the bone saw and began to cut through the skull.

The skull collapsed, like squished through rotten cantaloupe. The cranium cap disintegrated to small pieces. The stench hit instantly: a thick, choking putrefaction, like spoiled meat left in the sun mixed with sewage and bile. It burned his throat and eyes. Crowe staggered back, stomach convulsing. He barely made it to the sink before he vomited hard, coffee, and aspirin splattering the stainless steel. He retched twice more, gasping, then ran cold water over his face and rinsed his mouth. The room still reeked. He stood there a full minute, breathing through his mouth, before he could force himself back to the table.

Inside the cranial vault, no brain. Just a shallow, tea-colored pool, viscous and still, catching the fluorescent light in slow, oily ripples. The fluid didn't splash. It clung to the bone edges, refusing to spill even when he tilted the head.

He probed it with a metal pick. The liquid parted like the red sea, then closed around the metal with a soft suck, greedy, alive. When he pulled back, a thread stretched between probe and pool, thin as spider silk, glowing faintly before snapping with a wet plink.

Sean Sullivan had complained of severe headaches a few weeks ago but nothing more. Crowe had prescribed ibuprofen.

He stared. The fluid rippled once, like breath exhaled underwater. It looked alive

He closed the cranium. He wrapped the skull in plastic wrap. It was all he could think of. The putrid smell lingered.

He closed the morgue door, glad to be away from that smell. The clinic was closed and he climbed the stairs. It was late, his apartment was dark and cold. Snow tapped the window like fingernails. He set the kit down, washed his hands twice. He still smelled the vomitous rot on his skin.

The bottle waited on the counter: half-full whiskey, label worn. He poured two fingers into a glass, stared at it. The headache from earlier throbbed harder. "Just one," he said aloud.

Then he drank it down and capped the bottle. Elias sat on the bed, hands clasped, breathing slow. The fluid in the skull replayed in his mind. Whatever this was, it was not a disease Elias had seen before.

The clinic stayed slow the next morning. Crowe flipped on the small TV in the waiting room for background noise. The TV in the corner flashed and a voice said loudly, "This is a breaking news report." Elias's attention was caught. "Local woman Maggie Thompson has been reported missing since yesterday morning. If you see her or have any leads on her whereabouts, contact your local sheriff's office." Maggie's picture stayed frozen on the screen. She was a bit younger, maybe 28, attractive. Long black hair, glasses. Then the channel flashed to a commercial.

Crowe muted it, uneasy. The name didn’t sound familiar. Being the only doctor in town meant you knew basically everyone.

The bell chimed. Paul Whitaker stepped in. He was a sturdy farmer in his sixties, coat dusted white with snow. "Doc? Got this pain near my liver. Fell off the tractor last week. Thought it'd go away."

Crowe nodded, led Paul to the exam room. Shirt up: no bruise, no swelling. "Nothing obvious," he said. "Let's get an X-ray."

The film came up fast. A small metallic shard was embedded near the liver, angular, no obvious entry wound. Crowe frowned. "You ever been shot?"

Paul shrugged. "Vietnam. '71. Sniper took a shot at me. Bullet hit a rock and the shrapnel went in low. Doctor back then said it’s not worth pulled it out. He said it would just be there forever." He laughed once, dry. "Still aches sometimes."

Crowe stared at the man. No scar by the liver. The bullet wound scar was on the other side. “You say you got shot and there is a scar but it’s not by your liver. There is something metal by the liver though. Could be that the bullet migrated over time. We'll take it out," he said, voice level but his interest piqued.

He sterilized and numbed the area to make the incision, a two clean inch gap to work through. Blood welled, then stopped. As he reached for his forceps, a thin, elastic membrane stretched across the gap. Like living film. Sealing it in seconds. Translucent and taut.

Elias just stared dumbfounded. He made another incision, grabbed the forceps and held the skin apart. The membrane fought, flexing inward, but he held it open with a low scrape. Paul shifted uncomfortably. "Feels weird."

Crowe ignored him and reached in. Thin, metallic shard came free with a soft tug. No blood, no resistance. He removed the forceps, wound gaped for a heartbeat. Membrane snapped shut behind it, sealing clean.

The skin was perfect. No scar or marks at all. "Keep it dry," he said. "Call me if it swells." Paul nodded, confused but trusting, and left.

Crowe put the metallic shard in a glass vial. Irregular with sharp angles. It looked more like steel than lead. He gathered up his tools to clean them. While grabbing the scalpel, he nicked his finger on the blade. A tiny bead of blood and absolute panic set in.

He stared at the bead of blood on his finger. It didn't drip. Just sat there, perfect and round. He scrubbed his hands at the sink, furious. Soap lathering pink and water scalding, until the skin stung red. Then he wrapped it tight in gauze in double-layers.

No one else came to the clinic today. The waiting room remained silent, snow piling against the glass. He flipped the sign to "Closed," locked the door, and climbed the stairs. Upstairs, apartment dim and cold, he set the glass vial on the kitchen table under the lamp.

The shard gleamed. Definitely metal, but not lead. The edges were too sharp to be shrapnel. He tilted it. Light caught strange angles: no rust, no serial number, no maker's mark. Just a faint, etched pattern that looked like circuitry or veins, just barely visible. He rolled it between gloved fingers. Cold, weightless almost. Couldn't explain it. Not bullet fragment, not implant, not anything from a textbook. Just... there. He held it under under a magnifying glass. It wasn’t a single piece of metal. It was a shifting mass different pieces, moving into and around each other.

He sat. Headache throbbed behind his eyes. The bandage on his finger felt too tight, too warm. He peeled it off slowly.

The cut was gone. No scab or no redness. Just smooth skin, just like Paul. The skin flexed under his light, and for a heartbeat, a thin filament shimmered beneath.

"That's impossible," he said aloud, voice flat in the empty room.

He pressed a hand to his temple. A faint throb answered, and under the skin something twitched once, like a thread pulling tight, then stilled.

He uncapped the whiskey. Half-full, label worn. Poured three fingers into a glass. Drank it down in one, then poured another. The burn spread fast, numbing the ache behind his eyes. He turned the vial over in his hand, metal shard clinking against glass, again and again, until the room tilted. He drank the last swallow straight from the bottle. The vial slipped from his fingers, rolling across the sheet. He didn't pick it up. Eyes closed. He passed out.

Crowe woke with the taste of whiskey on his tongue, head pounding like a hammer on tin. The vial lay on the floor. Shard still inside, untouched. He sat up, stomach churning, and stared at his reflection in the mirror: eyes red, skin sallow, the same tired man who'd sworn last he would be different. "Idiot," he muttered. Another failure. Another bottle down.

But patients didn't wait for apologies. He splashed water on his face, swallowed two aspirin, made some coffee. Black and bitter. Morning light filtered gray through the window. He opened the clinic. Patients would come. The countryside needed doctors too. Even ones who couldn't stay sober.

The waiting room filled slowly. First: Mrs. Abernathy, cough worse than before. "You know this cough isn't going to go away if you don't quit smoking," Elias said. "I know dear. But I'm too old to quit and too stubborn to try." Elias let out a grim laugh. "Well finish the course of antibiotics and we will talk about this when you are feeling better." She nodded and left.

Then the bell chimed again. Hank, the cattle farmer walked through the door. Sixty-two with callused hands and rough around the edges exterior. His flannel shirt still smelling of hay and manure. "Been hurting here," he said, tapping his right ribs below the sternum. "Sharp, like a pulled muscle. Thought maybe I lifted wrong hauling feed."

"Hey doc. Did you hear about that missing girl? Sheriff asked me and a few of the other locals to help lead the search party."

Elias replied, "Yeah. I did see that. Let's get you settled here so you can help out without as much pain."

Elias took him back to the exam room. He listened with the stethoscope. He placed the bell on the left side, where the heart should be. The sound was weak and muffled, barely a whisper. He moved the bell right. There it was, clear and rhythmic, strong, like a drum. The heartbeat was unmistakable on the right side.

He pulled back, checked Hank’s chart. No history of situs inversus. No surgery. No trauma. "Let's get an X-ray," he said, voice level despite the hangover fog.

In the dim back room, the film glowed on the light box. Heart sat squarely in the right chest. Apex pointing right, aorta curving backward. Lungs still filled the left space, but the silhouette was wrong. No surgical clips, no scars. Just... misplaced.

Hank waited in the patient room while Elias stared at the image. Either out of compulsion or fear he reached for his own chest. His mouth was dry, begging for a drink.

Elias gathered himself, locked the film away, and stepped out with his practiced smile.

"Hank. Do you have any cardiac issues in your family?"

"Not really doc. Mom had high blood pressure but that's about it."

"Hank,” Elias said in his practiced calming voice you need to deliver bad news. “your heart is on the wrong side of your body. It's moved over to the right and is crowding your right lung. That's where your pain is coming from."

Hank looked like his heart was now in his stomach. "What do I do? How did no one catch this before?"

Elias replied, "Hank if your heart was always on the right someone would have told you by now. It's wandered and I don't know why. I am going to send you to the city for some testing. It's not nothing but as long as you take it easy you should be ok. I'll prescribe something for the pain for now."

The farmer nodded, slightly relieved, and he left. Crowe went back to the dim room and retrieved the X-ray. He knew he'd seen it. Another small metal shard just behind the apex of the heart. The same shard as Paul Whitaker. He looked closer at the heart. Faint lines showed sticking in and out of the heart. "What on earth did I find?"

A week dragged by in uneasy quiet. No new headaches from patients, no odd X-rays, no calls from the sheriff. Crowe kept the vial locked in a drawer, and the whiskey capped. The twitch at his temple came once more on the third night, then nothing. He slept better, and drank less but Elias knew that something was happening in his small town. Even with the brief respite, he could feel it. Something was very wrong.

The sheriff's call came at first light. "Elias, we found her. Maggie Thompson. Field off County 12. It's bad. Get here quick."

Crowe drove through fresh snow, tires crunching, stomach tight. The field was cordoned, deputies stamping feet through the fields. Flashlights cut white beams across drifts. A coat lay crumpled near the center, soaked dark with blood.

He knelt. Maggie Thompson, twenty-eight, long black hair matted with ice and frozen blood, glasses cracked but still on. Her face was sunken, lacking any real structure. Blood everywhere. Thick, dark, frozen in sheets and pools around her, staining the snow crimson for yards in every direction. The drifts were speckled with blood in every direction. red-black where it had run and pooled before the cold locked it in place.

Crowe gloved up, hands shaking. The fissures were deep, irregular splits along every major plane. Arms, legs, torso, pelvis. Flesh torn open in raw, weeping gashes that had ripped apart. Thick, dark blood had poured out relentlessly, soaking the ground, the coat, her hair. It had long since stopped flowing; the edges of the wounds were crusted and dark, frozen solid, the pools beneath her hardened into glassy red ice that cracked under his boots.

He probed the sternal fissure. The edges gaped stiffly, exposing a thoracic cavity that looked like a deflated balloon. No rigid support. Heart and lungs lay motionless in a congealed slurry of serous fluid and clotted blood, frozen in place. The abdominal split yawned wide; intestines coiled stiffly, liver and spleen compressed in a grotesque pile of unsupported meat, blood long dried to black flakes along the torn vessels. A femoral gash revealed quadriceps hanging in floppy sheets, vessels empty and collapsed, the femoral artery sealed shut by frost and clot.

The pelvis parted in a ragged V, bladder and uterus displaced masses locked in hemorrhagic exudate. Every bone in her body was missing, ripped from its place in a flurry of carnage.

Elias stepped back. Every sound was muffled and his head began to throb. The sheriff watched him. "Doc? Are you okay?”

He didn't answer. He stared at the coat, the frozen blood, the woman who had vanished over a week ago and returned like this. The same wrongness he'd seen inside Sean, inside Paul, and Hank. Was it inside of him? Elias thought. He felt it then: a faint twitch at his temple, sharper this time. His head began to spin and he felt his stomach lurching. I need to leave. The sheriff wouldn’t understand. I just need to go.

Crowe left his kit and ran to his car. He drove home in silence. The twitch came again, pulling on his skin like the membrane. He parked, climbed the stairs, opened the cabinet. The bottle was still there. He drank straight from the neck until the room blurred. The drink didn't numb the wrongness anymore. It made it louder. Every creak in the floorboards, every shift of snow against the window. Elias jumped like he was being stalked. He passed out on the couch, bottle tipped over, whiskey pooling on the floorboards.

He woke to pressure. Cold. He was nude. Wrists, ankles, and chest were pinned down. He could see he was still in his apartment. But he was...hovering. Maybe waist height. His lungs locked mid-breath, ribs straining uselessly against the invisible weight. Black spots bloomed at the edges of his vision; the certainty of suffocating crashed over him. Yet his heart kept beating, steady and mocking. He was choking but still alive.

A shape occupied the corner: tall, outline blurring as if the air rippled around it. No face, just a shifting silhouette that drank the light like a black hole.

The pressure deepened. A thin cold touched his temple. Needle-fine. A low vibration hummed through his skull. Suddenly he saw it: his own body laid open on the table, Y-incision split wide, skin flaps peeled back like wet paper. His ribs had been cracked apart with wet pops; lungs glistened, pink and pulsing, while something long and glistening slid between them, rearranging the lobes. Intestines uncoiled in thick ropes, liver and spleen lifted out, weighed in invisible hands, then shoved back into the wrong cavities with wet squelches. Bone after bone was wrenched free. Femurs cracking like green wood, spine vertebrae popping out one by one. Leaving hollow sleeves of flesh that flopped and sagged. Every empty space filled instantly with dark, viscous gore that flowed over the wounds in glistening membranes. A metal shard, just like the ones he had found, moved towards him by some unseen force. The shard wormed its way into his body. The femoral arteries were still spurting when the membranes snapped shut, trapping the blood inside with a sickening gulp.

He felt every second of it. The vibration peeled his thoughts apart layer by layer while his own body was taken apart and put back together wrong on the table in front of him.

The shape leaned closer. The air tasted metallic and sour.

Then the pressure eased. Just enough. A single ragged breath tore into his lungs, burning.

Then nothing.

He gasped awake in his bed, sheets tangled, dawn light gray through the window. Snow still fell outside. The clinic door below was locked as always. His temple ached. A faint raised line there now, like a healed incision he hadn't made.

Elias’ ringing phone was like a siren for the hungover doctor. “Yeah?” “Elias. What the hell happened to you are you alright?” the sheriff asked concerned. “Yeah. My head was hurting at the body site and… I don’t remember much else.” “That doesn’t sound good Elias. You should get checked out,” said the concerned sheriff. “I’ll do that and I’ll get to that autopsy today.”

He sat up, hands steady enough to pour coffee. He went downstairs and opened the clinic. The countryside needed doctors too he thought to himself.

Flashing lights. Noise. Blood. I jolted awake, desperate to escape my nightmare. I wiped my cheeks dry and I checked my watch. Just after four o’ clock. I doubt I’ll get back to sleep anyway, Might as well get the day started. I tried the bedside light. Nothing. Battery must have run out. Hopefully it’s sunny enough today and the solar panels can get the battery replenished. The gas generator was too noisy-it made it hard to focus on my work. I reached over, struck a match and lit the candle by my bed. The warm candle’s glow spilled over the room, chasing back the shadows. I tried to forget about my dream as I walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall. It was coming back to me more often. Eating at me like a parasitic worm burrowed in my brain.

My reflection was a sad sight. Bags under my eyes from sleepless nights. My messy, long hair was beginning to obscure my face. I reached down to my side as I had so often tracing a thick band of scar tissue with my finger. I tossed on a shirt and made my way to the kitchen sink to wash the sleep from my face. The candle light like a small beacon, showed the way. The wood stove was still glowing in the living room giving off an amber glow as it fought off the bitter autumn cold. Even for fall it was much colder than I was used to.

I made it to the kitchen, washed up, and grabbed the coffee percolator. I always had it ready to go and I set it on top of the wood stove. As I sat down at my desk the candle light shone over the scribbled pages. Notes and references all carelessly strewn about in my own organized chaos. I reached out and grabbed the book I had written three years ago: Murder on the Seventh Floor by Miles Walker. I didn’t dare to turn to the front pages. Instead I thumbed through to what were once my favorite parts and read, hoping a spark of inspiration would come. The percolator rumbled and I went to the stove, collected my coffee and went back to my old work, hoping some old magic would stir.

As the sun began to peek through the windows, I decide some fresh air would help calm my fraying nerves. I exited my little cottage and took in the salty, frigid air. My little cottage on my own little island. I imagined beaches-hot sunny days, umbrellas and people abound. Quite the opposite of this place I called refuge. I wandered to the water front as I had so often before. An endless span of dark blue ripples, and soft waves gently rolling on all sides. The rising sun shown across the water, sparkling like a million gems. A different time… a different life, it might have been amazing. I barely noticed.

Down at the dock, I checked my boat. It was my daily ritual. Check the ropes to make sure they were secure, check the engine and fuel. Everything was just as I had left it of course-but it was my only way to the mainland. I stood there and looked towards the little town on the shore. Shop lights were beginning to turn on and little movements could be seen. I turned away from the town and looked at the sign on my dock. No trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted. I walked back to my cottage and could see a light had turned on. I had power again.

I cooked my breakfast and sat back down at my desk. My computer screen stared at me blankly. Mocking. I need to write something! I can’t live off my book sales forever. I just started typing… it sucked and I deleted it. Idea after idea and it all felt like it had been done before. I would settle for just a title at this point. “The Killing of H…” My fingers froze over the keys as if they’d betrayed me. I deleted it. After what felt like an hour of staring I settled on “The Killing of Mary Ross.” I saved my pathetic attempt at work to make a grocery list.

Tomorrow was shopping day. My least favorite day. But I was a writer, not a farmer. My food and supplies were running thin. I tried to visit the mainland as little as possible, so if I missed anything I would have to go without for two weeks or make my dreaded trek early. I’ve made that mistake a few times since being here. With any luck, Clara wont be in a chatty mood. The rest of the day was spent on busy silence. Splitting wood into kindling, washing a few clothes and hanging them on the line to dry, and tiding the property. Not that it needed much. I had no new ideas, and nothing else to do.

As the sun began to set, I checked my bank account on my phone. This cold, isolated sanctuary cost me nearly my entire life savings I needed to get away and that I did. No place seemed to be far enough. If I could sell another book or two and some luck, I could live out my days here. In safe solitude. The night took hold and the shadows danced around my living room from the fiery glow. I set the wood stove for the night and forced myself to my bed. Sleep hadn’t come easy in months. Too many thoughts. Too many memories. All threatening my sanity. Eventually, sleep took me away and the nightmares came again. The tall buildings and amber glow of city lights everywhere. A scream and a sharp piercing blow. Blood everywhere. Red and Blue lights surrounded me.

I shot awake gasping like a diver coming up for air. Sweat and tears. But it wasn’t the dream that woke me up this time. It was a knocking on my front door. It was a light knocking. Just loud enough to hear it. I could barely hear my own shaky breath over my thundering heart beat. Who would come here? In the middle of the night? So much for the sign. I grabbed the revolver from my bedside table and crept to the door. I tried to see out the window who it could be. There was no knocking anymore but that didn’t mean I was safe. I opened the door, gun in hand.

Nothing.

Darkness. Even the ocean looked like ink spilled on a page. I stepped outside and looked around.

Nothing.

I returned inside and locked the door. Had I really heard it? Maybe it was just the creaking of an old cottage. Half convinced, I crawled into bed again, and the nightmares returned to keep me company.

My morning routine for shopping day was different. I put more effort into how I looked. Combed my hair and wore a nicer outfit. I didn’t want to bring any attention to myself. Don’t need anyone thinking I am wasting away out here. I gathered my list and departed the safety of my island. The cold ocean air chilled me to the bone. After thirty minutes of traveling I docked at the mainland. I secured my boat and exited. No sand in sight, just stones and mud and the occasional crab scuttling by. Not exactly your destination vacation.

Calder’s Fish and Tackle was always the first shop to be seen. The local fisherman always had plenty of fresh fish and stories to go with them. I’d get my fish on my way out. Calder was no where to be seen anyway and I would hear another story of some mermaid or giant creature he was always spouting on about. A true believer he was.

I followed the path from the docks to the town streets. A few shops were dotted along the road. There was Clara’s General Store, Elliott’s hardware, a pharmacy, a school. All the small town essentials. Elliott’s was my first and favorite stop. Quick and painless. I entered the shop with a bell ringing above my head. Elliot looked up and in his gruff, flat tone said, “Morning Miles. Running out of wood?” “Yes,” I replied. Elliot was sturdy with graying black hair. “its getting colder out there Miles. I’ll have James load up a bit more to get through those cold nights. I nodded wordlessly. Elliott rang me up and told his son to take the firewood to my boat and load it up. Elliott always kept the conversation to a minimum and that’s what I liked about him. His son James seemed like a good kid too. “Elliot, do you have any larger generators in stock? The days are getting shorter and I am relying on it more now.” Elliot replied, “What I have in stock is going to give you about the same run time. I can order one if you like but it wont be here for at least a week.” “I’ll take it and pick it up on my next trip back.” “I’ll have some extra gas for you too,” Elliot replied Now on to Clara’s.

I entered Clara’s shop to an excited, “Hi Miles! It’s so good to see you.” “Hey Clara,” I replied. Clara was always so friendly. Did she have to be? I don’t like being around her for too long. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tidy braid and her toothy smile reached her cheerful green eyes which were always looking in my direction. Clara was wonderful but her presence was cheerfully oppressive. This town is meant to be my peace, not another minefield of fake niceties. I walked around searching for the items on my list as Clara shout towards me from the counter, “How are you all by yourself on that island?” “Doesn’t it get lonely?” I shouted back politely, “Clara. Of course it gets lonely but that’s kind of the point of living alone right?” Clara continued to talk about how she could never live on an island alone and how she would be scared at night or something like that. I tried to politely keep to myself and shop.

I brought my collection to the check out counter. Clara began to scan my items and make small talk. “You’ve been here for a few months now and I only ever see you to shop. Why don’t you come see us for some town festivals or just to say hi?” I started to fidget nervously. Please hurry Clara. “I’m just not very social.” Clara continued to pester about how it wasn’t healthy and how I needed friends as I did my best to avoid her picking. I knew deep down she cared but she had no idea the turmoil she caused me. Then Clara said something that made me panic. “I read your last book you know. It wasn’t really my style but I thought with a famous writer in town I should read his work. Plus it gives us something to talk about.” I cut her off before any more awkwardness came about. “You’re right Clara. I should be a little more social. I’m going to work on that.” The lie seemed to satisfy her for now. I departed with a convincing fake smile.

I was getting worked up thinking about what Clara had said. Reading my book now. Thanks for the sale Clara but I don’t need to talk to anyone about my book. So what if I stay on the island. It’s mine isn’t it? I don’t get why she needs to be so intrusive and...

THUMP!

In my frenzied thoughts I crashed into someone, A young woman I hadn’t met yet. “Ouch,” I exclaimed loudly. She apologize profusely but I came to my senses. “No miss that was my fault. I wasn’t paying enough attention,” I said without looking up at her. When I finally did meet her gaze she was staring at me like a school girl with a crush. “You’re Miles Walker,” she said seeming to not realize she was nearly shouting. Uh...Yes. Have we met? “No. I’m Lisa Denton, the town librarian. I’m a huge fan of your work. Can I ask you a few questions about your books?” “Actually, I am in a bit of a hurry.” Clearly she didn’t hear me because she asked, “Where do you get your inspiration? How do you decide who you want to die and live? Are you working on another book. Will you sign my copy?” Her flurry of questions bombarding my mind. Torture. She held out her copy of my latest book. My palms started to sweat and my heart thundered.

I can’t do this!

I can’t. I won’t.

I did the only thing I could think of to change the topic. “How did you know I was here in town?” I asked her. “Clara told me that you come to town every two weeks. She said today was your shopping day and I went out looking for you. But you found me.” Can’t Clara take the hint that I don’t want to be bothered and now I am going to have to deal with this nut job fan every two weeks. “I really don’t mean to be rude but I usually don’t sign my works and I really need to be going.” Lisa looked like I had just ruined her day, but said, “I really hope we get to talk in the future.”

I rushed away from her back towards the docks. My last stop. Get some fish and get away from here. I reached Calder’s shop. He was tossing fish onto ice and getting his stock in order. “Afternoon Mr. Walker,” he said in his thick Scottish accent. “What can I get ye?” I picked out a few smaller fish and bagged them up. I tried to get out of anymore conversation for the day but Calder followed me to my boat. Insisted on carrying one of my bags for me. “How’s the island treating ye? Hope it’s been kind.” Why was everyone so concerned? Small towns were still a new scene for me. Your business was everyone’s business. “It’s been fine. Quiet.” “Aye, that’s a good sign. I tell ye lad the sea is an odd thing. Full of mystery and troubles. It’s good t’ hear these troubles haven’t reached yer’ door.”

I tried to reassure him everything was fine but Calder insisted on going about one of his rants. “I’ve seen things on these here waters. Figures, shadows, I even swear I seen a mermaid.” I rolled my eyes. “Mermaid’s aren’t real, Calder. You’ve been on the water too long in the hot sun.” Calder chuckled, “Aye lad. That I have. Still, ye be careful out there. Just because ye can’t see the wind, don’t mean it ain’t there.” I gave him a nod and he dropped off my bag and waved as I returned to the island.

I reached the island and my sense of peace returned. Time to unload and see if I can make some progress. I spent the rest of my afternoon unloading my groceries and stacking the wood by my chopping block. The days work had caught up to me. Exhausted, I ate my dinner trying to focus my mind on work. Fighting off sleep, I actually got a bit of writing done. It felt like it was starting to flow. We will see if this continues I thought as I clawed my tired body to bed.

“Blood pressure dropping. We need to get him to a hospital now,” said the unseen male voice. Dreams of hospital beds and IV’s. A nurse came to my room but only managed to get out, “I’m sorry,” before I awoke in a cold sweat.

I heard it again- that knocking. My panic swelled as my hand began to shake uncontrollably.. It was louder this time. Steady and rhythmic. I did as before and grabbed my gun. I went to the door and threw it open. Dark emptiness only broken by the twinkling of fireflies and far off stars barely visible through the clouds. I closed the door and turned to go back to my bed when the knocking happened again. This time even louder. More urgent. Almost like someone pounding on a door for help. I threw myself into the night to look around. As I did I nearly slipped. There was water at my doorstep. Strange. It hadn’t rained tonight. The water was only at my threshold, as if something wet had been there, waiting. I looked back into my cottage and saw a figure in the window. It vanished as quickly as I had seen it. I rushed back inside. Too confused to rationalize what had happened. My sleep was sporadic and troubled.

I awoke to a stream of sunlight coming in my bedroom. I bolted up with a sense of dread. Someone is watch me. I could see a thin shadow in the corner of my bedroom. I looked over at it and it vanished. It’s just my mind. Keep it together Miles. There is nothing here. Another shadow, this time it was moving. I threw myself around to see what was creeping up on me and it vanished again. I told myself that I was being crazy and got up.

Coffee. I am imagining things. I must be. I decided that my routine would help calm me down. I walked to the dock and checked on the boat. I checked the dock too for any signs someone else might have visited last night. There was a spot of water on the dock. Just like at the door. I knelt to get a closer look. Something about it was off. It was rippling as if a stone was being repeatedly dropped into the puddle. I felt it again. Like a thousand eye starting through me. A pit formed in my stomach and I turned back to the cottage. A dark figure was in my window for just a flash.

I ran to the cottage and flung open the door. No one. My heart threatened to jump out of my chest. Something was going on. Search everywhere, I thought. Frantically I searched every inch of the building and found nothing. I nervously spent the rest of my day doing some chores, looking in every direction as I did. I went to bed at my normal time, exhausted from my paranoia but not remotely able to sleep. It was getting late but my mind would not stop racing.

I got out of bed and walked to the kitchen. The brightly lit house helped easy my racing thoughts. I poured myself a drink and sipped while staring at my computer. My progress slowed again. I just sat, staring at my title and drinking my bourbon. I fell asleep at my desk. I was thankful to only be visited by my nightmares.

The next two days passed without any odd occurrences. My daily routines were mundane and uneventful, which I was grateful for. The storm clouds were constant now and I ran the generator just enough to charge my phone and laptop. Chores and writing kept my thoughts away from troubles.

I exited my cottage in the dark. Blackness surrounded me like a cold, empty void. Walking soundlessly to the waterfront, I stared towards the town. I knelt and reached into the ocean. Recoiling my arm it was covered in a thick dark blood. The blood began to slide up my arm and over my body. It writhed and flowed like a fluid worm seeking to cover every inch of my body. It sought to take me. My mouth filled with iron and gagged me. Before it covered my eyes, I looked over the ocean surface and saw it was all blood. A massive black red pool surrounding me on all sides.

I jolted up in bed still early in the morning, dark outside. I wiped the sweat off my brow. When did I fall asleep? I lit my candle and sat by the fire sipping my coffee. I stared at my arm no longer doused in the blood of my nightmares but the cold slimy sensation persisted. The knocking began again. Pounding loudly as if someone was punching the door. Trying to break it down. I jumped and spilled my coffee. My heart raced and I thought about checking the door but why? There hasn’t been anything every time. What if I didn’t check? What could possibly go wrong? The pounding on the door continued for the next hour. The door would surely break, I thought. The sun rose and the knocking stopped.

I stood there for another ten minutes waiting for the knocking to start again. When it didn’t, I moved towards the door. I gently pushed it open and waited. The slowly moving water pooled at the door again. I walked around it and looked at the door. There didn’t seem to be any damage. I just stood there. My mind was a blur of trying to rationalize what just happened. I am a reasonable man. There are no ghosts, no monsters. Someone must be doing this. But who. There wasn’t anyone in town he could think of who would do anything like this. Someone from back home maybe? How would they know I am here?

I went back inside and got dressed for the day. I worked my day away, thinking more than working. My racing thoughts distracting me all day. Just after noon, I noticed the wind gathering speed and the clouds darkening. I was in for a noisy night. Afternoon turned to evening and my paranoia started to get the better of me. I’m not going to bed. I not going to sleep. I needed to figure out what was happening. I brewed more coffee and prepared to patrol my cottage all night. I placed the revolver on my desk. Just in case. I was determined to work on my writing but every creak and shadow made me jump. I peered at every shadow and flicker. It was impossible to concentrate.

2am. I looked away from my watch and took another sip of my coffee. How crazed I must look, jumping at shadows. My mind wandered to the island. To the town. To my life. My sadness grew. This should not be my life. The winds picked up. I could hear a howling and whistling throughout the night. The rain clinking heavily off my windows. 3am and I was beginning to drift off. Then it started again. No longer knocking, but thrashing at the door like a starved animal. A feverish torrent of blows. I grabbed the revolver and stood by the door shaking. My hands trembling so violently that I knew the revolver would be useless. Liquid shadows surrounding my vision. Vanishing every time I tried to focus on one but never leaving. The shadows were coming closer. I felt a wisp on the back of my neck and I turned violently, accidentally letting of a shot from the revolver. The shadowy presence filled the cottage. I opened the door and some unforeseen force pulled me outside, sending me crashing into the wet mud.

The knocking stopped. At least I thought they did. I couldn’t hear anything outside. The ocean waves were crashing like symbols. Volatile and thunderous. The wind threatened to knock me over with every gust. Soaked and muddy, I crawled to the cottage slipping and falling the whole time. I managed to get into the cottage and throw the door shut but as soon as it closed it I could hear the pounding again. I screamed at the door. “Leave me alone!” The pounding continued and the eyes of the shadows were on me again. I curled up in a corner in a feeble attempt to protect myself. The pounding continued and the shadows watched until daybreak while I recoiled into myself.

I stayed in my corner for a long time. Maybe I’ll go into town today. I don’t really need anything yet but I don’t know if I want to stay here again. But a thought crossed my mind. What could I even say to anyone? I’m hearing knocking at my door while I live alone on an island. I really don’t want a mental health arrest on my record. My cottage door was knocking and I’m seeing shadows was all I knew. I’m sure with the wind last night everyone’s house was rattling and my house was being lit by candles and a wood stove. Of course there was going to be shadows everywhere. I feebly convinced myself again. I just needed to stick to my routines. They kept me safe so far and they will keep me safe now.

I checked on the boat which was still clinging to the dock. I had to bail some water out of it but she was still holding up. I went back to the cottage and started up the gas generator. I needed some light. The generator would fill the battery some since the clouds persisted. I washed my clothes and hung them by the stove. I nibbled at some food and cleaned up the cottage. I cleaned up the mud and picked the revolver off the floor and put it in the bedside drawer. I stopped the generator and checked on the spare fuel. If I get a few days of sun I should be able to make this last.

Night came fast and I could feel my pulse quickening. At least for tonight I have light. I turned on the lamp on my desk and a wrote. I typed anxiously, making mistakes often as my hands were shaking. Would it return tonight? It was slow progress. My eyes darting around, looking for shadows. The night passed with nothing more than the sounds of the light wind and the calm ocean waves. The cottage felt bigger come morning. See, it must be stress.

My daily routines were caffeine fueled slogs. Two nights with no sleep probably wasn’t very healthy for the mind but I’d sleep tonight. Another day with cloud filled skies. I was getting worried. I ran the generator again just to top off the battery and then shut it down for the day. My gas was empty. I would need to go to the mainland early. Tomorrow it is then. I spent most of the day outside. I sat on the dock taking in the salty air. I noticed that my No Trespassing sign was gone. The wind must have pulled it into the ocean.

I couldn’t fight my need for sleep any longer. Exhaustion finally pulled me under into a rare, dreamless dark.

“Miles…”

The voice was soft, almost tender, and painfully familiar. It slid through the cottage like cold mist.

“Miles… I’m so cold.”

My eyes snapped open. My heart slammed against my ribs. I sat up slowly, every muscle tense. The voice hadn’t come from one direction — it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“Miles… It’s your fault.”

The words hit me like a slap. Shame and terror twisted together in my gut. I didn’t want to move, but my legs carried me anyway. Bare feet creaking on the cold floorboards, I made my way to the front door, flashlight shaking in my hand.

The knocking had stopped. Everything had stopped. I gripped the handle, hesitated for one long second, then yanked the door open.

The island was gone.

Where there should have been rocks, grass, and wind-bent trees, there was only endless black water. It lapped gently against the cottage threshold, inches from my toes, shimmering faintly under starlight. The mainland, the dock, the world, all of it had vanished. The cottage now floated alone on a vast, motionless ocean.

A female figure stood out on the water. She was looking straight at me. Even through the darkness I knew her shape. The tilt of her head. The way her hair moved though there was no wind.

I slammed the door so hard the frame rattled. My back hit the wall and I slid down to the floor, gasping. Sobs tore out of me before I could stop them. Ugly, choking sounds I hadn’t allowed myself in months.

Why? I kept thinking. Why are you blaming me?

Morning gray came slowly. The fire had extinguished itself sometime during the night. I need to go to the mainland. Without power my nights will worsen. I just know it. I got dressed and gathered up my wallet. As I walked to the door I saw my old book on my desk. It was open to the acknowledgments. For my dear wife Hailey. I pushed the door open, grabbed my jerrycan and made my way to the boat.

I began my journey to the mainland, pushing off the memories of Hailey. I wasn’t ready for that. How did my book open there anyway? The thought sent a pang of sorrow through my chest. Just get the supplies. I’ll deal with this later. The mainland was closing in.

I docked and walked my way up to Elliot’s shop. I did my best to appear normal and said, “Hello Elliot,” my voice cracking a little as I did. Elliot met my eye and I could instantly see concern. “Miles. You’re early. What happened?” “I ran out of gas. I’ve had to use the generator a lot more lately. Has the new one arrived yet?” “Just arrived yesterday. I’ll have James load it up along with an extra can of fuel.” “Thank you Elliot,” I said. “Take care of yourself Miles.”

I walked slowly to Clara’s. Partially in thought, partially to stall. Lisa came into view. She waved and smiled like an idiot. She ran up to me smiling and said, “Miles. I know you said you don’t sign your work but I would really, really appreciate your autograph.” “Sure why not,” I said mostly to appease her and avoid any more conversation. She opened the book to the acknowledgments and held out a pen for me. I stood there paralyzed. The acknowledgments read. For my dear husband Miles. It’s your fault. I dropped the book and ran. Ran as fast as I could to Clara’s. Get my supplies and leave.

Clara’s shop door was propped open and I burst in, tripping and falling to the floor. Clara jumped at the sight of me. She came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder. It was so caring and sweet. So Clara. “Miles, Oh my God are you alright? You look terrible. Are you hurt?” I stood, feeling slightly embarrassed, and lied, “Yeah, I am alright.” “Are you sure Miles, you really don’t look well.” “I’ll be fine Clara. Just not sleeping very well.” Clara returned to the register and I started to wander the store. “I told you living on the island alone wasn’t good for you Miles. I knew it.” I didn’t respond. I didn’t even know what to say.

“It’s your fault Miles,” Clara said colder than she had ever spoke to me before. My stomach dropped. “What did you say?” I looked at Clara. She was standing unnaturally still. Like stuck between two panes of glass. Her skin was white as a ghost and her eyes were fogged over like a blind woman. “IT’S YOUR FAULT, IT’S YOUR FAULT, IT’S YOUR FAULT, IT’S YOUR FAULT…” The accusing attacks streamed at me like knives being thrust at me. I threw myself out of the shop.

I hurried back towards the docks, heart still hammering in my chest. Calder saw me and stopped me with a concerned, “Whoa there Mr. Walker. Ye look as though ye seen the devil himself. ‘R ya alright?” The words came out before I could think to keep them to myself. “Calder. You say there are things in the ocean. Mermaids, sea creatures stuff like that right?” “Aye son Why?” “What about spirits? Like ghosts or whatever?” Calder’s weathered face tightened. “Lad. Ya don’ want ta be messin’ round with no ghosts. The sea is full a vengeful spirits and sailors stuck “tween worlds. Be careful, or you’ll be joinin’ em.” I left him there and made my way to the boat to depart back to the island.

The ride back gave me too much time to think about what Calder had said. The choppy waters jostled me around like a bobble head. The sky was a dark coating of thunderheads. It was going to be a rough night.

I docked and tied down the boat. I looked down and the generator. It was quite a lot bigger then my last one. I grabbed the bottom and heaved it up. It settled with a creak on the dock. I got the generator in place and attached the connections. Grabbed the fuel and filled it up. It started with a satisfying rumble and the cottage lights kicked on as the night was beginning to envelope the island.

I started another fire and mindlessly ate a simple meal. I sat at the desk to do some work. The book was still open to her name. I closed it and went back to writing. The night was loud with wind and thunder cracks. Lightning flashes briefly lighting my room. I awoke at my desk to a wet squelching sound coming from outside the cottage. I grabbed a flashlight to see what I was dealing with now. I looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary until I looked at the generator.

Every crack in the generator was seeping with the oily, rippling water. The smell of gas saturated the dirt around him was strong. I looked at the battery as well. It sparked and smoked as it dripped the same water. I looked around for anything, a person, any explanation at all. I found only the wind and the thunder. I was alone and my only light would be my fire.

Another gray morning, wind still whipping about. My laptop battery was at fifty percent. It would be dead soon if I kept working so I shut it down. I grabbed the book and opened to Hailey’s name. The pained reminder was my only company and I sat there for hours not knowing how to feel. I went to bed early. I’d have no choice but to go back to the mainland tomorrow. I am running out of options.

“Miles.” That same chilling, haunted voice. I didn’t jump this time. I felt...relief? Sadness and relief. I walked to the front door and gently opened it. The island was gone again. Hailey’s visage standing on the water beckoning towards me. She disappeared. There were two people now. Hailey and me. We were walking together arm in arm. Happy. Another figure appeared. He grabbed at Hailey’s purse. I stepped in between them and the figure stabbed my visage in the side. Hailey’s ghostly figure screamed. The other shadow stabbed at her, puncturing her chest and hands as she tried to defend herself. I couldn’t move. My breath caught in my chest. Red and blue lights appeared and a hospital. A nurse whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

The figures faded and Hailey’s visage returned. “Miles. It’s your fault.” I found my words. “It was all my fault. I should have protected you. I should have done more.” “Come to me Miles.” The visage’s arms were outstretched and inviting. I stepped into the inky, rippling water. It was slippery and freezing. I reached the visage and felt her warmth. Felt her presence. Finally felt peace. A peace I have been searching for. We stood for a long time in each others arms as we had in a life long past. “Are you ready?” she said. We walked through the water arm in arm away from the cottage. The ankle deep water dropped and we sank. Water surrounding us in a freezing, final embrace.

Calder drove up to the island dock. Miles’ boat was still tied up. He walked up the grounds to the cottage. The front door was wide open and the interior was a sodden disaster. There was no sign of Miles to be found. Calder found a message written next to the acknowledgments. It read. To my dear wife Hailey. I’m home.