Brad Dill Memorial Short Story ...........................................................................................pages

The Gears

Krystal Aguirre

“Another day, another dime!,” there went Sarah’s boss again, always giving his daily speech. His unremitting voice had grown tiresome to Sarah. Everyday, it was the same thing: she woke up, ate, and went straight to work. Her only job was to make sure the gears of the ship were in pristine shape. Sarah’s boss, “Mr. Moneyman” she called him, never seemed to give her a break about them. “Are they oiled Sarah? There’s no rust, right Sarah? Mind the gears, Sarah!,” on and on all the time he went, she hoped one day he may as well trip in the gears. One less annoyance wouldn’t make a difference, ay? Ah, well, it’s not like there was much she could do; she couldn’t leave. Where exactly would you go on an airship, plummet to the Earth maybe? Ha! She’d rather slug gasoline before forfeiting her life to the ship! Ker-Klunk! “Damn…,”Sarah cursed under her breath. “The pumps…” Sarah carefully slipped through the cracks of the machinery to reach the pumps. Her thin physique was the sole reason why she was given this job; unlike her coworker, Sarah was able to move easily around the sector. She was still careful around the gears though. Everyone knew of the men who were once caught in them, to be grinded away and dragged into the darkness never to be seen again… hat a tale of misfortune. Sometimes, she swears she can still hear their screaming. Sarah tried her best to avoid such thoughts; it’s better to keep your mind out of the gutter than to drown in it. Tsk-tssss! “There.” Sarah huffed. She’d finished changing the filters in the pumps. Now it was time to get out. Everytime Sarah came back this far she got a little claustrophobic, a bad combination for someone who works in tight spaces. As Sarah tried to squeeze her way through the tubing, she heard an unfamiliar noise behind her. Ticka-tacka, ticka-tacka. A persistent ticking noise, seemingly from behind the pumps, “Odd…” She’d rather not go further than the pumps but, if something were wrong with the gears, she’d never hear the end of it from “Mr. Moneyman.” As uncomfortable as it was for Sarah, she’d rather die than be lectured by the man she distastes. Reluctantly, she began to move further in the darkness behind the pumps. The regular facility lights didn’t go back behind the pumps. At least the strap light on her head was good for something besides keeping the hair out of her face. With a flick, her light turned on with a soft haze. It was clear the place hadn’t been touched in years, a thick layer of dust coating the entire area. Shuffling across the pipes as carefully as she could, she followed the ticking noises. Ticka-tacka, ticka-tacka it continued. How annoying, she wondered if it could be heard throughout the factory. Ticka-tacka, ticka-tacka. It started to become louder, she was getting close. She ducked under some pipe into a clearing.

Finally, she saw the problem, there appeared to be something stuck between two of the smaller gears. Upon inspection, it appeared to be some sort of cloth. She gave it a good yank; it didn’t budge. She tried again, and it still wouldn’t move. At last, she pulled with all her might.

Orange Factory Worker

Lena Nguyen

Robert

I sat at my desk with only my attention on the clock and started to count down slowly, “1:19, 1:20, and 1:23!!”

**Bell rings**

I wave a quick goodbye to my teacher, while being pulled by the eagerness of my feet that lead me to the sound of voices and open doors in the hallway.

“It’s time for lunch!” I tell myself grabbing onto my backpack following into the giant jam pack crowd that was beginning to form down in the cafeteria.

“What is for lunch?” The question that wanders in my head and echoes throughout the cafeteria.

I then proceed to intersect to the nearest available lunch line , but not being the average height like the others I got caught into the huge mess of a “mob”.

Unfortunately, the huge “mob” would then lead me empty handed, again. I rubbed my head in frustration only viewing the backs of people’s heads and the tiny, unreadable , size 10 font text from the lunch menu. ”It’s alright I totally didn’t want those nachos,” I incorrectly told myself , as my belly growled at the truth of how I actually felt.

“Am I actually alright?,” I told myself, holding onto the growl of my stomach.

I ended up sitting at the same table I usually sit at holding through my phone hoping I will be given another chance to head back to the line. “Only 30 minutes, ‘’ I sigh to myself as I wasn’t surprised If it meant I didn’t get a meal after waiting.

But the temptation was irresistible: the smell of the hot, cheesy sauce on top of perfectly crispy nachos linger in my nose as trays of its kind pass by me.

Joney

I take a huge gulp internally facing the new school environment I haven’t visited in years. I spot many unknown faces and find myself getting lost every second. This wasn’t my first time here, but it’s been awhile since I’ve been here. When I get to the cafeteria, I tell myself, “don’t worry, just go in.”

Of course, it is easier to say than attempted when I enter the jammed packed cafeteria filled with hungry students that over-pack the lunch lines. Luckily , I came prepared when I packed my leftover dinner for lunch. The next challenge for me is to find where to sit. It seemed impossible to find where to sit as I worried no one wanted me to sit with them.More specifically, I looked a little older than everyone else .

Eventually, I sat at the little table with one person sitting there. When I got to the table, the person didn’t look like they hadn’t eaten. Because they were constantly looking back at the never ending line and glancing back at my lunch.

Robert

I see something interesting, not my chances of getting nachos , but a generous smile. This smile was a person. They then gently pushed a mandarin fruit cup towards me . They didn’t tell me anything, but their generosity spoke for them . “Thanks,” I told them across the table. I grabbed a cup of beautifully sliced mandarin oranges and opened the container. Before eating I made sure their kindness was noticed as I told them again, “Thank you.”

The person seems to look new, which is my way of saying I never saw them in the hallways or any classes, but I was in highschool I couldn’t possibly know or see everyone. The tension between me and them seemed to stay calm as they weren’t bothered or nervous about sitting in front of me and watching me just eat. I thought I needed a proper introduction to myself to break the silence between us strangers, “Hi, my name is Robert.” I said, stretching my hands towards them.

Their firm hand then touches mine and we shake hands like we were business people. They don’t respond with words, but with their gentle laugh and smile.

Joney

I feel much better after helping Robert as I could give him my family’ mandarin orange fruit cup and feel more comfortable in the school environment.

“Hi, I’m Joney ,” I said in the bit of confidence I gained, “I’m an orange worker.”

“Hi Joney, I’m a sophomore and I’m guessing you’re new,” Robert said, “ Interesting, how does it feel like working as an orange worker?”

“How does it feel?..” The sentence that clings in my head. I want words to escape, but they can’t.

“Well I can’t say how I feel.. , but I can show you.” I nervously responded.

“Now I know this is weird, but I need you to close your eyes . I promise you, you’ll just have to believe me,” I said slowly.

Robert

I just met Joney, but I don’t know if she is the person I can fully trust. However, after their generosity I feel like it’s a way of returning her favor. I don’t immediately close my eyes, but after Joney starts to close their eyes I mirror their same actions. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“Robert, Robert,” Joney whispered swiftly, “ Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” I was confused after the noise of the cafeteria was shut out.

Everything but Joney went blurry around me. The colors weren’t bright but dark. And figures started forming in my sight. This Joney I was looking at wasn’t the one I saw earlier but a younger Joney. The figures slowly form when I see a young Joney free of lines on their forehead and their soft hands sorting through piles of over ripe mandarin orange.

“This is me when I just turned sixteen,” Joney narrates from above, “ I remember the first touch of those mandarin oranges that filled me with innocence and eagerness.”

Two more figures across Joney appear. The two figures seem tired or stressed as their eyes sag down so much they appear like black tea bags. They sit next to each other separated by a wooden carved table and scattered paper.

“This is when papa and ma told me about the ongoing problem in our family’s business, and the moment I took a huge risk in my life…” Joney said a bit stronger.

My heart sinks with sympathy when I see young Joney always facing up like they didn’t need to be told ,but simply was aware what they had to do when their parents’ faces paced a concerned look to them. My mind wonders if there was any other way young Joney could help her parents’ failing business when I ask, “ May I ask what was that huge risk of yours?”

“This was gonna be my reality so I lied ,” Joney said as their voices weakened,” I- lied about everything.”

Joney’s emotions bleed through the images when I see parts of Joney’s life pass through so fast I can’t catch up. All I see are days when Joney could’ve been having regular “teenager” life be replaced with their softness hands peeling away from the acidity of the mandarin oranges. I see moments where they could’ve been sitting in a classroom learning turn into late hours of reading any books they could get their hands on.

“ I lied how I felt and that I was still attending school,” Joney blurted out, “I didn’t want my family to worry about me. I just wanted to help as much as I could.”

The last thing I wanted to do was grab Joney up as I see moments where was Joney working endlessly for years doing the same thing over.

“ First I washed the oranges then I peeled the oranges’ skin all out and inside every piece until they were skinless. Lastly I dunked the oranges in the sugary syrup where they sit to be reborn and turned into fruit cups. Repeat.” Joney said, reminiscing the steps she would never forget.

Lights start flashing as I see a unidentify figure give Joney the keys. The color of darkness turns back to normal and the sound of the cafeteria syncs back in too my ears. I look back and appreciate the last bite of my mandarin oranges, but when I look up to ask another question for Joney they aren’t there.

**Bell rings

Happy Birthday To Me

Kerrigan Ferland

“So how old are you turning again, Dear? You know I lose count in the closet.” “I’ll be eighteen, Mrs. Pots.” A gasp came from every chair around the table. Had they all forgotten? It had been a while since I had seen them, sure, but I had been dreading this day all my life. Didn’t they remember? Here I was, at my eighteenth birthday party. It was being held around my childhood home’s kitchen table, hosted by my childhood friends. It was a complete surprise, with a rainbow party hat promptly strapped to my head, and my being ushered to sit at the head of the table. Now, after exchanging pleasantries, awkward silence filled the darkness that extended beyond my chair. That and the faint sound of ticking. “Well, eighteen... “ Purpy started, “That’s quite momentous.” “I’m getting old,” I chuckled softly, not feeling humorous at all. With age came change; I, being on the brink of adulthood, would be experiencing the greatest change possible. I would be leaving behind familiarity—everything I had known would become a faint trickle in the back of my mind. As though guessing my thoughts, my guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats. I took inventory on who was here: Mrs Pots, Purpy, Lamby, Heart Bear, Pooh, and Billy. My eyes danced over all of them and as they did, I realized that these six would never fade from my memory. “Is that your choice to make?” A cool whisper spoke into my ear and I quickly whipped my head around to see where it had come from. Darkness stared back at me yielding nothing, yet the ticking grew louder. “Don’t look out there sweetheart, you won’t like what you see.” It was Mrs. Pots voice that brought my attention back. Yet, who was that who had spoken? It wasn’t a voice I’d heard before. And it was right. Was it my choice to make, saying things would never be forgotten? It seemed as though time took everything eventually, if not in life then in death. “So, where’s my cake?” I joked to break the ice. “Oh yes! I will be right back with that,” cheered Mrs. Pots. “Alright, since the birthday girl is eighteen, everyone should say their favorite memory of her from when she was a child,” said Lamby. Each friend of mine began to tick off various memories, each one more dramatic than the first. “Wow, I must have forgotten those minor inconveniences which had once seemed so drastic,” I muttered after some time, my cheeks turning bright red. “See? You’re already forgetting… You’ve already forgotten so much.”

My eyes grew wide at that response. “Who said that?” “Said what Huny, no one said a thing,” drawled Pooh. “You said that I’m forgetting, that I’ve forgotten…” My friends glanced sidelong at each other upon hearing that. “It was only in your head,” said Heart Bear quietly. “Now I should probably check on Mrs. Pots, I have no idea why that cake is taking so long.” I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my thoughts were closing in. How much could I not remember? How many laughs had faded, how many cuts already turned to scars, some already healed, most gone? The shadows seemed to creep closer as I tried to remember the last time I cried, the last time I yelled, the last time IThe thoughts no longer stayed away as the others spoke of more and more memories, all including a version of myself that I no longer knew. Who was that brazen girl with such attitude, such spark? Where had she gone, when I needed her the most? “She was stolen by me,” buzzed the voice. “Well, give her back!” I yelled, jumping from my chair and spinning around to confront it. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and my head began to pound from the loud ticking that swallowed the room. “Give what back, you’re beginning to scare us sweetheart!” spoke Lamby. “There is nothing out there, nothing! If you try to go see you will never come back and I know you’re scared of the dark, you were when you were little, so stay in this light and please stop-” “The cake is heeere!” sang Mrs. Pots as she waltzed back to the kitchen table, Heart Bear in tow. “I don’t want cake, I don’t want to eat, please,” I whispered, turning back around. I glanced at Mrs. Pots and noted hints of stuffing on her face. Had she been crying? I looked over to Heart Bear and there was the same. I had never seen my friends cry before. They were always happy, always. Weren’t they? “I don’t want to celebrate, not anymore.” My voice cracked on the last syllable. “Well, whyever not?” exclaimed Mrs. Pots. “Because I’m afraid! Can’t you see how scared I am? I have no idea what to do without you all. I don’t know where I will end up, and I hate getting older, and I hate forgetting, and I hate it, I hate it!” I choked back sobs, wanting nothing but to be back in a time where I didn’t constantly worry about the forthcoming day. “Oh but Dear, for eighteen wonderful years we have prepared you for this,” sighed Purpy. “I didn’t know that things would change, though,” I whispered. “I didn’t know that getting older would make everything different. I don’t want to have to live out there all alone, I don’t want to have to leave my home. I don’t want to have to leave you.” They all began to cry at that last statement, white fuzzy pieces sticking to the tabletop. The ticking joined the chorus of cries, and the darkness grew closer as though drawn in by all of the pain. “Oh she’s leaving, she’s leaving!” wailed Billy. “What about Christmas? Who will I give candy to?” “I’m sorry,” I whispered in pain. “Can’t you see I don’t want this?” They seemed to ignore me. “Who will hug me? Who will need me? Who will love me?” sobbed Purpy. “I’m sorry, please stop crying.” “Who will hold my hand, my cold, cold hand?” cried Lamby. “Who will I love, who will need my love,” bawled Heart Bear.

“Please please, I am begging you to stop crying! I will come to visit every chance I can!” “Memories that are revisited are hardly ever the same,” the voice called as the room shook with cries and ticks. Shadows began absorbing the tears, growing larger as they gorged themselves. “Even if they were the same, they would fade,” it cried gleefully. “No they wouldn’t, I wouldn’t let them,” I cried. “I will cling to them, and I will not let go, you cannot make me-” “YOU HAVE NO CHOICE!” The voice bellowed, shattering the will I still had left. I cried and cried, watching as the shadows began to unfurl from the walls and curl around all of my friends, soaking into their fur and soiling their stuffing. Already they were fading, right in front of my eyes. Already I struggled to remember them all. Those thoughts crawled into my head as I tried to shake them out. “Please don’t go,” I sobbed and sobbed. Who would I be? Who would I turn into? I knew nothing, and that was the most horrifying thought of all. The shadows were almost done chewing their way through my friends, translucent figures filling the sobbing space. “Mrs. Pots, please! Please stop them!” I had to scream to be heard over the screeching of a bell, an alarm, signifying that my time was up. “It’s alright, Dear,” Mrs. Pots said as the shadows reached for her fading eyes and lips. “But wait, you forgot to sing! You all forgot to sing me happy birthday,” I sobbed, saying anything that could make them stay. “Please come back and sing with me, just come back!” Everyone else was already gone, their cries still echoing around the room, mixing with the cackles of Time. It was Time; he was there, taunting me. I knew now it was him and that made me cry even harder, knowing that he was here waiting, even at the young age of eighteen, to wrap his cold grip around my throat and drag me away with him. “I’ll sing, I’ll sing!” He shouted gleefully. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” “Please,” I whispered. The bell had begun to fade away, its last ring coming out as more of a croak, taking with it the cries of all my loved ones, my only ones. Even my sobs had begun to turn into more of a choke, a breath that I tried to use to anchor the last of my childhood as it was consumed by Time right in front of my eyes. “Don’t leave me.” A sympathetic smile disappeared into the darkness. “Happy Birthday, Darling. Blow out your candles and make a wish.”

As Daylight Dies

Arabela Costulis

We walk along the twisting road, rough and ragged from disuse. The sparse chatter of our comrades sounding all around us, disturbing the peace of the forest through which we walk. The rebellion had certainly changed things, but not enough. The English are still in Ireland, where they have no business being, and they certainly do not seem like they plan on leaving anytime soon. Even the trees of the forest we walk through have a sad look about them. I gaze around me, my eyes drifting up to the sun setting behind the trees. It is getting late, and we have been walking all day. Everyone is tired, and it is evident in how much our pace has slowed. “Hey Conner,” I say, turning to my friend, who had been dragging a couple paces behind me until now. “Do you know if we’ll be stopping soon? Everyone looks tired, and it’s getting late.” He gives me an exasperated look, much like the ones he used to give his mother and elder sisters back home. “You’re asking me this?” he says, just as clueless as I am. He sighs, posture sagging as he considers my question. “I have no idea, Killian. I wish I did, though. It seems that the commander would forget to stop and have lunch if he wasn’t reminded.” His impudent remark earns a small smile from me. No matter how much things changed, I don’t think he ever will. To me, at least, he’ll always be the little boy trailing after me in the village, even though now he is older; sixteen to my eighteen. “Don’t let him catch you say that. He might skip lunch on purpose.” I say, a hint of caution making its way into my otherwise playful tone. “I don’t think he’d ever hear the end of it, to be honest with you,” he smiles, his lopsided grin lighting up his face as he added, “besides, I bet I could sneak us something regardless. Remember that time I stole that sweet role from Mrs. Cleary? If I can get away with that, I can get away with anything!” I laugh, and open my mouth to reply, but my words are cut short as the serenity of the forest is shattered by the echoing sound of gunfire. The once orderly procession of union soldiers broken by the prospect of an impending threat. I look around in an attempt to spot the shooter, but the impenetrable shadows behind the tree line hide any potential assailants. The aftermath of the shot, however, is plain to everyone in the company. The commander topples from his horse, the life draining out of his body as it crumples to the ground. Then they are everywhere. English soldiers come at us from all directions, the stench of gunpowder and blood filling the air as my comrades and friends fall around me. “Connor!” I shout, attempting to be heard above all the confusion, “We need to get out of here!” He nods, seeming to be going into a state of shock. It’s not his fault we never got to see active duty before the rebellion was crushed. It is only then that I notice the small stain of scarlet blooming on his chest, right over his heart. For a moment, all I can do is stare at that spot, my thoughts stopping altogether in disbelief. He seems to notice it just as soon as I do, swaying on his feet not a second after. I catch him just before he hits the ground, his breaths coming in shuddering gasps that seem to take all his will.

“I can’t,” he says, panic grasping his voice as tears begin to form in his eyes. “I can’t die!” his words are now coming in short shaking sobs. “I promised my mom that I’d be back in time for Leanna’s birthday.” “It’s okay,” I say, although I feel as though I am trying to convince my self rather than the dying boy before me. “It’ll all be alright. You’ll get to be there, and she’ll welcome you and tell you how brave you’ve been.”

“Stop,” he gasps out, his voice sounding more strained than ever. “Please don’t try to make me feel better. I know I won’t be here much longer anyway.” “No,” I say, taking a handkerchief out of my pocket and pressing it against his wound to try and stop the bleeding, only for it to be soaked through in seconds. “Don’t say that.” “Hey, Killian?” he says, not seeming to hear my previous statement. His eyes are clouded and unfocused, gazing toward the sky. “Are you still there? I can’t see you.” His once clear and loud voice has faded to nothing but a gentle whisper, and it is evident that he no longer has the strength to speak at a normal volume. “I’m here,” I say, my silent tears turning into grieving sobs. The battle seems to slow around us, as if we’re on another plane of existence entirely. “I’m here,” I continue, not bothering to hide my apparent woe. “Good,” he says, before the life fades from his still boyish face and his soul no longer lingers in his

body.

I sit there for what seems like days but could not have been more than a few seconds at most. He was still innocent. He had never even seen a skirmish before today, and they killed him without a second thought. He wasn’t even a proper soldier, and they slaughtered him just as they would have any trained fighter.

I glance around at the skirmish still raging around me and turn to the corpse of a man clad in a red uniform. I pull the musket from his already cold fingers and rush out into the carnage. I shoot aimlessly at anything moving, not caring if they were friend or foe. All of them are murderers, just as I am about to be. I fire and fire and fire, unconcerned about what my bullets are hitting. I am just about to fire again as I feel a flash of pain in my leg, and two more in my back. My adrenaline rush ends as the life runs out of me in streams of crimson, and the last thing I see before fading into the darkness are the stars beginning to show as the moon rises and night takes hold of the world and the daylight dies, just as I do.

The Doorbell

Daniela Cantu

I sat against the bottom of our grey, moth-bitten sofa. The fire flickered dimly in its place, its warmth bathing the front of my face, chest, and legs. The clean, fluffy mess at the top of my head was being combed through by Ashley’s thin, knobby fingers, her nails catching the rebel knots of dirty blond hair that had strayed her path along the way. I tilted my shaggy head up from her palm half-heartedly and glanced towards the indent she had made on the couch. Her raven-stranded hair was pulled back behind her ears, frizzy strands of wispy hair sitting curly on her forehead. Her eyes weren’t focused on mine. Instead, they concentrated on the book in her hand, flipped pages mimicking the sound of the fire. Discontent with not keeping her focus, I rested my jaw on her knee, rolling my chin over the cap. Her eyes flickered towards mine and narrowed in a smug glee, and she moved her thumb to brush it over my cheekbone. “What’s wrong?” She asked softly, half of a laugh thriving in her voice. I could only return a smile. Reciprocating, she gave my hair another ferocious shake.

A doorbell rang in the distance, and Ashley’s eyes shifted to follow. I turned my head towards the noise and let out a slight muttery noise of stroke turmoil. Ashley rested her hand on my head for a delicate moment before standing up and walking towards the front door of the spacious apartment. I quickly stood from my position and tailed her, occasionally brushing against her side. She opened the door, and I waited behind her, keeping my head leaning towards the door. I eyed her thumb brushing against the peephole’s slot and attempted to slot my hand against hers, something that she quickly brushed away. As unsurprising as the motion was, it frustrated me enough to press further against her, which still didn’t seem like enough to shake her from squinting into the outlook of our apartment.

I frowned, a soft noise of confusion sprouting from my lower throat. There stood a man who looked to be about eight feet tall. His posture was lanky and unnatural underneath his bulky black trenchcoat. His skin was wrinkled and leathery, a dark, whole black. I could see throbbing veins from underneath his thin skin like they were screaming to be removed. My eyes panned up to his face. His head was completely bald but as leathery and veiny as the rest of his coated body. His lips were spread from ear-to-ear in a twisted smile, the indentions in his mouth chapped and split, his charred lips beaten and burnt to a crisp. Its eyes were wide and white, almost as if a thick filmy fog had been cast over it, showering its glare over white pupils. It also had no nose. Instead, a slight dip rested where it should be as if it had been carved out. Just looking at the thing made a spine-tingling chill run down my spine.

I tilted my head up to Ashley’s, wanting to know how she reacted to this thing, searching for a crevice I could fill to protect her. I was used to seeing reactions created by a similar cause. Her responses would be taut and nimble, tiny yelps in surprise and anguish falling from her mouth without delay or hesitation. She would squeeze me close as I struggled to break free from her tenacious grip. I guess a way to describe that look and stressed movements would be fear, and based on the face of the thing, that should be her reaction, right? Incorrect. Ashley passed me a confused and uninterpretable expression, and it looked as if it were passing through the beast. ‘Can she not see it?’ I pondered internally, and I watched Ashley tilt her head towards me from the thing. She chuckled lowly, shaking her head; strands of stray, rebel black hair fell onto her shoulders from the motion of the loose bun. “Shy, I think we’ve been ding-dong ditched.” She hummed, leaning downwards to make eye contact with me. “Maybe you could search for the kids and track them down.” She joked. I stared at her, dumbfounded. “Can you not see it?” I whispered, staring over towards Ashley. She looked down at me, confused, before laughing.

“There’s nothing there, Shy. Let’s go back.” Ashley stated, gently tugging on my shoulder. I stood still, unmoving, completely dumbfounded. “Can you not see it? Look.” I exclaimed, frustrated. Our next-door neighbor gently pushed their door open, tiredly stepping out to glance over. Christ, I didn’t think that I had been that loud. Ashley dragged me back into the house, swearing underneath frustrated huffs of air. “What’s gotten into you?” Before she could close the door, I looked back towards the thing, falling silent. I swear I saw the thing’s cracked, ashy, split lips split into a bloodcurdling, horrific grin. My stomach twisted into knots.

We were back in the same position we were a few minutes ago, her hand threading rows in my shaggy hair. My eyes weren’t transfixed on her; they were on the wall next to the crackling fire; the spots of flicking flame engulfed into nothing along the border. The thing had consumed the fire flickering, its presence overwhelming that of the fires.

I stared at it, my heart thumping frantically in my chest, mimicking that of a frantic hummingbird’s wings. It stared back, its eyes wide and unmoving, unnerving above its twisted, horrific grin. It sat there, just staring. The only thing that seemed to be moving was its pulsing veins, sickening to watch. I noticed Ashley’s hand shift in my hair, doubling back towards her leg in a resting manner, and I flinched, snapping my shagged head towards her. She looked down, her eyebrows jumping a hurdle of surprise. Then, she tilted her head towards where I was staring, creases of confusion forming between her hurdled brows. “Do you see it? Please, tell me, give me some sort of a sign that you can!” I frantically spoke, my voice shaking in my raw throat. She gave me another confused look. I knew she was surprised at my frantic babbling because she shot me a look of concern. “What’s there? What do you see?” She asked softly, reaching her hand down to reassure me. I snapped my gaze towards her, and she flinched her hand back, eyes widening in disbelief.

“Stop trying to reassure me! I’m not crazy!” I barked at her, frustration filling my body. I scampered from her, racing towards the throbbing figure, growling out threats that were weak in my mind from fear. “Leave us alone, I can see you!” I screamed, throwing myself at the being, which disappeared, and I ultimately passed through it, smashing a vase that rested on the fireplace’s outer rim. “Oh my god, Shiloh.” Ashley groaned loudly, her stare flickering towards my quivering body. I looked down at my hand; it was bleeding. She grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and started to tug me away as I continued to howl furiously, fighting and clawing at the thing, furious. Why wouldn’t she let me protect her? It was dangerous. It was coming closer! “I have no idea what’s gotten into you, Shiloh.” She huffed. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of it. It was approaching, its twisted limbs contorting as it crept. My disgust towards it only seemed to increase with every bit of movement made and abnormal bodily function. Despite this, I couldn’t help but stare into it further. Its veins throbbed rapidly and exceptionally, bones threatening to tear through leathery skin. Its lips spread into a wicked grin, hundreds of bloodstained, needle-thin teeth showing through its split lips. A thick velocity of horror escaped me.

I was dragged off into my room, a shin gently shoving me further inside. The door shut before I could turn back around. I clawed at the door, my nails digging into the wooden mold. I was screaming, my hoarse yells quieting as my throat cracked and burned. Ashley’s footsteps began to grow faint.

Then, everything went quiet.

Then, it wasn’t.

I heard a loud, thick scream that cut through the suffocating silence, and I started weeping, clawing at the door. The screams never seemed to end but crescendo. Finally, I collapsed on the ground, screaming in chorus with Ashley. My shaken vision twitched down towards my tiny, clawed, hairy legs, screaming even louder until the only thing that filled the air was my own hollering.

As I stared at my small, furry limbs, my barking growing faint into whimpers, I began to wish that I had hands.