Interconnecting Lives

By Krisstapher Dollquette

1
 Natasha Bricken

If there's one thing I've learned from my life it's to

never make a huge life move before you're really ready
for it. The experience that taught me this lesson was
marrying a man ten years older than me when I was way
too young and dumb to realize what I wanted.
Like a lot of girls where I'm from I got married
right out of high school. Unlike the other girls, however, I
married a man a full decade older than me who was
already well established. Now, at the time this was a good
move to me. Marrying Micheal enabled me to go to
college and live very comfortably without needing to
work or worry about anything. He was honestly a dream
come true, if a little inept in the common sense region. He
made sure that I never wanted for anything, provided me
with anything I could ever want or need, even introduced
me to the connections that got me where I am now in my
career.
Without him my life would have been a massive
struggle. I didn't come from a well off family. The only
reason I even met Micheal was due to a temp internship
at his company. He was impressed with how hard I was
working, how intelligent I was, how driven, the care I
took in making the most out of the temporary position.
We had a fast courtship, if you can really call it
that. It was maybe nine months total before he proposed.
My parents were elated. Before I even graduated I was
basically living with him. He even gave me a new car and
took me on a trip to the Bahama's as my graduation gift.
Life was good for a long time. I didn't have to
worry, didn't need to struggle. Micheal made life easy.

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Everything was great. Of course everything was like a
fairy tale when you married the wealthy prince, but
there's a reason those stories ended with 'happily ever
after'. No one needed to know that after the dream
wedding came real life. Those princesses turned into
mothers who ran households and raised children. Maybe
this wasn't the most interesting turn of events; certainly
no one would want to listen to a story of a sleep deprived
woman doing her best to feed a baby and keep her home
clean while simultaneously making sure she looked nice.
That was the part of the story I was ready for
though. At twenty-seven years old I was done with the
fairy tale. Waking up to a spotlessly clean quiet home
every day began to weigh on me, the monotony and
stagnation of it growing as the days went by. I watched
my sister raising her own daughter with such envy I could
cry.
For the entirety of my life until meeting Micheal I
had seen my future littered with bottles, tiny shoes, toys
scattered on the livingroom floor, bedtime stories, and
helping with homework. I wanted to go to parent-teacher
conferences, participate in bake sales, watch my babies
perform shitty little elementary school plays while I
recorded them and cried in the audience.
When Micheal told me he was infertile I had been
crushed, but I loved him. I thought maybe I could accept
that I would never have children of my own, that I would
need to adopt, but when he explained to me that he never
wanted children I couldn't even respond. How could a
man his age not want children? Did he not want a son to
carry on his hard-won business empire? How could he
have a fulfilling life without answering that basic

3
biological need?
Despite that avalanche of a revelation, I decided
that I cared more for him than for my own reproductive
needs. I could focus on my career instead. My niece
would serve as a surrogate child when my instincts
overwhelmed me. I could get by and live happily without
a baby in my life.
I was wrong.
As the years ticked by it became more and more
obvious that what I tried to stamp down within myself
would not be silent forever. It poisoned my affections for
Micheal until I found myself crying every time I saw
another of my friends announcing a pregnancy or birth.
My period every month sent me into sorrow and
depression.
It took less time than I'm proud to admit to start
cheating. Something deep in my biological nature
compelled me towards men who looked even remotely
interested in me. I'd decided that if I became pregnant I
would tell Micheal that I'd been raped during one of his
long business trips away from home and had been so
scared and embarrassed that I didn't report it or even tell
him. With a story like that it would guilt trip him a little
bit to make him feel like it was slightly his fault for
leaving me alone in the first place.
Part two of my genius plan was getting him to
agree to let me keep the baby. My husband had known all
along that I was pro life. I'm staunchly and openly against
abortion, so it wouldn't be a surprise to him that I'd refuse
to kill an innocent baby. It seemed obvious to me that it
wouldn't take much work to get my way.
The real problem seemed to be the fact I wasn't

4
getting pregnant. Man after man, all of them seemingly
gifted with unreasonable “supplies”, and yet I was still
barren. I was beginning to think maybe I was infertile
too, but wasn't willing to go get tested. There was a part
of me that just couldn't take a confirmation like that.
When I met Travis I had just broken it off with
another man who'd been sleeping with me only to tell me
later that he'd had a vasectomy years ago. I was in a shitty
mood, feeling more useless than ever, and for some
reason Travis was able to get me to giggle that morning
when I stopped in to get a coffee.
He was cute, a little dorky, very much a closet
hipster, but i was a little smitten with him. A few weeks
later he divulged his wishes to have kids and I knew I
could hook him. I spun him my sob story of being in a
barren relationship and desperately wishing for a family
of my own. I watched the gleam in his eye as I said all the
things I knew he wanted to hear. He never knew i only
intended to use him as a sperm donor and then throw him
out of the way as soon as a positive test came up.
I want to make it clear that I never once considered
leaving my husband at all. I would have never done it. I
can't deny that I did enjoy the attention I got from Travis
though. He was good in bed, a good mix of kinky and
comforting, but he could never hope to provide the type
of life I lived. Sure, he was making a good profit owning
that coffee shop, but I made more at my own job in a
month than he made in three after overhead. I was just
enjoying my time with Travis until my test came up
positive and after that he was going to be out of my way
or going to jail; I didn't care which.
At least, that was my plan until Micheal found out.

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 I came home from work and found screenshots of
everything I'd ever sent to Travis spread across the
dinning table. Micheal was sitting at the table in a calm,
relaxed pose as he ate a steak and held one of the pages
like a newspaper.
“I never knew you were into this kind of thing,
Natasha,” he said with a bemused tone, eyebrows raised
as he turned the paper to show me a picture of myself
with a collar and leash around my neck and all of Travis
engulfed down my throat.
I felt the blood drain down into my feet. My head
swam, the room swirled, I felt like I was going to throw
up, and for a moment my vision tunneled as if I were
going to faint.
“Where did you get those?” I asked in not much
more than a whisper.
“You left yourself logged into your iTunes on my
tablet and low and behold what popped up as a
notification! None other than you telling Mr. Bevins how
much you enjoyed swallowing his cum last Sunday. Now,
mistake me if I'm wrong, but you told me you were
camping with Miranda last weekend.”
Everything crashed down around me in that
moment and I knew I had only seconds to plead my case.
Tears immediately began pouring. I flung my sobbing self
down in a chair while I poured out my prolonged rape
tale to my husband. I went on about Travis blackmailing
me into a long affair at the expense of ruining my
marriage and leaking fake information about Micheal
being a pedophile. I even told him Travis threatened to
have Micheal killed if I didn't comply. I begged over and
over for him to believe me and that I had only played

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along for his own well being.
He let me go on and on for a while until I ran
totally out of words to say and had ugly cried myself into
hysterics, but not once did he so much as pat my hand. I
knew there was something wrong, but I couldn't accept
yet that he wouldn't believe me. The man was a gullible
pushover; he would take my side.
I waited for long seconds to hear him say the
magic words of having Travis arrested. Those words
didn't come. Instead, I heard a chuckle.
Micheal laughed until he was coughing,
spluttering, turning nearly purple from the raise in blood
pressure. I'd never seen him laugh so hard. It scared me
more than if he had suddenly slapped me.
“Natasha, I can read fluently in six languages, plus
bullshit and slut,” Micheal wheezed between his
chuckles. “There are pages upon pages of your texts with
your sister about trying to get pregnant. I have video files
of you fucking six different men, enough pictures you've
sent of you nude to publish a magazine, and years worth
of your dirty texts. I've got it all right here and on flash
drives that I already sent to my lawyer to start the divorce
proceedings.”
“You're divorcing me?” I whispered. My voice
was horse from the crying. My face was streaked in
makeup and tears. I looked like a mess and felt even
worse. How could such a fuck up be going on?
“Of course I am!” he exclaimed with a big grin on
his face. “Why in the hell would I stay with a cheating
whore who wants me to raise some illegitimate kid?”
“You're going to leave me after everything we've
been through? What do you expect me to do?” I

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demanded
Micheal shrugged. “You're more than welcome to
go ahead and be with your hipster boy cuz I sure as hell
will not suffer a skank under my roof another minute!”
This set me off. “This is OUR house, Micheal. You
can't just kick me out of it!”
He only laughed harder. “Oh you're going to find
out that I very much can. I owned this house for five
years before you ever moved into it. YOU have
absolutely no rights to it. I can kick you out any time I
want. Doesn't hurt that the prenup is on my side as well.”
I felt my whole body go cold. I had known about
the prenup of course, but I hadn't considered that the
house wasn't marital property. In all honesty I had never
thought Micheal wouldn't take my side. This was a total
blind side.
“Where do you expect me to go?” I demanded.
He rolled his eyes as he inspected a sheet of paper
imprinted with some of my sexts with Travis. “You can
go to your sisters since she was clearly supportive of all
your slutery. You can go get a hotel room since you have
your own money. You can even go stay with your
boyfriend for all I care, but you are not. Staying. Here.”
“You expect me to go live with my own rapist?” I
questioned, my voice raspy and graveled as I leveled a
glare at my husband, determined to make him see things
my way.
Micheal smirked at me over the rim of his wine
glass. “You and I both know there's no raping a willing
participant.”
It was at this point that I lost myself to the biggest
fit I've had since I was a little girl. I grabbed the papers

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and tore them apart, throwing them at Micheal while I
screamed.
“You are out of your fucking mind!” I shrieked
while rampaging. “It's not my fault I was forced into this
god awful situation just to be degraded and called a
whore by my own husband!”
“Well, I wouldn't be calling you a whore aside
from the fact that, well, you're a whore.” Micheal
responded in a smirking taunt.
This did nothing to calm me.
“I swear to god if you try to kick me out of my
own home I will call the police immediately and tell them
everything! Everything about Travis, about your
pedophilia, AND I'll tell them your an abusive asshole!”
Nothing I said seemed to perturb him in the least.
“There's no pedophilia to find on me, so there's
one hole in your glorious plan,” he pointed out.
I glared at him, a mean smirk spreading over my
tear stained face. “Miranda will back me up on it. All we
have to do is say Alicia told us all about how you've been
touching her and you're fucking ruined.” I spread my
hands out on the hardwood table and leaned down to get
eye level with him. “No judge is going to go against a
little girl saying her big strong uncle was grabbing her.
And as soon as even a breath of it got out you'd be
ostracized from every business partner and opportunity
you have lined up. And as soon as you're in prison I can
file for divorce myself and take everything I want from
you. You wanna play this game with me, I can do it too
you impotent prick.”
Micheal sighed, but didn't respond, a sign I took to
be defeat. I couldn't hold the triumphant sneer off my

9
face.
“That's what I thought!” I said. “Now, I'm going to
go get a bath, Love. It's been a long day.”
As I walked behind him I gave him a taunting kiss
on the top of his balding head, then grabbed the bottle of
wine and glass he'd been drinking before making my way
into the bathroom.
Inside the room I closed and locked the door to
ensure my safety in case he went into a craze out there
alone.
In reality I didn't expect to have any more trouble
out of him. He was weak willed and had never been in a
real argument in his entire life. I was fairly certain he was
more likely to kill himself than he was to try anything
with me; and,if he did kill himself, that was one less thing
I'd have to worry about. I could take all the goodies we
had together, including the money in his bank account,
sell off his businesses, and live out my life on a beach in
Mexico.
With a charcoal mask on my face and my third
glass of wine I sank down into the bubbles of my bath
while music played. The alcohol made the hot water that
much more enjoyable, my stunning victory over my
husband making me giggle the more I thought about it.
He was book smart, but not crafty. Unlike me he
had never lived under the poverty level, never had to take
unfair chances to get what he needed. Micheal thought
everyone operated in honest terms that could be verified
on paper with a contract. He didn't understand that
sometimes people need to get their hands dirty and use
others to accomplish things.
After an hour of steady wine consumption and

10
lavender bathwater my eyes were heavy. Before I could
accidentally fall asleep in the water I got out and dried
off, choosing to make my trek to the bed without getting
dressed. I noticed the bed was empty as I came out of the
en suite. There were no sounds coming from the rest of
the house either so I assumed he had either gone down
into the basement man cave to sleep or had entirely left
the house.
So much for it being his house, I thought from
under the blankets.
As I drifted off the thought crossed my mind that
maybe he had gone out to end himself, and I began to feel
guilty. It wasn't his fault he was born sterile. It wasn't
even his fault that he didn't want kids.
I hated being called a whore for trying to get my
way, but I could kind of see his side of things. I was
definitely in the wrong. Even if I would never admit to it,
I had known all along that was in the wrong the whole
time. And of course it wasn't like I didn't love Micheal. I
wanted to be with him and have a family with him, but I
had let my biological needs get in the way of what was
truly attainable.
He couldn't have kids. He didn't want to adopt. He
probably would never be happy raising a child produced
through rape with me either.
I grabbed my phone and sent him a text to let him
know I was sorry about the fight and threatening him, that
I was going to bed, loved him, and would see him in the
morning when we could talk about it again. Then I
snuggled down into the plush bedding and finally gave in
to the waves of sleep.

11
 Micheal Bricken

Facebook messenger August 10th, 2014 8:09 pm

To: Miranda Lazarus
From: Micheal Bricken

Hey Miranda! Just saw you log on and thought I'd

message you. See how things are going. I heard about
Adkin's new job and wanted to congratulate you guys on
the good fortune. He's been wasting away in that office
for way to long anyway; it was time for a change.
Natasha told me about Alicia making the honor
roll again and being enrolled for the spelling bee. I can't
believe how smart she is for just five years old! I know
you both talk about how odd it is for her to be
sleepwalking in the middle of the night, but I don't think
you need to worry. She's a very smart little girl and I'm
sure it's just something minor. I feel like I remember
Adkin mentioning he had an aunt who sleep walked.
Anywho, I wanted to talk to you about your
delightful sister. I know you're already fully aware of
what she's been up to since I logged onto her account a
few hours ago and happened to find your conversations,
along with a LOT of other evidence.
As you know, she's been cheating on me with a
man from the coffee shop next door to her work. The one
with the massive spinning coffee cup for a sign. Yep. A
real winner, right? Well, I already know what you think of
him, since I've seen your messages and whatnot. You
really think she'd be so much happier with a low-income
hipster than a financially secure, well mannered, loving
husband? Just because I'm impotent? Just because you

12
think I'm gay because I like to dress well. I'm sorry not all
of us want to dress like a thrift shop hobo.
Well, we're all entitled to our own opinions, even
if they're selfish. You wanting to be an aunt is a very poor
excuse for encouraging her horrible behavior. Maybe it's
because of how huge a failure you are as a mother that
you want my wife to breed like some bitch dog. Little
nieces and nephews for you to play with now that Alicia's
getting out of her cute phase, right? She's not as cute
anymore, not letting you dress her up and parade her
around, Now that she's developing a personality you don't
want her. What a useless excuse for a parent you are.
If you're so desperate to have small children in
your life why don't you have more of your own? Oh,
that's right, Adkin won't fuck you more than twice a year.
You have to get him drunk and loaded up on Viagra to get
him hard enough to put it in you. He told me all about it.
Said you stopped shaving, look like a fucking gorilla, and
don't even shower as much as you used to. That's
disgusting. Take better care of yourself before you start
giving advice to other people.
Between you and I, it's no wonder Adkin's been
playing with the babysitter. Saddie's pretty cute, and a lot
more polite than you are to him. If you were half as
attentive to him as the little babysitter is maybe he'd fuck
you more. Or maybe if you'd go take a fucking shower
and groom. I don't blame him even a little bit. Especially
knowing that shit personalities run in your family. Hope
Alicia doesn't inherit it.
Anyway, back to why I originally decided to reach
out to you. I've had enough time to think about what I
found. I saw all the pictures synced to her iTunes, all the

13
slutty videos and messages. I never knew she was even
that flexible. Did you know she likes being choked out? I
didn't, and I wish to God I never had the unfortunate
chance to see video of his bony claw for a hand wrapped
around her neck with her begging him to go harder. Who
in the hell gets off to that?
Honestly, I was so furious when I first found her
account still logged in on my iPad that I thought about
killing her. I fantasized about bashing her in the skull
with a hammer when she came in from work, tying her
up, and doing horrendous things to make her pay for the
pain I was in. I wanted to break her bones slowly, pull her
hair out strand by strand, use that hot wax she loves to rip
her skin off in sheets. For a while I even entertained the
notion of killing her boyfriend in front of her in the
basement.
Whew, that got me going again. Sorry, didn't mean
to get so descriptive!
Don't worry, she's alive and well with that coffee
shop hippy. For now. If she stays that way is up to you. I
may not have hurt her, much, but I have put her in a
position that can end her life easily. It just takes a long
time. It's been about three hours now; I've spent all this
time waiting on you to log on so I could message you.
You see, since you were such a supporter of her slutty
ways, I decided that there would be no better solution to
this problem than to get all three of you at the same time.
She and her boyfriend have been put in a secure
container somewhere in the map I'm sending along with
this message. I want you to suffer with the knowledge
that you can save her and the man you want to father your
nieces and nephews, but know that you have such a low

14
chance of success. Their punishment is being together till
death do them part, like she promised to me. I'm not
giving you any more clues than the map, but there's a clue
in the map itself that will take you directly to her. I don't
think you're intelligent enough to find it though.
Happy hunting sister-in-law.

15
 Travis Bevins

Natasha and I met at the coffee shop I own about

eight months ago. Her office building was next door, so
she stopped in some mornings for coffee before work. At
first we only exchanged pleasantries, talked about the
weather, shared little stories about our lives while I made
her coffee. We developed a little friendship from there.
She started coming for lunch in the cafe once a week,
then two, until eventually she had lunch there most days.
We were enjoying each others' company greatly.
It was apparent that we were extremely
compatible, clicking on so many levels that my mind was
blown. Never had I met a woman who seemed to just
know what I meant even before I could get the idea out.
I knew she was married. I respected that annoying
fact and kept our conversations friendly, even though I
knew within days that I had already fallen. I wanted her.
What lead to my current predicament was when, a
few weeks into our friendship, she brought up wanting
kids. I've always wanted a family, but without meeting
the right woman I'd never had the opportunity. Natasha
had married a man whose infertility made her lifelong
dream of becoming a mother impossible.
From what I always understood, beyond doubt she
loved her husband. He was loving, understanding,
without a violent outburst to his credit, but he couldn't
give her the kids she wanted so desperately. He literally
couldn't provide for the most prevalent aspiration she
had, and although she had gone into the marriage
knowing this information, it had still wormed itself into

16
an angry knot.
Natasha's need to have kids outweighed the
dedication she had pledged to her marriage. She said her
relationship felt like an eternal honeymoon. At some
point in the six year marriage she had even considered
getting pregnant by another man but knew she couldn't
get away with it. Instead, she wanted to divorce him and
start over with a man who could give her the only thing
she thought she wanted. From what she said she was only
still playing the marriage game because she had nowhere
else to go.
Logically I understood that a woman with such an
attitude was fickle and a bad idea to get involved with.
For all I knew she may have been using me as a means to
get pregnant and somehow convince her husband that it
was his. I had never met the man, so he could have been
gullible enough to believe it was some sort of miracle
conception and never question it further.
Unfortunately, even though I was a smart man, I
was also a young man, and like most young men I
thought with my dick in this type of situation instead of
my brain.
We started dating not long after Natasha confessed
that to me. For months now she'd been repeating to me
that she was just about to break it off with him to come
live with me. We were going to start a whole new life
together. She kept saying she was just waiting for the
right time, and I was beginning to realize that I was just a
fling when her husband found out on his own. I don't
know how he managed, but I now wish I had never gotten
involved with his wife.

17
 He accosted me on the way to my car last night
after closing the shop. I can only remember seeing him
walking up to me with a jovial wave and a big toothy
smile on his doughy, tanned, stereotypical middle class
face. Seeing him for the first time in person drove home
to me how worlds apart we truly were, as if we weren't
even from the same planet. Next thing I knew I was
waking up in absolute darkness.
I was horrified. The left side of my head throbbed
so hard my empty vision pulsed red with every heartbeat.
My blood pressure must have been through the roof,
nearing panic attack, if not fainting, levels. My wrists
hurt as if I'd been dragged by them for a long distance,
and I could feel the burning of scrapes on my bare feet.
My shoes were gone, but I was still in my coat and
pants. It was stifling in my dark new domain, and I began
struggling to get out of my coat only to discover how
confining the environment was. There was only a little
more space than what an average double bed would
provide. In my struggle to escape my coat I accidentally
jabbed my elbow into a small mass to my left. I heard a
groan that I recognized and felt the bottom drop out of
my stomach.
''Please don't wake up! Pleeeeeease do not wake
up,' I plead silently to any god merciful enough to
answer my appeal. I didn't dare to breath as my heart
throbbed in my ears and I lay there immobile. The lump
beside me didn't make another noise. It shifted a bit, but
didn't move again.
After a minute I dared to breathe again. I reached
out, feeling the feverish skin of a familiar body in the

18
confining space. It was Natasha laying next to me. To my
utter horror it was my girlfriend.
This only served to terrify me further. Natasha was
the worst claustrophobic I had ever met. She was the
worst I had ever even heard of. Her phobia was so severe
that she required medication to make it possible for her to
even get into a car without an anxiety attack. A memory
of her blacking my eye while trying to escape a too-
enclosing hug when she'd forgotten her meds taunted me
with what she would do if she knew her current situation.
She was breathing steadily, and for the moment that was
good enough for me.
Even with my coat off it was still horribly hot. I
checked through my pockets in search of my phone in the
vain hope that it was still there. I was elated to feel its
boxy shape in the inner pocket of my coat. I pulled it out,
happy beyond reason when the screen lit up brightly to
show it even had a full battery. Not until I tried to make a
call to 911 did I realize the utter cruelty the other man
was capable of. The SIM card had been removed, making
my phone nothing but an awkward flashlight. I didn't
even bother to check Natasha's pockets for fear of waking
her.
I slowly swung the lit screen around to see my
environment. The roof was only an arm's length tall. I
estimated the walls around four feet apart, meaning it was
just wide enough for two people to lay shoulder to
shoulder. Lengthwise I could stretch out my limbs and
touch each end with the tips of my fingers and toes.
The entire structure looked like cheap plywood. It
had the rough texture that always signified the low-
budget material. This could be good, though. If we were

19
being held in a flimsily made box then I may be able to
break us out of it before Natasha could become aware of
the situation.
Carefully I rolled onto my chest, getting my knees
under me to press my back against the roof. With a deep,
slow intake of breath I pushed against the roof as hard as
I could. At first there was nothing, then a splintering
sound issued overhead as I strained harder, my knees
screaming in pain at the pressure, and I felt a horrid pop
in my lower back. The pain crumpled me back onto the
rough floor. For a long time all I could do was lay there
gasping as quietly as possible, trying desperately not to
wake Natasha as agony raced through me.
Very gently I reached behind me, tracing the tips
of my fingers along the huge knot in my lower back. The
spot screamed at me, sent me curling up again for long
minutes as tears and snot dripped down my face. I bit into
my arm to stifle my gasps.
It was a long time before the pain began to die
down again, allowing my brain to stop focusing solidly
on the sensations from my back. Moving slowly, I
reached up to feel the crack I'd made. The tips of my
fingers caught on splinters of wood, but also damp, cold
dirt. Its gritty texture sank my stomach down into my
toes. Until that moment I only thought that we were being
held in a box in Natasha's basement, maybe a workshop
somewhere, but I hadn't entertained the idea that we had
been buried.
My heart lodged in my throat. My lungs refused to
take in any air.

20
 I tried to think myself calm again. Okay, yes, I was
buried alive with a woman who was incredibly
claustrophobic. Yes, I was injured. Was I doomed though?
Probably, my cynical inner voice piped up
unhelpfully.
I was deep into the thoughts of possible escape
when the barest whisper of cool air blew over my sweat-
soaked forehead.
As I stretched my arms up I was able to feel a tiny
wisp of breeze across my palm. I carefully wriggled up to
the top of the enclosure, shining my screen around to find
a little hole about the circumference of a quarter. The
excitement that discovery brought was disorienting. That
hole meant our box was still connected to the outside
world. I cupped my hands around my mouth and went to
screamed into the hole, desperate for someone to help us,
but screeched to a halt.
A crippling fear sank into my chest. If I screamed
for help, Natasha would wake up. If Natasha woke up she
would absolutely lose her shit. She may kill me and her
both while struggling to escape. A vicious image invaded
my brain of her clawing my eyes out in a blind panic,
bashing her own head in on the ceiling, maybe even
freaking out so badly she went into cardiac arrest.
I opted instead for stealth, pointing my light into
the hole. There was just a rubber tube that curved sharply
upward. Turning off the screen I let my eyes readjust to
the darkness, then pressed my eye to the hole, but could
see no light at all. Swapping my eye for my ear only
allowed me to hear a soft rush of winter air. No animals,
traffic, nothing. Silence.

21
 The idea that we may be in a field or somewhere
extremely remote dawned on me. From what I knew of
Natasha's husband he was no handy man. He owned
businesses that sold art supplies, high end camera and
recording equipment, and did a lot on the stock market.
Surely she would have told me if he was a craftsman
during his down time. She said he liked to go to flea
markets and antique car shows, but nothing about if he
liked to build things. He didn't look like the type to have
access to any land or tools needed to pull off something
like burying his wife and her boyfriend alive. Was
someone helping him? Had she ever mentioned him
having friends capable of something like this?
I wanted so badly to scream through that hole for
someone to hear me, rescue us, and get that psycho
motherfucker who did this to us put in a ward deep
underground where he belonged. But I couldn't. I didn't
have the will to risk waking Natasha yet. What would I
need to do to get out of this awful situation with all my
limbs intact?
With my brain fuzzy from pain and throbbing all I
could do was let thoughts sluggishly swill around the
inside of my skull. The cold air blowing in a thin stream
across my face was enough relief to focus on at least. Its
freshness helped to clear some of the mental fog,
allowing me to think more concisely.
No light came from the little hole so I could at
least assume that it must be nighttime. Night meant that
there wouldn't be anyone outside to even hear me if I did
go off screaming like a nutcase. If I were careful and
incredibly fortunate perhaps I could keep my ear to the

22
hole, wait until someone was nearby, and get their
attention without waking Natasha at all.
It felt like I was asking the universe itself to align,
and I knew it was an unlikely scenario, but it was all I
had to keep me going.
Disoriented by the dark, head trauma, the damage
to my back, and heat I just lay there on the hard plywood
floor. I was dizzy, out of breath, and red splotches were
blooming across my empty vision. I managed to position
myself so that the tiny air hole blew across my sweat-
soaked face.
Beside me Natasha was no more awake than
before. I assumed whatever he did to knock her out was
chemical instead of a hard blow to the head. Maybe he
had chloroformed her, Or she could be having a bad
reaction that sent her into a coma. In the back of my
lizard brain I hoped that she was in a coma, unable to
come too in this sweltering, sweaty hell.
It was probably for the best that she remained
unconscious. I couldn't keep from imagining the panic if
she knew where she was. I envisioned her frantic flailing
and clawing to get out. I pictured her long painted nails
digging trails into the flesh of my throat, opening my
arteries, bleeding me out in this grave.
These thoughts weren't helping me. I was starting
to get panicky thinking about how bad this situation could
still get. For a few long minutes I lay as still as possible
while bringing my breathing back to a manageable level.
It was no small nor simple task to achieve, but at long last
I was able to breath like a normal person.
After an eternity I started to see light coming
through the little hole. It must have been hours since our

23
entrapment began, and the box was a sauna now. Sweat
coated my entire body, skin feeling like it was baking.
Natasha's skin, however, was clammy and cool to
the touch. I wrapped my scalding limbs around her
chilling comfort only to become aware of how shallow
her breathing had become.
"You still alive down there?" a barely familiar
voice asked down the tube connected to the hole.
I scrambled up to the top of the box, ignoring the
horrid pain that sudden movement caused.
"Help!" I plead pitifully, my voice only just loud
enough to be heard so as not to startle my partner.
"Oh no! No no no no! Can't do that," the voice
responded, sounding so pleased.
My finger tips went numb as I recognized who I
was speaking to.
"Please! Just get us out of here! I won't tell
anyone! I'll even leave the fucking country if that's what
you want. Just please get us out!"
A chuckle sounded from the hole. “She still
asleep?”
I was confused at that question. “Yeah, she's in a
coma I think. She needs help. If you loved her you'd get
her the help she needs! Not leave her here like this!”
The only response I got was a loud air horn blast
and the tiny light of the hole going out.
Time froze for a moment. I could feel the stirring
of limbs next to me, hear the sleepy noises of another
person waking up. My whole body went numb.
“Oh god no... “ I whispered to myself.
“Travis?”
I moved as far from her as I could get.

24
 “Don't move!” I commanded, thinking fast. “You
probably can't feel it but you're really injured and moving
will make it worse. Just stay still.”
Her breathing hitched in the darkness. “What
happened? I can't see!”
The sound of her hands scraping against the floor
spiked my blood pressure further.
“There was an accident. Please just don't move or
feel around, Natasha.”
She wasn't listening. Her hands continued to feel
around her. I could hear the moment reality struck her
upon feeling the ceiling and side of the box so close to
her.
She began to scream. It was louder than I thought
a human could be. I covered my ear out of instinct.
Within moments she was thrashing, her feet and arms and
knees, bashing and bruising me. I tried to tell her to stop,
to just lie still, but she was utterly mindless.
In desperation I struggled over to her and wrapped
by arms and legs around her. My back injury screamed at
me as I moved, her nails scrapped into my flesh, teeth bit
hard into my arm. Natasha's strength in her panicked state
far surpassed my own, and I realized this quickly.
I fought to get my arm under her chin. With every
ounce of power in my body I squeezed against her neck.
Her fighting only intensified at first. Natasha slammed
her head backwards, breaking my nose and knocking two
of my front teeth into my mouth. The struggling
repeatedly slammed by own head into the wall, serving to
only worsen my concussion as I spat blood and did my
damnedest to hold her still.

25
 “Natasha just stop moving! If you stop thrashing
around I can let you up!” I pleaded with her. I don't know
if she just couldn't hear me, or if she was so far gone that
she didn't have any control over herself.
One of her hands reached up to my face, tearing at
my beard and mouth. Two fingernails hooked my lower
lip and ripped it before I could stop her. She dug one
elbow like a baseball bat into my ribs, finally managing
to dislodge me from the stranglehold I had on her.
A moment later she was on me. Long fingernails
broken by fighting scraped long trails of skin from my
forehead and cheeks, one gouging into my eye even
though the lid.
The coffin was a dark tomb full of our animalistic
screaming as we both fought to protect ourselves; her
from the enclosed environment and me from her. Neither
of us could win.
I managed to get myself behind her, one arm
against her throat and my legs wrapped around to hold
her arms to her sides.
“Natasha I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry,” I
repeated this mantra over and over as I squeezed against
her neck, blood pouring into the back of my throat and
drooling down my chin from the broken teeth.
Her thrashing began to slowly weaken. Eternity
went by in moments as I listened to her frantic gasps
slowly space out as I pressed harder and harder until there
was a sudden, loud, unmistakable pop and she went
instantly limp.
All at once my injuries came back at me in full
force. I let go and collapsed.

26
 Had I known that our affair would come to this I'd
have never even given her the time of day. If only I hadn't
been so stupid, so foolhardy, so desperate for female
companionship.
If only I'd known...

27
 Kayce Popejoy

Day 1

Even though I have a regular diary, I'm going to

use this to log about the weird crap happening at work.
As an explanation, I work at a nursing home in
Little Rock, Arkansas. It's a three floor facility with a
maximum capacity of five-hundred residents in their own
private rooms. I won't state the name of the place since it
would break my HIPPA contract, but I'll give as much
info as I can.
Normally everything is really average. Lots of
beeping, old people crying, staff talking, all the awful
smells you can expect from an establishment filled with
incontinent adults. It's a far cry from glamorous on a good
day, and downright nasty on a bad one, but generally the
atmosphere hovers in the middle. Usually you can tune
out the background noise and you become nose-blind to
the regular smell of antiseptic and full adult briefs.
The weird comes in the form of most of the staff
thinking the fifty-year-old building is haunted. To be fair,
hundreds of people have died in there. Many of those
were depressed, unloved, and unwanted elderly people. I
could see where a few of those people would hang
around. A few of the highly religious among staff even
believe there are demons roaming the halls.
Personally, I'm not sure. I've been there about two
months as a part time housekeeper on the first floor,
which is the floor for people recovering before going
home. None of those residents are permanent. Not too
many have up and died on that floor. Not much goes on.

28
Things have gone missing or shown up in weird places,
but I feel pretty safe.
Floor two is for long term residents who have no
mental problems. They're as average as you can expect. I
haven't gotten to spend much time there, so I can only
report what others have told me. Staff on the second floor
talk about seeing residents who passed away walking the
halls, sometimes showing up at the nurses station asking
the Charge Nurse questions. It's freaky, but no one ever
seems to feel threatened.
That's where the top floor comes in. The third floor
is reserved exclusively for residents with diseases like
Alzheimer's, late-forming personality disorders, violent
outbursts, etc. I was only up there once, but it wasn't fun.
In Arkansas, residents have the right to scream and hit
themselves or even throw themselves to the floor. As long
as they don't injure other residents the nurses aren't
allowed to stop them unless they're really hurting
themselves.
So imagine walking onto a ward that's nearly dead
silent except for periodic screaming from far off down the
halls. You don't even hear any TV's because 90%of the
elderly are loopy from their anti-psychotic meds and don't
care about anything. The nursing staff is so jaded they
don't look like they even hear it anymore.
I hate going up there, and am always glad to not be
there when I hear all the stories of residents suddenly
choking to death on nothing. Sometimes the nurses talk
about seeing shapes like white shadows moving across
walls in the middle of the day. The shadow slips into
patient rooms, then the door will slam shut and the
resident inside starts screaming. By the time the CNA's

29
get in the poor old person will be splayed out on the floor
covered in bruises and very much dead.
I wouldn't be nearly as bothered by all this, but I've
been offered a full time position to work on the third
floor. As much as it freaks me out, I have to accept it.
Right now I'm only part time on the first floor. Switching
will give me a $1 raise per hour, 15 more hours a week,
and medical benefits. I can't afford to turn down that kind
of offer.
So, I thought it may be fun to keep a catalog of
anything crazy/creepy/weird that may go on. Wish me
luck!

Day 3

Only my first day in the ACU (Alzheimer care unit

for all you luck enough to not work in a medical
establishment) and there's already been a death. I doubt it
can be connected to the stories I heard though. I
overheard that it was a diabetic seizure, but maybe it was
one of the white shadow's victims (so spook!)?
I also haven't seen the shadow yet. It's only the
first day though so there's still plenty of time for ghost
activity to start.

Day 11

Sorry for not logging every day, but I've been

really tired. All those extra hours are taking it out of me.
Anyone who's ever worked housekeeping/janitorial work

30
will understand what I mean. It sounds easy to just clean
all day, but it's a physically taxing occupation.
Anyway, the third floor is just as creepy as I
described. We're allowed to have one earbud in to listen
to music while we work, and I wholeheartedly do so. On
the first floor I used to listen to creepypasta while I
worked. I could get so distracted by the stories that I
wouldn't even realize I was working until hours later
when all my work was finished. On my first day on floor
three I tried to do the same, but I got so freaked out I had
to turn on an 'Alice in Wonderland' audio book to distract
myself.
Aside from the screaming and crying, my first few
days were actually pretty normal. There was that death
my first day, but there's not enough correlation between
what I've heard and what happened with that man to say
for sure if it fits.
Today though, some shit went down.
I've been talking to a CNA ( I'll call him Thomas)
who works the same shift as I do on that floor. He's into
some of the same stuff as me, likes creepypasta and
horror movies, listens to similar music. We get along
pretty well and we're the only two people under 30
working up there.
I was getting near the end of my lunch break and
just standing there talking to Thomas about a concert he's
going to next weekend. Everything had been really quiet
the whole day, and we were only an hour out from clock
out time so we were pretty relaxed when all of a sudden
we both see this white thing move out of the corner of our
eyes. In unison we turned our heads and instantly the

31
door to Mr. Marsh's room slammed shut so hard the wind
from it blows my hair back.
Thomas vaulted over the desk and tried the door
handle but it won't even turn. From inside we could hear
the elderly man yell once before it was cut off.
As soon as he heard the scream Thomas was
kicking at the door, trying to get it down. It took him
three tries to bash the door in by kicking at the part just
under the knob, but he got it down and we both ran in.
Mr. Marsh had slipped out of his recliner where he
had been napping. He was now on the floor. A puddle of
blood was seeping from under his head, it was smeared
all over his face, and there was a long spray of it across
the bottom of the white curtain beside him. I was in
shock, staring at the gory scene before me when
something near my foot caught my attention. I looked
down and my lunch instantly came up the back of my
throat and spilled out over the floor. It was the poor old
man's tongue flopping near my shoe.
More CNAs and nurses rushed in then, one of
them grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me out of
the room.
I got sat in the break room with some hot coffee
and anti-nausea medication. I had to write out a statement
of my view of the events to put in the report. My manager
got the other two housekeepers to finish the little bit I had
left to clean on my hall and sent me home.
If you're wondering, yeah, Mr. Marsh is dead. Way
dead. Not only did he bite off his own tongue, but he
bashed the back of his head in on the floor. Not too
surprising to be honest since the bones and sculls of older

32
people are super soft and fragile, but having seen it in
person is so much worse than I thought.
I'll talk to Thomas tomorrow and see what he
thinks happened. Personally, I think I saw my first
instance of the Ghost.

Day 12

Thomas talked to me about what happened

yesterday. He told me that this wasn't the first door
kicking he's committed. Since these weird instances
started happening it's become acceptable to kick down the
doors as long as there's cause to think the resident is in
danger. The administrator herself made the order.
Thomas said that's the first time that he's seen
anyone bite through their own tongue like that. Usually
someone will choke on their tongues during a seizure, but
usually an elderly person who isn't even wearing their
dentures has a hard time biting through such a tough
piece of muscle.
He was getting nervous while we were talking,
but I kept pressing until he finally admitted what had
gotten to him
When the doors first started getting jammed all
locks were removed from the doors on the third floor
resident rooms. So when he went to open the door
yesterday, nothing mechanical was holding that door
closed. He couldn't understand it. He and the maintenance
man had gone back after the body was removed and the
room cleaned to inspect the door mechanism only to find
there was nothing out of place.

33
 “It's more like someone was holding the door knob
from the other side to keep me from being able to turn it,”
Thomas told me. “There was nothing else to hold it
closed like that.”

Day 16

Another resident became a victim to the Ghost.

Thankfully I didn't witness this one, but it did happen on
my hall. I ended up having to deep clean the room
because the woman had sprayed vomit all across the
walls. That had to be the nastiest thing I've seen in this
line of work.
Thomas and I decided to partner up on this. Both
of us are completely freaked out, but also incredibly
curious. We're going to share information to each other
whenever one of us learns anything new.
Hopefully it'll be a while before I report another
death.

Day 25

For a week now nothing has happened. It's been

pretty average. One of our comatose residents went to the
hospital because her heart was becoming irregular, but
that's been the height of excitement.
On a less creepy note, Thomas and I are getting
along really well (wink wink). Maybe the whole Ghost
nonsense is doing some good after all. We're going to see
a show this weekend and have been spending our lunches

34
together to “hash out all the facts about the paranormal
activity at work”. Basically just theorizing about it until
we go off topic.

Day 29

Mrs. Anne , the comatose woman, came back from

the hospital last night. I went into her room to clean like
usual and about died of fright when she said hello to me.
In nearly a month of cleaning her room I'd never seen her
awake. That blew me away, but unnerved me too.
She's an ancient woman in her early 100's. I think
she's 103 years old. For my whole stint on the third floor
she had laid in her bed looking like a shrunken,
pallid,wrinkled thing. I can't even say she looked like a
person to be quite frank with you all. At best she looked
like a breathing mummy without any wrappings. There
had barely been any hair left to her, her skin was thin and
kinda yellowish, and she was so thin you could barely tell
she even had a body under the mountain of blankets she
kept wrapped in.
Now that she's awake and been away for a little
while she's like another person. Her skin's not as wrinkled
and discolored. Her cheeks are fuller. Even her hair looks
like it has started growing back.
Aside from her sudden rejuvenation she was just
all around unnerving. The whole time I was in her room
cleaning she was having awkward polite chat. She asked
me about myself, but weird questions. She wanted to
know it I smoke or drink or do drugs. At one point she
even asked if I'm sexually active, of all the weird things

35
for a 103 year old woman to wonder at. She sounded
really pleasant, but the conversation was just so weird.
Maybe tomorrow she'll go to the lunch hall with
the other residents and I'll be able to clean her room while
she's gone.

Day 37

This is my day off so I'll finally get to update.

Mrs. Anne is simply getting creepier. I thought that
maybe I'd get used to her, but nope, doesn't look to be
happening. It's getting so off putting that I've thought
about asking to trade her room with one of the other
housekeepers.
Mrs. Anne is getting healthier and gaining vitality
every time I see her. Her skin is getting smoother and
more colored, hair is growing back fuller, and she's even
started walking. The women was comatose for three
months, on life support, but now she's up walking.
I don't know about you, but to me that just reeks of
something supernatural. No, I don't have proof or even a
theory yet, but I do think she's connected to the Ghost
somehow.
She scares me. I don't understand why. An old
woman who's recovering isn't anything to be afraid of,
even if it is unnatural.
Yesterday she started talking to me as soon as I
came in to clean, and didn't stop until I told her goodbye.
I didn't pay the stories much attention since I had one ear
bud in, but I got a feeling that something about what she
was saying wasn't correct. Not sure what since I was too

36
freaked out by her to pay attention to what she was
saying.
Thomas told me there's been another death on the
ward. A woman in her 50's with early on-set Alzheimer's.
Aside from the mental disease, she was in perfect health.
The Alzheimer's had only affected her memories, it hadn't
yet started on making her body forget how to work. In the
middle of meal service she just dropped dead. That's the
youngest one by far. Certainly the healthiest. All the
others were over 80 and their bodies had already began
giving out.
Thomas doesn't know if she can be connected to
the others because of her age and health difference. He
says that even more convincing was that there was no
white shadow that marked the harbinger for the other
victims.
Here's my opinion:what if something were to
happen that made the shadow better able to hide. What if
it were strong enough now to keep us from seeing it?
I've got a hunch to look into before I voice it.

Day 38

I was right!
Okay so a bit of backstory is needed here. I have a
family friend who works over at the hospital. Let's call
her Hilda. Hilda works all over the place in there because
she's been there 20+ years. She's compassionate beyond
reason, and that causes her to do a few things that are
beyond her nursing duties. One of those activities is
sitting with the dying patients who have no family.

37
 I asked her if she had came across a 100+ year old
comatose woman who was in the hospital not long ago.
Much to my expectations, Hilda had indeed sat at the
bedside of the very same dying woman I was thinking of.
Hilda told me that she had been sitting with the
woman after her shift ended, holding her hand so she
wouldn't be alone when she passed. It was getting a bit
late, Hilda had worked a long shift, and she was falling
asleep next to the bed when a life support alarm began
going off in the room next door.
She rushed out to see what was going on to find
that one of the other comatose patients on the hall had
flat-lined. While nurses were trying to resuscitate that
person another person across the hall flat-lined as well.
One after another fifteen comatose people in stable
condition just up and died. The doctors were scratching
their heads after all the commotion died down, but no one
could come up with an explanation.
Hilda went back to check on and sit with the
woman who had been on the verge of death only to find
her sitting up in bed with a smile on her face. One guess
at who that woman was.
No one has been able to explain the deaths yet and
it's all being kept very hush hush.

Day 39

It was in my room! It's 3:13 a.m. and I just woke

up feeling like something was choking me. When I
opened my eyes it was that white shadow sitting on my
chest with its fingers around my neck. I was barely able

38
to get it off me, throwing it to the floor, and when I did it
just looked up at me like it was confused before
disappearing. The thing literally just faded out of
existence on my bedroom rug.
I'm too afraid to go back to sleep. I'm afraid to go
to work tomorrow. I called Thomas but he didn't answer.

Day 43

I've never been more afraid than I was the other

night, but today was a close second. I was in Mrs. Anne's
room cleaning, and she started talking to me about when
she was a young woman my age. I was only listening a
little as I was trying to drown her out with a documentary
on my phone, but she mentioned the Gettysburg Address.
This got my interest, and I paid her more attention.
"Yes, I'd have to say seeing that great man on stage
giving the Address was one of the proudest moments of
my long life," Mrs. Anne said from beside the window.
I froze, and instantly she gave a small, low
chuckle.
"This whole time I thought you weren't paying any
attention to this old woman's rambling," she said.
Her face was so self superior and smug that for a
moment I relaxed, thinking she'd just said it to get my
attention. I shook myself mentally, reminding myself that
this was a mental ward for the elderly, and that meant she
was mental too.
"You almost got me, Mrs. Anne," I said to her as I
went back to work. "I know you've been around a long
time, but Lincoln was long before even your time."

39
 I looked up to give her a reassuring smile, only to
notice how she looked. If I hadn't known better, I would
have thought I was in the room of a70-year-old woman
with a lot of prime left in her golden years, not a103-year
old who'd been on the very doorstep of death a few weeks
ago.
She smiled back at me as my face dropped. "You
look like you've seen a ghost."
I managed to whisper back, "Maybe I have."
"Maybe you are,"she said, like she was correcting
me.
I bolted out of that room as fast as I could and
went home sick. I told my manager I was throwing up,
and from how pale and sweaty I was she believed me.

Day 45

I started doing some research last night on a

genealogy website. I typed in Anne's name and just
started copying and pasting the information I found into a
separate file. Get this: there was a woman named with her
name present at the Gettysburg Address. Some of the
upper class families who attended signed a registry and
had their photos taken. I swear to God, the Anne in that
photo looked like a younger version of the woman in the
nursing home. Even that smug facial expression is
similar.
I forwarded the info to Thomas' email. I hope he
gets back to me soon on it because I feel a little too crazy
for my liking.

40
Day 46

Thomas is dead. His brother found him on the

floor of his apartment this morning. Someone broke in
and strangled him to death a few days ago. There weren't
any marks around his neck, but he definitely choked to
death.
I'm going to talk to Anne. There's something
connecting her to all this. Thomas was attacked the same
night I was. There's got to be correlation.

Later, Day 46

Anne is missing. No nurses saw her go because

five of them dropped dead, and the others were too busy
trying to revive them and call paramedics.
I quit on the spot and walked out. There's no way I
can step foot in there again.
To occupy me I went back to searching for more
about Anne. Not only was she at the Gettysburg Address,
but she was recorded as boarding both the Hindenburg
and Titanic and surviving both. A census states that she
was a woman in her 40's living with her husband in
Philadelphia at the time George Washington became
president. She was a nurse during the Revolutionary War.
One of the oldest mentions of her was as a little girl at the
Plymouth colony, but here's where I found discrepancies.
Anne isn't listed with those who were on the Mayflower
ship that brought the Plymouth colonists. She was
recorded as an old woman on the ship that brought the
Roanoke colonists. That colony was supposed to have

41
vanished completely without any survivors, but somehow
Anne is in the Plymouth colony without any questions
being asked.
One way of explaining it is that the original Anne
from the Roanoke colony was able to survive in the wild
until the Plymouth settlers came and found her. Maybe
she had no recollection of what had happened to her and
her people, and happened to somehow be pregnant with a
daughter who took her mother's name. That daughter
grew up and passed her name on to her own daughter, and
so on until present day.
Another way to explain it is that Anne, who was an
elderly woman in her new colony, absorbed the life out of
her people to become the young girl the Plymouth people
found. She could have repeated this cycle for hundreds of
years until she ended up at the nursing home where I
work. By that time she may have let herself get too close
to death, and after falling into a coma she began
subconsciously sucking the life out of the coma patients
who were the only prey weak enough for her to take.
Going to the hospital would be a perfect guise to take the
life force out of dozens of people without anyone being
suspicious.

I can't explain why she wasn't able to kill me, but

could take out Thomas. I do know one thing: Anne is out
there roaming somewhere in the world, free to take all the
lives she needs to make herself unrecognizable to anyone
looking for her. I'm absolutely terrified that she's going to
come after me, that she knows I know what's going on,
that I'm a loose thread in need of pulling.

42
 I've talked to my sister and she's coming by
tomorrow afternoon to help me get what little I own to
move in with her a few towns away. I've told her
everything that's happened; she's as freaked out as I am.
Admittedly, she does believe in this kind of stuff more
than I do, but at this point I'm just glad anyone is willing
to take me seriously.
Stay safe everyone. I'm giving up my pursuit of
Anne, the whole mystery, and leaving everything about
this behind. I suggest anyone reading this to do the same.

43
 Alicia Lazarus

I don't like being in my house anymore. Not since

dad and Saddie stopped being there. Now there's just Mrs.
Stenson and mamma, and I don't want to be around either
of them. So instead of going into the house I stay in my
treehouse. Dad had it special built so that it's just like a
house, just up in a tree and it has a trap door. It has a
regular door too but I like the trap door a lot better. I have
a little sleeping pad and some bean bag furniture, plus
dad got me a little fridge and microwave and a little
window unit that can be a heater or a air conditioner
depending on if it's summer or winter. I can pretty much
live in there, and for the past few months I kinda have
been.
I don't like going in the house because that's where
mamma is. She never leaves her room, but I can smell her
all over the place. She smells really bad, like milk that's
been on the counter for a couple days but not long enough
to be all solid. I dunno how she manages to get her icky
smell all over the place when she doesn't ever get out of
bed and Mrs. Stenson is there to clean the house and cook
every day. Maybe it's like a super power or something.
Weird super power but whatever, at least she has one. I
don't have one.
Maybe I don't have a super power, but I do have
my tree house. Maybe I'm more like Batman where I'm
just a regular person with a really cool hideout.
Dad set up a TV for me with a built in DVD player
so I can watch my favorite shows without mom getting
grouchy. She hates my shows. I leave all my DVDs out in
the treehouse now because she went on a rampage and

44
threw out a lot of my anime after Aunt Nat died. She told
me my shows were weird, and my clothes are weird, so
she threw my stuff out and yelled at me to be normal.
Dad totally lost his mind on her when he came home and
found out. Dad likes the same 'weird' things I like. So
does Saddie. Dad bought me my shows and more of my
clothes that I like and told me just to keep things I like in
my treehouse until he moves back home.
He offered me to come live with him and Saddie at
his house but I don't want to so he isn't making me. My
house kinda sucks right now but I don't want to leave. I
can just stay in my hideout until things get better.
I'm making hot coco when the Ghost comes up
through the trap door and collapses on the floor. I don't
scream though. Only shojo girls scream, and I'm more of
a shonen girl.
I stare at it and think that this must be the start to
my own anime where I get my super powers to see
ghosts. Maybe I'll be a paranormal detective or an
exorcist! I look out the window to see if anyone is
running towards the treehouse in case an exorcist is
coming who I can go with and start my apprenticeship.
No one is outside though. It's just me and the white ghost
thing. That's a little disappointing, but it doesn't mean that
no one is coming. Maybe I just need to give them a
minute.
The white thing is right in front of me suddenly.
Its hands are on either side of my head and its face is
pressed almost right against my nose. I'm scared frozen.
For a long time I'm just standing there with the white
things cold hands over my ears, and I'm too afraid to
move. I stand there so long I stop being afraid and start

45
noticing things about it, like how it doesn't have a smell
or shadows. The whole thing is just a really flat white.
Even up close I can't see anything but white.
Maybe it is a shadow, I think to myself.
A moment later it lets me go and falls backwards
onto the floor.
“You're very sick,” the white thing says. It has a
lady voice. It doesn't have lips.
“I don't think so,” I respond. “My nose isn't
running and I always get a runny nose when I'm sick.”
“Not that kind of sick,” it says. “You have a tumor
in your head. It just hasn't made you very sick yet so you
haven't noticed.”
My face scrunches up and I rub my forehead as if I
can feel the tumor there but of course I can't. It's just my
forehead like normal.
“If you say so,” I tell the thing. “What are you?”
“I'm a woman, a very very old woman. I've been
really sick myself and had a bad accident. What about
you, sweety? Who are you?” the white thing answers.
“Oh, I'm Alicia. I used to live in that house over
there but I live in my treehouse now. But not forever.
When Dad moves back I'm gonna go live in the house
again.”
The shadow lady looks over to the house. It's
really big and I bet she's wondering why I'd wanna live in
a treehouse instead of a nice big house. I decide to answer
before she asks the question.
“My mom is in there and she smells weird and
doesn't like my stuff. Sometimes she throws my stuff
away. Lately she just stays in bed, but I like the treehouse
better. I have my TV and snacks and stuff so I don't really

46
gotta go in the house except to go to the bathroom and
stuff,” I say, flopping down into one of my bean bag
chairs.
The shadow lady nodded, but it was hard to tell
with all the whiteness.
“Do you need some dayquil?” I ask.
The shadow turns its head to me. “What for?”
I shrug. “You said you were sick for a long time.
When I'm sick I take dayquil.”
“Thank you, Alicia, but I'm not the kind of sick
that dayquil would help with.”
“Hot coco?” I offer. “When I'm the kinda sick that
dayquil doesn't help its usually coco that does.”
The ghostly shadow chuckled a little. “Thank you,
deary, but coco wouldn't help me either.”
“Well, what would help?”
Everything was quiet for a while. It was quiet for
so long I thought the shadow lady had gone to sleep or
something.
“I need to eat people,” the shadow said quietly.
“I'm too weak to hunt for them though...”
“I could probably bring some people here for you
if you want,” I offered. “What kind of people do you
usually eat?”
“I don't usually eat people, sweety, just when I'm
too sick. The best ones for me right now would be kids
who are really overweight.”
“Ew, fat kids don't sound yummy,” I say with a
scrunched face. I imagine what it would be like to eat a
fat kid and I think it'd be like chewing on the icky fat
pieces on a steak. Remembering that rubbery feeling of
the fat between my teeth kinda makes me gag.

47
 “Maybe to you,” the shadow admits, “but for me
they make me feel a lot better so I like them. They have
the most life and energy in them, which is what I need to
get better. I'll need a lot of them though. Are you sure
you're okay with bringing them here to me?”
I nod to her. “Yeah there's a park not too far away.
Lots of fat kids play over there. I can just go over there
and ask them to come home for cookies and I bet they'll
come with me. You just gotta promise not to eat me
instead.”
“No worries, sweety. You're too thin, and that
tumor means you don't have enough life left for it to be
worthwhile for me to take. You're safe enough from me,
but I do need you to bring me another kid as soon as you
can. I'm very weak. If you bring me enough to get better
myself I'll help you get better too. I'll be your best friend
to show my gratitude for all the help.”
“Alrighty,” I say as I stand up and slip my shoes
on. “Stay here and I'll be right back.”
I go down through the trap door and head behind
the tree where the walking trail is. It's part of the park
where adults like to go running. Sometimes I even see
teenagers at night walking around with cigarettes. I
usually stay away from the trail because I don't really like
going outside and it always reminds me of my mom
making me go on walks with her before she kept herself
piled up in bed.
It's not a very long walk though. Five minutes later
I'm at the playground, looking around, trying to figure out
who the ghost would wanna eat more. There's a few
chubby kids playing on the slides, but they're a lot bigger
and older than me and I don't really want any trouble.

48
Older kids always mean trouble. I spot someone over on
the swings and think they look about right. They're my
height, but weigh a whole lot more than me. I can't tell
until I'm a lot closer that it's a girl.
“Hey,” I say to here as I sit on the swing next to
her.
She doesn't look at me. “Hi.”
“Want some cookies?”
She looks at me like she doesn't believe me.
Maybe she knows I'm not really going to give her
cookies.
“Where do you have cookies?” she asks.
“At my treehouse. I have a bunch of cookies and
hot coco,” I respond.
“Mama doesn't let me have that stuff anymore,”
the girl says sadly, scuffing her shoes on the rubber safety
mat.
“Is your mama here?” I ask, looking around. I
hadn't thought until now that it wouldn't be good for an
adult to see us together.
“No. Mama sent me here to get some exercise. I'm
supposed to be walking over on the running track but it
makes my feet hurt,” she answered.
“Well, if she can't see it she can't get mad about it.
We could sneak over to my treehouse and eat cookies and
she won't even know it happened,” I say, starting to move
towards the walking trail.
She doesn't look fully convinced yet. Actually, she
looks kinda nervous.
“I don't know...” she says, worried. “I'm not
supposed to go anywhere with strangers and Mama will
kill me if she finds out.”

49
 “The stranger thing is about adults. Kids aren't
strangers. And how is your mom gonna know? Unless
you tell her she can't find out,” I say in the most
convincing way I can, moving a little further away. “If
you don't want to go I guess that's fine; none of my
business if you don't want cookies and cocoa”
That got her. She pulls herself up and waddles
along with me back to my treehouse. This time the walk
takes like ten minutes because she walks so slow, but we
eventually get there. She needs a minute to breath before
she can climb the steps up to the trap door.
Once we're inside I'm a little confused; I don't see
the ghost anywhere. It's not like there's a lot of places to
hide, so she has to be inside somewhere.
“What are you looking for?” the other girl asks
me, looking around the treehouse too.
“Nothing,” I say, pretending that nothing's wrong.
I walk over to the table with the microwave and start
making coco. I'm starting feel like the kind of sick where
I could use some.
The other girl sits down at my tea table, still
looking around. “I really like your treehouse.”
“Thanks. I do too. My dad had it built for me.”
“My dad doesn't do anything for me,” she said,
sounding kinda sad. “He just sits in his recliner and calls
me fat a lot. Sometimes he tells me I'm never gonna be a
real girl because I just look like a fat little boy.”
I didn't say anything to that because I was always
told not to say something if I didn't have a nice thing to
say and definitely never lie, and it didn't seem nice to tell
her her dad was right about how she looked and it would
be a lie to tell her she didn't. Instead I brought her cup of

50
coco over and grabbed a big bag of cookies.
We sat in the quiet for a while, just eating cookies
and drinking the coco. I had pretty much decided I
imagined the ghost lady by the time I saw her sneaking
up behind the bigger girl. My whole face must have lit up
because the girl looked at me kinda weird before turning
her head to look behind her, just in time for the ghost
lady's mouth to open up super wide and bite down on her
whole top half.
There was a lot of blood before the ghost chomped
down on the other half of her lunch. Some of it even
sprayed on me and I got a little bit in my eye. My eyes
immediately started watering like crazy and by the time it
stopped the ghost was already done eating. She was
wiping her hands over where the blood was, and when
she moved her hands the blood was gone. She did this
over every bit of it on the table and floor until I didn't see
anymore anywhere. When she was done she walked over
to my big beanbag couch and flopped down onto it.
“Thank you, Alicia,” she said really quietly.
“Any time!” I told her. “Just let me know when
you're hungry and I'll go get you another snack.”
My dress was ruined with all the blood splatters,
my mom was still cooped up in the house making it smell
weird, Dad and Saddie were still living somewhere else,
but none of that seemed to suck as much anymore. I had a
new friend living with me, and for once I didn't feel like I
was invisible to everyone.

51
 Marshall Collins

Twelve people sat assembled around the huge oak

table, none of them happy to be there. Jury duty was the
last activity any of them wanted to participate in. Many of
those gathered had jobs to be at or trips they wanted to
take, but here they all were; bored, annoyed, and ready to
go home.
The door at the back of the room swung open, a
man in a dusty looking gray suit coming in with a cart
meticulously organized with binders. He didn't say
anything to the jury members as he handed them each a
binder with copies of the case information in it. Not until
he had placed the cart against the wall and set up a
projector connected to a computer on a desk did he bother
to speak.
"My name is Marshall Collins," he introduced
himself, his voice sounding dusty as well. His face
seemed a little ashen like he'd seen a lot of things recently
to make him question his view of the world. He cleared
his throat. "As you all know, this is a very sensitive case.
I understand everyone has been briefed already, but I
want to reiterate that this is going to be very very
different from the type of case you may have been
expecting.”
This information had everyone around the table
sitting up straighter.
"We were told it was the case for all those kids
who went missing," one woman in her mid-forties said
quietly.
Marshall nodded his head. "That it is.”

52
 “Well let's get this underway then!” an older white
man with a bulbous stomach and trucker hat bellowed. “I
wanna convict the bastard child killer and get him on
death row asap!”
“You may want to save your enthusiasm for a few
moments,” Marshall sighed.
“Why? Any scumbag with enough evidence
against them to start a trial over is guilty as shit in my
opinion. I don't even know why we're wasting time here
looking at the proof instead of just voting him guilty and
throwing his ass away,” the overweight man stated with
his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
“On top of that,” a young black woman cut in
quietly, ”Why is all of this being kept so hush hush? No
news crews, no courtroom trial, no one from the public
allowed to watch the proceedings? It's kinda weird Mr.
Collins.”
Twelve faces questioned him at once. Some were
openly curious, some confused, a couple looked a little
hostile.
With a sigh, Marshall clicked something on his
computer, pulling up a picture of a young red-haired girl
on the projector. "The suspect is eight-year-old Alicia
Lazarus. She was the last person seen with all eight
children who have gone missing in a three month period."
"Oh that's a joke," the belligerent man said,
sounding a bit like a toddler on the edge of a tantrum as
he shoved his folder away and stood up. "I came here to
work on a real case, not some nonsense about a little girl.
Where the hell is the real culprit?"
Marshall clicked the computer again, bringing up a
video to the screen. "I can assure you this isn't a joke, sir.

53
Unfortunately, this case is very serious, and before I
present you with any evidence we have, I need to ask
everyone to steady their nerves. This whole ordeal is
going to be very taxing, confusing, and will take a lot of
careful consideration on everyone's part."
The belligerent man sat back down, making a
show of getting comfortable in his chair with his arms
crossed behind his head. The look on his face challenged
Marshall to prove himself. Many of the others exchanged
confused glanced among themselves, but no one spoke
up.
Once everyone had settled in Marshall cleared his
throat.
“This case isn't going to be public. Everything
needs to stay very quiet, and we need to get it worked out
quickly on top of that,” he stated. “We owe the parents of
those missing kids justice, but we also have to consider
the fragile nature of our accused.
"The first bit of evidence I have for you is a
compilation of video footage from a CCTV camera from
R&R's BBQ across the street from the park where all the
victims were last seen. In these videos, you can clearly
see the accused walking alone with each victim in the
direction of a jogging trail on the other side of the park."
Marshall clicked a few times before the footage
began playing. Each of the seven separate videos showed
a very clear picture of the little red-haired girl walking to
the right with other children. In most of the scenes she
was only with one other child, but in one she was with
two at a time. They would walk in from the left of frame,
cross, and exit the right side of the camera view. None of
the kids with her seemed nervous or scared; they looked

54
like normal little kids heading off to walk the wooded
trails that were popular for the joggers and families in
town.
"These videos are some of the last known evidence
of the victims and shows Ms. Lazarus as the last person
to see them all alive," Marshall informed the group.
"So, like, what?" a young, maybe 19-year-old
Asian man, spoke up. "Do we think she was luring them
out to do something?"
The young black woman perked up. “There's a
bluff in the far back of those trails that overlooks where
the creek curves towards the river. Maybe she pushed the
kids off?”
"Is the creek fast enough to wash the bodies away
though?" a middle-aged blonde white woman asked. "I
thought divers already went down there and didn't find
anything."
Marshall nodded to the theorists. “Yes, divers have
checked the creek, teams have gone miles along the
banks to search for any sign of the kids having been in
the water, but no evidence has been found. There have
been no remains found for reasons you will soon
understand.”
“Well there was that flash flood in June,” the
belligerent man offered. “That was right before the last
kid so maybe that washed the bodies out farther than they
could search.”
As much as he disliked the man, Marshall had to
keep himself from snapping at him.
“Police and search parties have been called off in
light of recent evidence that you will be shown shortly.
Just please be patient,” Marshall replied. He clicked again

55
and a new video file pulled up. “This is the interrogation
of Ms. Lazarus conducted by child psychiatrist Dr.
Gallsen with Officer Tollis sitting in.”
The video was a standard, boring shot typical of
police interviews. There was the little girl suggested to be
a killer seated at the table with a male psychiatrist seated
across from her.
"Alicia, I'm Dr. Gallsen. I'm like the counselor
from your school," the man said as an introduction. "I'm
here to talk to you about some other kids you've met
recently."
Alicia sat in her chair very still and seemed to
keep her eyes steadfastly on the doctor. "What about
them?"
"Well, to start, tell me how you met them," Dr.
Gallsen asked.
The little girl didn't fidget the way a normal child
would. She didn't swing her feet, play with her hair,
twiddle her fingers, bite her nails. She didn't bashfully
look away from the adult. Her body stayed eerily still, her
gaze directed at her interrogator.
"I met them at the park."
"The park by your house?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir." Her voice showed, even
though the grainy audio quality of the police video, that
she was not nervous.
"How did you pick out which kids you wanted to
play with?"
"I didn't play with them. Most of them were smelly
and gross and I didn't really wanna be around them. I
picked the fat kids though."

56
 "Why did you pick the overweight children?" Dr.
Gallsen questioned.
" 'Cuz those ones fill her up best."
The doctor was shown to pause for a full five
seconds before noting her response. "What do you mean
by 'fill her up'?"
“The fat kids are big enough to keep her from
getting too hungry before I can feed her again,” Alicia
answered. It sounded almost as if she thought this was
too obvious to have to explain.
“Who were you feeding Alicia? Is there an animal
in the woods you were taking care of?” Dr. Gallsen
asked.
Alicia shook her head. “No, she isn't an animal.
There aren't any animals big enough to eat people on that
trail, Doctor. My parents said that there's nothing bigger
than squirrels out there.”
“Who is she then, Alicia? Who were you
feeding?”
"There's a ghost lady from woods where the trail
gets close to my backyard. She likes to hide out in my tree
house. She's always hungry, and the only thing she eats is
kids cuz she's been sick for a long time and needs them to
get better. She was too sick to get them herself so I would
bring her kids to eat," Alicia answered.
"Did the ghost lady threaten you into doing this?
Did she say she would eat you if you didn't bring her
other children?"
Alicia shook her head, finally moving for the first
time, cocking her head to the side. "I offered to bring
them. I don't want her to go away, so I fed her. She

57
promised to never eat me because I'm too little and sick
to be good to eat."
“What do you mean by that? Are you sick Alicia?”
Dr. Gallsen questioned, shooting a glance at Officer
Tollis for the first time the whole interview. “No one has
told us that you aren't well.”
“Yeah, she says I've got this thingy in my brain
called a tumor,” Alicia replied, pointing at a spot near
the front of her head on the left side. “She said eating me
would only get her a little bit of time but that she would
be my best friend and show me how to get better if I
brought her enough kids to make her all better first.”
"Who is she, Alicia?" Dr. Gallsen asked, leaning a
little over the table with his fingers steepled.
"She's just the lady in my tree house. I don't know
her name."
“Could you show us where the other kids are? The
ones you took to her? Their parents really miss them and
want them to come home,” Dr. Gallsen coaxed.
The little girl shook her head. “They got eaten.
There isn't anything left of them to go home. She ate them
all up.”
“Could you introduce us to her? We would like to
meet her and be friends with her too. I'm sure that if she
really is sick that she needs help and we would love to get
her the help she needs,” Officer Tollis asked. His tone
was fatherly, tender even.
She shook her head. When she spoke again her
voice was cracking from the tears starting to roll down
her pale round cheeks. “I can't! She ran away after that
last kid got away from her... I haven't seen her at all since
then!”

58
 The little girl pulled her legs up into the chair and
buried her face in her knees. Her sobs were heart-
wrenching to hear even with the bad audio quality.

The video ended, leaving the jurors very confused.

"She's insane," the old overweight man from
earlier announced, "Open and shut case."
"I think you're all insane. She's a little girl! There's
no way a little girl can go killing people. She's simply not
big enough to do any damage," the middle-aged woman
said, objecting to the whole situation.
“What about the ghost person she said she was
feeding the kids to? Has anyone been searching for her?
She seems to be the real culprit in this and just used little
Alicia as a lure to get the other kids,” the black woman
questioned.
The Asian man cut in. “How about that tree house?
Anything going on with it?”
Marshall raised his hands to quieten the most
talkative of them down.
"Yes, search parties have been looking for the
ghost woman Alicia was talking about. She described the
woman as a flat white lady shape without a face or hair.
It's a bit hard to look for something like that, but it's
suspected that it was a woman wearing one of those full
body morph suits.
"In regards to the tree house: it has been
scrutinized from top to bottom, every nook, cranny, and
splinter went over with a magnifying glass. There was
plenty of evidence that DNA matched back to the
children who went missing."
Several of the adults before him looked ill.

59
 “Evidence?” the Asian man asked with a bit of a
drawn tone.
The gray man nodded. “If you'll open your folders
you can see photos of what was found inside Alicia's tree
house.”
No one looked eager to open the binders. They
exchanged glances, each seemingly waiting on someone
else to go first. After a few moments of silence, the
belligerent man huffed and threw the cover of his folder
open. The others followed his lead to the detriment of a
few of their better judgments.
The first photo was of a small, white, round table
with a tiny porcelain tea set. There were two small chairs
on either side with cookies, water, and a little vase of faux
flowers. It would have been cute if not for the huge, dark
spray of long-coagulated blood covering the pristine
paint. The dirtiest side of the table was splattered as if to
suggest it had dripped from the mouth of someone eating
too quickly.
Many of the jurors' faces became confounded. No
one said anything, which Marshall took as a blessing. He
didn't want to talk about the case any more than required.
"This next picture is more graphic, and if anyone
is squeamish I highly suggest looking away."
Marshall wasn't exaggerating. The next photo was
an on-scene shot of a blender sitting on the floor. Scraps
of dried jerky-like flesh were visibly caught in the blades
of the appliance; dark, dried blood coating the plastic. It
was immediately met with sickened noises from the
jurors.
"That's fowl!" a woman who had stayed silent until
then said, trying not to gag.

60
 "This is evidence from a murder scene," Marshall
said dully, "You can't have been expecting candy and
bunnies.
" The flesh seen has been tested, and came back
belonging to Margaret Collins, age 12, the fourth child to
go missing.”
"Maybe she cut the girl up first and tried to liquefy
her?" the younger black woman offered. Her dark face
looked to have paled a bit, and her voice had a tiny shiver
to it.
“You don't think Alicia...ate... any of those kids
herself do you?” the middle-aged woman questioned. She
was a shade of pale green that hinted she may soon be
sick.
Feeling ill himself, Marshall replied,”We can say
for certain that she did. The only DNA found in the
appliance was from Margaret Collins, indicating she was
the only one to be used in it.”
“You said there was evidence from all the kids in
there earlier,” the overweight man challenged.
With a shake of his head, Marshall answered his
challenge, "Right, I did, but it wasn't all in the blender.
There were traces of blood, hair, and a few fragments of
bone discovered inside the treehouse that could be traced
back to every child Alicia was seen leading away from
the park."
"Are there more photos like this?" the older man
from earlier inquired after a long silence. He wasn't
looking so pompous anymore. He didn't look too put off,
but the edge he'd had earlier was gone.
"Yes," Marshall said, apologetically.

61
 "Can we skip anything else like this? The gory
crap isn't settling well," the man spoke, the other people
nodding their agreement.
Marshall met eyes with the man. "We're here to
judge the case of this young girl, sir. We can't do her the
dishonesty of leaving ourselves ignorant of any details."
"Is there any other evidence we can look at as a
break then?" the younger black woman questioned.
Marshall shook his head, moving the mouse
around. "Unfortunately no, it just gets worse I'm afraid.
As it turns out Adkin Lazarus had an entire slew of home
security cameras installed in every room of his home,
including his daughter's treehouse. There is video footage
of what transpired with each and every child Alicia lured
there, as well as her own cannibalistic attempts with
Margaret Collins and the blender. "
The new video seemed to be set in an upper corner
of the treehouse. It caught every part of the tiny room, but
the table was best in view. From a little opening in the
floor emerged Alicia and another little girl about her own
age but who was easily thirty pounds heavier. There was
no audio, but clearly, they were speaking.
Alicia guided the other girl to the little white table
and gestured to her to take a seat. No one seemed too
disturbed by this. They watched Alicia sit down and pour
water from the little teapot into her playmate's cup,
offering a cookie and eating one herself.
In the farthest corner of the room, a white form
began to take shape. Alicia visibly brightened with
excitement as the figure became more solid, though like a
white shadow instead of a true thing. It straightened up to

62
show a vaguely human form before making its way to the
table.
The chubby little girl seated opposite Alicia
seemed to pick up on the change in attitude, her round
face scrunching up in confusion. Just as she turned to
look behind her the white thing opened a mouth that
gaped from its face to its pelvis and swallowed the little
girl whole. The white shape stretched and wavered, blood
drooling down its legs in tiny rivulets to splatter the floor
as its entire body chewed and swallowed.
Marshall turned the video off in disgust. He felt
bile in the back of his throat and did his best to keep it
down as he faced his shocked audience.
“Is anyone interesting in seeing the other eight
videos from the Bevins' security system at this time, or
should we break for lunch and resume later?”

The case only took two days to come to a decision

and issue the verdict of not guilty by reason of mental
instability. There was little else they could feasibly do.
Alicia's guilt was questionable in regards to her age, but
there was no doubt that she willingly lead other children
to their deaths and took part in cannibalism and
desecration of a corpse. They couldn't formally charge
her due to her age, but no juror felt safe letting someone
still potentially dangerous out among her peers.
Alicia was sent to a children's psychiatric ward.
She wouldn't be eligible for release until her 18th birthday.
Her family was torn by the decision, but it was better than
possibly setting her lose on more children.
Many of those who had worked on the case

63
required therapy once the whole ordeal was over.
Marshall himself resigned from their positions in pursuit
of more natural work environments.

64
 Anna Morrison

I was born in England during King Henry the

VIII's reign. I wasn't anyone important, wasn't ever going
to be either. All I was was a little chambermaid who was
lucky enough to stay out of the way of the royal family's
many dramas.
I had waited on Queen Catherine of Aragon and
while she was a nice woman, I was not overly taken with
her. She did her duties as Queen, did her best to care for
her subjects, and was even a great pious woman, but if it
had not been for her tragedy of a marriage she would not
have been memorable.
In the years that followed I was chambermaid to
all subsequent queens. Anne Boleyn was a very
interesting woman and I would say that she was my
favorite. She was light and dark, mysterious yet open as a
book, and I found her enchanting in a way I could not put
into words at the time, though now I would say I had a
crush. Watching her head be sliced from her body was a
difficulty that I've been fortunate to not experience again.
Jane Seymour was little more than a young girl
when she ascended and died. Anne of Cleves was a
wonderful, cleaver woman, and I did enjoy her while she
was in the castle. I was happy when she was divorced
instead of beheaded. By the time the last two Catherine's
(Howard and Parr) came around I was no longer
interested in learning about my sovereigns so I regretfully
did not learn anything of them.
My life was fairly privileged. Living in the castle
meant I was more likely to be fed regularly, have shelter,
be out of the elements during winter, Until my eighth year

65
of life I was with my mother, a beggar and a prostitute
who did her best to care for me, but was unable to do so.
Many times in her care did I go days without food, find
myself on the receiving end of one of her customers when
she was deemed inadequate to sate their needs, worried I
would freeze solid in the cold and snow when we could
not find even a bit of shelter. My early upbringing made
me value my low place among the wealthy nobility as if I
were uplifted to Heaven itself. The work may have been
hard, I may still have been sexually accosted on occasion
when a nobleman took an interest, but no longer did I fear
I would die.
Well, I did not, at least, until Queen Mary took her
place at the throne. During her rule she went on a
rampage against her Protestant subjects. I was one of the
first outed as a Protestant, having been an open
practitioner my entire life. Up until that point I had never
felt it was dangerous, but very very quickly I understood
the mistake. Younger women whom I worked with who
were looking to curry favor for themselves were quick to
turn me over to those in power. I was quickly locked in
the tower with my fellows as we awaited our 'trials' and
eventual execution.
While I was one of the early to be captured, I was
not among those first sent to their fiery deaths. Day by
day I and my cellmates were forced to listen to the
agonized screams of other Protestants as they shrieked
out their last in the courtyard below our window. Some
days I would stand and watch, both unable and unwilling
to take my eyes away. I felt that it was my duty to watch,
pray for their souls, and be sorrowful on their behaves
against the multitudes who came to joyfully watch them

66
burn.
Deep in my soul a hate is harbored for that self
righteous bitch that 400 years has done nothing to
dampen.
While I waited in my damp, rat and flea infested
cell for my fate I became friends with another woman,
much older than myself, who was in utter terror of what
was to come. Each time a burning began she would curl
herself into a ball, whimpering and sobbing so hard I
feared she would choke. I did by best to comfort her,
though at most times it was impossible to tell if she could
even sense my presence.
One day many weeks into our imprisonment she
woke me with a hard grip to my arm that startled me from
what little sleep I was able to get.
“Anna, I cannot be burned again!” she whispered
urgently. Her pale blue eyes were wide, filled with tears,
bloodshot from her grief.
“Mary? What do you mean 'again'?” I questioned,
my foggy brain doing its best to understand.
Her face was pale as a ghost. Her lips quivered as
a child's would. “I have a secret, Anna. It's kept me alive
for a very long time, gotten me through many attempts on
my life, but I am so afraid now. I have been burned to
bones and ash before, twice, and I am too afraid to endure
it again. I wish to die and be done with this awful world,
but I cannot do so until I rid myself of this ability.”
I was confused. I was fatigued from starvation,
dehydration, and illness from the fleas and horrid
conditions. What she said made no sense to me.
“What are you talking about, Mary?” I queried.
Mary gasped my face in both her hands. Her face

67
pleaded with me to believe her.
“A god gifted this to my own mother so long ago
that Jesus himself had yet to bless us all with his
sacrifice. An old god deep in a grove was so taken with
her that it gifted her with the ability to live as long as he,
but it comes at the price of taking those extra years from
others. My mother gave me her power when my father
died and she could not go on without him. I was born in
1202, Anna. I have lived so long, but my mother lived so
much longer. I cannot die unless I give this power to
another person, lest it revive me. Please, take this burden
from me and set me free Anna!”
There was a fever ravaging my brain, and in my
delirium I simply nodded my head, unsure of what was
truly going on.
Her relief was instant. Mary threw her arms about
me and sobbed her thanks into my shoulder. She praised
me for my bravery and kindness to take her place.
I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
Mary leaned back, wiped her eyes, and thanked
me one last time before a thick white smoke erupted from
her mouth, nose, and eyes.
I went to scream, and the smoke dove into my
open mouth and down my throat. I felt a cold wash
through every molecule of my body. My veins felt as if
there was liquid ice flowing through them, my skin went
numb, a light fog seemed to waft off of me in the cold air
of my cell, and I wondered if this were God smiting me
for accepting witchcraft into my body.
Moments later I became cognizant of the terrified
shrieks of my other cellmates. I had lost all awareness in
those strange moments while my possession occurred,

68
forgotten that other people shared this dank little space
with me, forgot that this would look much worse than
simple Protestant beliefs to any who saw what just
happened.
Guards burst into the cell to deduce the cause of so
much commotion. They spotted the pile of dust that
remained of my friend, heard all the accusations of
witchcraft from my fellow inmates, and took no time at
all to lever their judgment on me. I was instantly grabbed
in their rough hands and hauled out of the tower to the
burning grounds. I had not recovered from yet from the
shock to my system. My skin burned with cold, my whole
being wracked by shivers that I could not control. There
was no strength in my body with which to even try to
defend myself.
I was stripped bare before the crowd of jeering
peasants. Iron shackles bound me to a boulder scorched
black and still scalding hot against my back from recent
use.
I could hear the guards declaring me a witch to
the crowd. They explained how special a treat it was for
them to be witnessing my execution.
Bile sprayed from my mouth, stomach churning in
terror as they piled wood around me. Foul chunky fluid
was poured over my legs, the smell causing me to vomit
again. I realized quickly that it was liquefied putrid pig
fat meant to make me burn all the better, but not in an
efficient manner. My eyes met those of my executioner.
He gave me a self-satisfied smirk before touching the
flame of his torch to my greased feet.
The agony I experienced was the likes of which
Hell is made of. I was not one of the fortunate who went

69
unconscious from fear; in fact, I believe I was sent into a
state of hyper awareness that made me so much more
sensitive to all the sensations that ran through me. I wish
I could say that I had the presence of mind to pray for
help, but in all truth my brain could not have formed a
coherent work, let alone a full thought.
The flames raced up from my feet to my hips. It
burned there for a long time, so long that I was able to
watch them blacken, char, see my own bones become
visible through my ruined flesh. Only when my captors
deemed it appropriate did they douse my upper half in
more stinking fat and push the wood close to ensure a
thorough burn. At long last my brain could handle no
more.
I awoke in a state of panic so severe I barely
remember the details. All I recall was that everything
looked enormous and tall, that my back was being burnt
and my wrists hurt. I was easily able to slip my hand from
the huge shackles and ran as hard as I could away from
what burned me.
I must have ran for an hour before my adrenaline
gave out. My whole body shut down at once, sending me
sprawling to the ground. My consciousness abandoned
me for the second time that day.
As it turned out I had collapsed in the field of a
farming family who found me not long after I fainted. I
soon realized that I had been reverted to no more than a
three-year-old child, and as such was able to go
undetected by anyone who may have still been on my
witch hunt. The farmers who found me were kind enough
to take me in and 'raise' me along with their other four
children. They were in constant aw of my maturity, but

70
believed it must have been an act of God. I was fortunate
that they were too simple to question how a young child
was gifted with the knowledge and skills of an adult.
I eventually learned that all of those present at my
execution disappeared. There was no trace of the crowd,
the guards, or the 'witch'. It was quickly swept under the
rug and forbidden to be spoken of.
What actually happened is that the ability Mary
gifted to me had activated upon my death so violently
that it sucked in not only the life force of those nearby,
but absorbed their bodies as well. It was enough to fully
heal me and revert me to such a young age, giving me the
perfect escape and alibi. While there were search parties
for a while looking for me, no one suspected a three year
old child of any mischief.
I slowly grew up with my new family, learned the
ways of a farm and what it was like to be in a real family.
When I initially grew up I was an only child to a destitute
whore and a chambermaid in a huge castle. No one took
any true care of me. Now there was always someone to
talk to, spend time with, someone to help when I needed
assistance.
When I was old enough I was married to the
middle son of another farmer. We had no children despite
trying hard. I've learned since that it was because I was
born without a uterus of all things! I was fortunate that he
was a good man. He did not have the pressure of his older
brother to create an heir, thus it did not really bother him
to be married to a barren wife.
We lived as we pleased, and when we caught wind
of a plan to cross the great sea to a new continent and
establish a settlement we were both excited at the

71
prospect. We had grown tired of the constant turmoil
caused by changing monarchs, the rampant diseases that
ravaged every year, and yearned for our religious
freedoms. At that time I still held a tentative grasp to my
religious convictions and was terrified to ever be
persecuted for it again. So when a friend brought up to us
that there was an expedition looking for volunteers to
settle the new country I was immediately ready to go.
Regretfully, this was one of my most egregious
mistakes. In 1584 we were abandoned by Sir Richard
Greenville, our leader and captain, under the guise of
going back to England to resupply. I can't say for sure if
that was his intention, but I do know that we were left to
our own devices for three years in an unfamiliar land full
of natives who were none to happy to have us.
I was the only woman out of 108 people, and
quickly took my place as chef and nurse while the men
did their best to build us all homes, find food, try to farm
in this new world. We were able to build a fort, but
anything we hoped to accomplish was hard won from the
hostile natives that we seemed to fight endlessly with.
By the time Sir Francis Drake came and offered to
take us back to England, many of our number were eager
to go. And go they did, leaving only 50 of us who wanted
to keep trying to carve out a home.
We eked out a meager existence, but soon came to
pass that we should have taken our chance to go home.
That winter was horrid. Many fell sick, and it was my
duty to tend to them all. We were starving, freezing, and
dying. I myself was befallen with the illness frequently,
but would take the life of another sick person already
near death to heal myself to keep going. I rationalized

72
that without me everyone would die. By taking only what
I needed to continue caring for those who could still be
saved I was doing more good than I was bad.
As shameful as I found it at the time, we ate the
bodies of our fallen friends. There was nothing else to eat,
nothing to nourish us though that awful winter. We went
so far as to grind the bones to dust and make soup with
them. No remains were left of our unfortunate fallen.
I'm not sure how, but the men became suspicious
of my resistance to the illness plaguing us. They surmised
that it must be my doing seeing as I was healthy, and I
was always the last to see them alive, always the one to
announce the deaths to the others. They banded together
against me. It was their idea to kill me, make a sacrifice
of me to appease God for having harbored a murderess
and possible witch in their midst.
My poor, dear husband did his best to defend me,
but they quickly dispatched of him. They clubbed him in
the head until he stopped moving before turning their
attention on me.
I was furious. I had loved that silly old fool of a
man, had done my best to care for these heathenish
beastly excuses of men, and this was what I was given in
repayment: a bludgeoned husband and an accusation of
evil. I held back nothing in absorbing them body and
soul.
This reverted me to just a young woman again,
though this time I was more in the age of fifteen years
old. With a broken heart I buried my husband as best I
could.
Months later 115 more colonists led by John White
arrived in search of those who had been left by

73
Greenville. They were shocked to find me, but took my
explanation of being the only survivor from a shipwreck
who had found her way to this fort. I told them I did not
have family back in England and they decided to let me
stay there in the settlement.
I had a little living quarter of my own behind the
kitchen and was tasked with helping the older women
with cooking and caring for the many people in our new
colony. Many people avoided me out of trepidation, and
at that point I was perfectly fine with being on my own.
The repeat of events from our first colony was so
eerily similar that I wondered if it were even possible to
make a home out of this godforsaken country. The natives
killed us any time they caught us outside our fort walls,
the stores of food the new colonists brought was quickly
being depleted, and winter was coming fast.
We hoped daily for the return of Captain White,
who had followed in Greenville's footsteps, returning to
England for supplies. We did not see him that winter, nor
the next. By the winter of 1589 there was barely anyone
left. Again, we had resorted to cannibalism, eating anyone
who died, grinding the bones to use as soup when there
was no flesh to consume.
I had gone back to my method of taking the lives
of anyone close to death whom I could get alone with.
This time it was much more difficult. These people had
families, many slept together in piles for warmth. I was
barely able to sustain myself from them as sickness
spread.
Eventually our numbers dwindled down to only 20
or so weak and starving souls. I thought it a blessing one
night deep in winter to absorb all those who remained. It

74
was enough to cure my illness, revert me to a young girl
again, and sated me until spring came.
When the warm weather returned I staged
evidence in the settlement to look as though everyone had
simply vanished. I carved the word Croatoan into a fence
to insinuate that the colonists had moved to that nearby
island.
During my wait for the return of Captain White I
managed to make a decent living for myself along the
coast. I became an accomplished fisher and hunter, built
myself a tiny shelter, and began making preparations to
live through another perilous winter.
When I spotted the Captain's ship anchored in the
bay I wasted no time in swimming out and stowing
myself away on board. I was thoroughly sick of that 'new
world' and longed for the familiarity of home.
I never imagined I would leave my beloved
England again, but that was not to be. My new husband
dragged me back across that ocean to the Plymouth
colony once it was shown to be successful. Things at
home had deteriorated to a degree that warranted the
move, but I was not happy to do it. Luckily this was a
much more fruitful endevour. We didn't face as many
hardships as I did in the Roanoke settlement, for which I
was eternally grateful.
Over the years I grew old, became young again,
would remarry and disappear as I saw fit. Only twice did
I allow myself to be turned back into a young child again
to grow up. This plan worked well for me for a very long
time.
Not until I had a stroke in my 83 year old current
body did I discover any issues. I had been nearing death

75
again, this time by age instead of illness, and had been
planning how to go about regressing. I knew that with
how the government kept track of everyone it would be
difficult to be just a young woman without raising some
sort of suspicions. I rationalized that it would be best to
revert to a child, maybe nine or ten, and let the
government make me a new identity.
After my stroke I found that I was fully paralyzed.
Something had happened to bury me in a waking coma. I
was cognizant of the world beyond my body but unable
to interact with it. I tried to take in other lives but it
seemed not to help.
I was sent to a nursing home on hospice care. The
medical staff expected me to die any day, but I was not so
willing. I sent my power out to collect life from other
elderly people close to death. They were the only ones
weak enough for my decrepit self to drain; anyone
healthy, although the most beneficial, was simply out of
my reach.
This went on for a few years, but I came to the
conclusion that nothing I did could snap me out of this
coma. No amount of other lives could give me control
back of my body. Taking years from other was only
serving to prolong my own suffering in that immobile
hell.
All the strange sudden deaths had garnered
attention from the more curious workers, some having
seen the white projection of myself as I went about my
business. I heard them telling tales to each other about a
ghost roaming the halls who attacked poor old people and
killed them.
I gave up, resigned myself to my fate, stopped

76
taking lives, and let myself age into death. Near the end
the staff of the nursing facility saw fit to send me to the
hospital to finish dying. I was made comfortable in a
coma ward and left to myself. A kind nurse sat with me
the night my heartbeat became irregular.
Hate to admit this, but I was terrified as I began
counting the beats. They were getting further and further
apart. I was not yet ready to go. Maybe it was that ability
that Mary had given me all those years ago that pushed
me so hard to want to survive. Maybe it was just my own
survival instincts.
When my body finally gave out that ability rushed
out in every direction. I only knew it had done its duty
when I awoke minutes later with the ability to move
again. Gratefully, I sat up, eyes opened for the first time
in years. I had drained the lives of many other coma
patients and it had restored my movement. That was the
best I had felt in many, many years.
I was desperate to live again. Desperate to be a
young woman without a decrepit body full of pain and
weakness. Unfortunately, I wasn't yet strong enough to
take in younger lives. I had to contend myself with other
elderly when I returned to the nursing home.
Biding my time proved more annoying than I
anticipated. While I picked my marks and gained energy I
began messing with the little housekeeper who was so
suspicious of me. I knew she was nervous around me, and
I felt vindictive towards her. She was pretty, young, and
clearly intelligent to have caught on to me. I teased her,
tried to frighten her, and generally wanted to selfishly
make her suffer.
I tried to take her one night. I sent my ability out to

77
find her and did my best to kill her. I didn't want to
absorb her, didn't want her life to be responsible for
sustaining me. In my dislike for her I simply wanted her
dead. She woke up as I was strangling her, and she
somehow was able to throw my ghost form off of her.
Enraged, I went after her little boyfriend, the CNA
who was working with her to collect evidence about the
'haunting' at the nursing home. With rage as fuel I
strangled him in his bed; I didn't even bother to take any
of his energy.
I knew then that I was on a time limit. The
housekeeper was wise to me. She knew it had been me
who tried to kill her and had succeeded in killing the boy.
I would need to act quickly because of that, and also
because my rejuvenation was causing a stir among staff.
People were getting antsy around me.
I put all of my strength into a massive attack that
left five healthy nurses dead on the floor. The face that
looked back at me from the mirror as I rushed to get
redressed was that of a young woman, maybe 18 or 19 at
oldest. I couldn't keep the smile of my face.
I quickly brushed out my hair, got dressed in a
skirt, button down shirt, and a big soft sweater. The getup
wasn't age appropriate by any means, but it did what it
needed to. I was able to slip out of the nursing facility
amid the chaos of medical staff rushing to revive the
nurses and keep onlookers at bay. I chuckled to myself as
I passed all that commotion.
My first stop was to the ATM. I withdrew all the
money I could, and once I was comfortable with the cash
I began my trek to an old friend's house. Using my newly
renewed legs felt amazing, made me want to take the

78
longer route to his house. This took me to the park where
a trail led into the woods behind my friend's house.
The excitement had clouded my senses, made me
oblivious to everything around me. The mugger had shot
me through the head before I even registered he had
stepped out of the bushes behind me. He must have seen
my enormous purse and assumed, albeit correctly, that I
must have had something of value.
The injury reduced me to nothing more than my
ghostly form, and I was even weaker than I had been in
the hospital. I don't even know what became of my
physical body; it may have been still there on the
pavement path bleeding out or just obliterated into only
energy. I know that the thief got away with my bag, all
my money and I.D., everything I had left.
Somehow I dragged myself to the nearest shelter,
which ended up being a little girl's treehouse.
The little girl who owned it, Alicia, became
invaluable to me in the coming weeks. She was desperate
for contact, any contact, any form of friendship, and was
willing to do anything to make that happen. It took
nothing to convince her to bring me children to consume.
She never questioned it other than just basic curiosity for
why I specifically wanted them.
She was cute. She was useful. I'm sorry she took
the fall for my needs.
I was on the verge of having enough energy to
regain my human form when the police began
investigating. I fled the treehouse as soon at I saw the
police cars pull up in front of the house.
Luckily, I was able to accost a few people on the
trail, gaining just enough energy to become a person

79
again before making it to my friends home.
Lucien, the friend, was confused when he saw me
on his back porch. He was even more confused when I
gave him our code. He rushed me into the house and into
a spare set of clothes while grilling me on what was
happening.
I explained everything to him from start to end. He
listened to the entire story with a look on his face that
showed he believed me, but was having to reevaluate his
entire belief structure.
“Can you get me out of the country?” I ask. “I'm
so done with this place.”
At that moment I understood just how badly I
wanted to go home. I missed England. I missed the farm
country. I thought back all those years and felt such a
yearning for that family who took me in, who raised me,
and wished so badly that I could go back to that time and
see them. They were hundreds of years in their graves
and I just wanted to go home to their little one room
cottage with its dirt floor and straw-stuffed mattresses.
For a few minutes I even considered giving away
the ability that kept me alive and wither into dust like
Mary had. This morbidity lasted only a little while. My
survival instinct was too strong to simply give out.
I stayed with Lucien while he got everything ready
to get me smuggled out of the country. He set me up with
a brand new British identity complete with a vista stating
I had been in the U.S. for work related travel. Lucien
managed to get me work with a friend he had over in
London in a museum when I arrived.
For the last six months I've been in my homeland,
feeling better than I have since the 1600's. I love working

80
in the museum more than I anticipated as well. All day I
help to manage the historical accuracy of a tiny village
from my own time that hosts tours and a 'taste of the old
ways'.
I personally oversee at least one tour per day
through the small cottages, but some days I abandon my
desk and do all three daily tours. Dressed in period
appropriate attire I recount to my audience what life was
like in the 1500's. I teach of disease, hunger, desperation,
freezing, persecution; but I also relate the joy of
community life, how it felt to sit with family every meal
around a table full of food you grew and slaughtered
yourself, not having the distractions of the modern era.
I live in a small cabin on site. It's just a simple
little set up with an open floor plan; very similar to the
period-accurate ones but with electricity and pluming.
This tiny cabin is the most at home I've felt in a very long
time.
Recently I've also become acquainted with a funny
man who visited the museum. He introduced himself as
Mike, though he doesn't respond to it quite as fast as you
would expect, as if it's a nickname he gave himself
recently to distance himself from his former life. Mike
has an American accent, no touch of the British at all so I
don't believe he's been here long, though he does live in
the little town nearby. He's been a great companion to me.
With his amiable demeanor, witty jokes, love of history,
and sort of a soft appearance I find myself drawn to him.
Still, there is a cloud over him. I'm not sure what it
could be but it seems very dark, very serious. He doesn't
let on much though. I assume something must have
happened to him in America, something that caused his

81
relocation to another country.
Regardless, I am comfortable with him and am
happy with the way our dynamic is working out.
At this point, I believe I can safely say I am happy.
I'm at peace. For me, this is enough to make the suffering
of my past worthwhile, and the possible suffering in my
future worth getting to.

82
 Adkin Lazarus

Halloween was bittersweet. It was Alicia's favorite

holiday as it meant she could wear any costume she
wanted without hearing the complaints from her mother,
got to go out gathering candy, got to watch all the scary
shows that flooded Netflix until she was asleep in a pile
of goodies.
This was the first year in many that Adkin was
without his spooky little sidekick. This year she was in
the ground in a cemetery, her body decomposing into the
satin upholstery of an overpriced box.
Adkin has spent his morning sobbing into his
hands in front of his daughter's headstone until he had
cried himself out.
He had never wanted to be a parent until it had
happened. For a long time he was just infatuated with
how small she was, how big her eyes were, how much
she looked just like him. She never looked like her
mother, had never been anything like the old bitch at all;
she had taken after him in every way.
They had spent so many hours together watching
anime, picking out cosplay outfits, going to conventions,
and in his workshop as he taught her how he made props.
They had so many things left to do together and would
never get to do any of it.
Adkin wondered if things would have been better
if he had never left. Would she still have done what she
did if he had stayed in the house? He couldn't stop
thinking through scenarios where he had kicked Miranda
out of the house and filled for divorce instead of trying to
out wait her. In retrospect he didn't understand what he

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was thinking.
Once he was sufficiently numbed by his cemetary
experience Adkin had driven to the store and bought as
much candy as he could fit into a hand basket. If his own
daughter wasn't going to enjoy her favorite holiday Adkin
was going to do his best to make sure other children did.
The festivities started early for Adkin. He had
taken the day off work and was slowly making his way
through a bottle of salted caramel whiskey while
watching a Stephen King movie marathon when the
smaller children started trick or treating in the early
afternoon.
Kujo was playing when he took the last sip from
his bottle. The alcohol had warmed his insides enough to
allow him to think of his daughter without dissolving into
a sobbing puddle again.
Watching the rabid dog on the screen reminded
him of Alicia's phobia of dogs after a near catastrophe
when she was small. They had been at his own father's
ranch when a neighbors huge German Shepard came out
of nowhere chasing a rabbit and collided with a tiny
toddler Alicia. The accident had shoved her against an old
shed, the weight of the dog causing her back to be
impaled on a long rusted nail.
The nail had pierced her left lung and caused an
infection so extreme she had nearly died. Alicia had spent
a month in the hospital recovering from the accident and
by the time she was released she was so afraid of dogs
she couldn't even watch cartoon dogs anymore.
He was deep in this memory when the doorbell
rang again. Adkin stood from the couch, a little
unbalanced from the whiskey, but had no trouble making

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his way to the door. He swung it open without looking at
the kid as he reached to the side for the big bowl. He was
just turning his eyes to greet the kid when a loud bark
issued from the massive, slightly blurry animal jumping
on his doorstep. The bowl fell from Adkin's grip, the
world seeming to move slowly as he reached for the gun
he kept next to the door for protection against break ins.
All he could think of was how afraid of dogs Alicia
was, how this one was enormous, how threatening the
barking was, how it was jumping so close to him as if
trying to attack. He didn't think as he leveled the barrel at
the beast and pulled the trigger.

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 Bailey Sweetley

Bailey had spent all day jumping up and down in

anticipation for trick 'r treating. This was the first year his
mother was agreeing to let him go, and he was nearly
falling over himself with the excitement.
At six-years-old, Bailey was a few years late to the
Halloween party. For the past couple years in school he
was so jealous of the other kids getting to go out and have
fun gathering candy for the night while he just sat at
home with candy his parents bought for him. This year he
was being allowed to go out knocking on doors begging
for candy.
He'd been too late picking out a costume, and was
stuck with a boring dog suit but wasn't about to let that
upset him. He consoled his mildly hurt ego with the
thought that it was a very realistic costume with beautiful
long gold fur and brown glassy eyes that all closely
resembled a golden retriever.
At 4 pm. Bailey's mother handed him a little
orange pumpkin pail.
"I'm going to be right with you the whole time so
don't try to run off," she said as she snapped pictures of
him posing in his first costume. "We're only going around
the neighborhood too; I don't want to be out late or go too
far."
Bailey nodded and agreed, not caring that it wasn't
going to be a big trip. All he cared about was getting to
go at all. As soon as his mother opened the door he ran
out into the darkening afternoon with all the enthusiasm a
small boy could hold.

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 The first few houses were everything he'd dreamed
of. Older women and kids commenting how cute his
costume was and giving him big handfuls of candy. His
mother was lagging a little further behind now, having
relaxed a bit. Her phone rang, distracting her further.
"You can go up to the next house alone,but I'll be
here on the sidewalk," his mother said to him before
answering her call.
Bailey swung open the little white gate excitedly,
bounding his way up the little path leading to the door.
He reached up to ring the doorbell. After a few moments
a man in his early 30's answered the door in a button up
shirt and slacks, looking more like he was going to a nice
dinner than to pass out candy.
"Happy Halloween," the man said, not looking at
Bailey as he reached to the side for his candy bowl. He
had a kind of wobbly look about him, and Bailey could
smell something that reminded him of how mouthwash
made his nose feel.
Bailey didn't care about any of that though. He
held his bag open eagerly,bouncing on the balls of his
feet. "Trick 'r Treat!" he proclaimed while hitting the
button to make his costume bark.
The man's face blanched immediately and twisted
repulsively. He threw the bowl on the porch. His hand
darted back beside the door, pulling back a hunting riffle
that he leveled directly at Bailey.
For a moment, Bailey was frozen. He wasn't sure
if this was a Halloween trick. He opened his mouth to ask
if the man was okay, and as soon as he began to speak the
man fired.

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 Bailey's mother was a screaming hysterical mess
on the sidewalk as the paramedics carted the headless
corpse of her son to the ambulance. The police were
trying to get her husband by phone, or even find out
where she lived, but she was inconsolable.
While the paramedics began administering shock
treatments to Bailey's mother, the police were trying to
talk to the shooter.
"It was a huge dog! Right on my doorstep!" the
man, now identified as Adkins Lazarus,insisted. He
refused to admit, or simply had no idea, that he had just
murdered a six-year-old boy on his front porch. "I'm
serious!It was standing on its hind legs with some poor
kids Halloween bag in its teeth trying to jump at me!"
"Sir, there was no dog. You shot a little boy in a
dog costume who came up to your door to trick or treat,"
one of the policemen reiterated for the third time.
Adkins became furious. He stood to his feet,
making himself bigger in an intimidating way. "I'm
telling you it was just that woman's hostile dog, not a
little boy!She was just standing out on the sidewalk
letting her mutt run around without a leash. It could have
gone off and attacked any of the kids who were out here.
If anything someone should be thanking me for keeping
their kids safe!"
Another officer stepped up behind Adkin to cuff
him. "Sir, you are under arrest for the murder of Bailey
Perkins. You have the right to remain silent, and if you
cannot afford an attorney you will be appointed one by
the court."

88
 It took both officers to haul the struggling Adkin
into a waiting patrol car as he screamed that all he had
killed was a rabbit dog.

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 Miranda Lazarus

Seven years ago my sister and her boyfriend were

murdered by her husband after he found out about the
affair. He buried them in a shallow grave in the back yard
with just a foot of dirt covering the coffin. Sometimes I
wonder what Travis thought when he broke the lid and
dirt poured in on him. He must have thought they were
deep under ground and trapped when in reality they could
have dug themselves out so easily.
Micheal may have buried them still breathing, but
he knew how bad Nat's phobia was. He knew as soon as
she woke up she would go into a panic. There's not a
doubt in my mind that he thought she'd end up killing
Travis in a blind fright when her claustrophobia set in. I
kinda wonder if he originally planned to dig her out when
he felt she was sufficiently punished. I guess it's kind of
ironic then that Travis actually strangled her and snapped
her neck in that grave. Maybe after Travis killed her
Micheal decided to just seal him up.
The police are still looking for him. Six years
without even a trace found yet. I have to give it to him, I
never suspected the doughy prick to be so cunning. Well,
I also never suspected he had the spine to murder either,
but it's pretty obvious how wrong I was about him now.
One of the detectives, Mindy, confessed to me not
long ago that they had lost hope in ever finding him
without him just blatantly giving himself up. Just extra
insult on top of injury at this point.
His letter to me started off as only a jump start to

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my panic. It was what led to the discovery of Natasha and
Travis, but it also put a lot of the shittier parts of my life
into perspective. To be told so blatantly that I was an
awful parent, spouse, and person hurt; it hurt more
because all of his points were things I'd already known.
Hearing it from an outside source just brought it all home.
Since Alicia was born my marriage had been in
decline. In fact, we got pregnant in the first place to save
our marriage. Obviously, that didn't work. All Alicia did
was put more unnecessary burden on us both. Our
relationship had degraded into a sham and even my
goody-goody brother-in-law with his useless dick could
see it.
As much as I hate to admit it, he was right about
how I felt about my daughter too. Alicia was a strong-
willed girl, which clashed with my own personality. I
wanted to be able to dress her up in cute trendy clothes
but all she wanted to wear were dresses that made her
look like a creepy doll. The frills and bows and cutesy
stuff was fine when she was four, but at seven it had
started to creep me out a bit.
She refused to go on walks and hikes with me,
didn't want to do anything outdoors. I was an avid camper
and hiker and wanted to do those things with her, but she
hated anything that involved going into the wilderness. I
couldn't even persuade her to go walking on the trail
behind the house.
That's not to say I didn't love Alicia, but I wasn't
close to her either. I could see long years ahead of me full
of a weird teenager and eventually a stranger for an adult
child who would probably disown me.
It always rubbed me a bit raw that she was so close

91
to her father. They loved to go on outings and weekend
trips to conventions full of freaks dressed up as video
game characters. He filled her closet with those weird
doll dresses and bought her costumes from her favorite
shows.
Adkin indulged her in all of her strange past times.
So did the babysitter. Saddie was into a bunch of the
Japanese cartoons Alicia liked. They would sit for hours
together watching the shows in Japanese with subtitles on
and Saddie was even teaching my daughter the other
language. I thought it was all ridiculous since there wasn't
any reason to learn Japanese when she was never going to
go there. I'd already started looking into good programs
and future careers to get her involved in as soon as she
was old enough.
I knew something was up when Adkin started
taking Saddie with them on trips to those conventions. It
wasn't long after that that he started claiming to be
working late, but coming home smelling like Saddie's
fruity body spray. I didn't even bother to mention it for
the useless arguments it would cause. I just internalized it
that we would eventually divorce due to his infidelity, I'd
get the house and Alicia, he would pay me a bunch in
child support, and I'd just relax on the front deck with a
mimosa every day.
Then, my sister was murdered and my whole life
started falling to shit.
I had to plan a funeral for my sister while
wallowing in a depression so deep I literally couldn't
breathe sometimes. I felt like I was drowning most days.
More often I couldn't even get myself out of bed
unless it was to sit in the bathtub for hours scalding

92
myself in the hot water. Micheal's insults about my
hygiene and lack of femininity revolved around my brain
on a loop, and despite desperately wanting to shave, do
my hair and makeup, get dressed up, clean the house, I
just couldn't. I felt too heavy to lift myself.
I canceled the yoga class I taught more and more
until I quit working entirely. I just couldn't force myself
to leave my bedroom.
Adkin started having the babysitter stay
overnights. He paid her more and more, asking her to
start cleaning, doing laundry, driving Alicia to and from
school, cooking, etc while I lay in my room. That little
18-year-old girl stepped into the role of mother and wife
while I became nothing.
My husband didn't even check in on me anymore.
He never came into the bedroom to sleep anymore. The
only contact I had was Saddie when she came in to leave
food that I rarely ate or cleaned up my messes. My own
daughter didn't even come in anymore. I remember
hearing her distant voice from the living room stating she
didn't want to go into my room because I smelled bad and
it was too dark.
It wasn't long before Adkin told me he was moving
out. He had gotten himself a nice apartment and he and
Saddie were going to live there because she had started
school full time and couldn't work anymore. He wanted
to support her while she bettered herself to become some
illustrator or something. I don't really remember. I just
know he didn't want to be with me anymore. Saddie
shared his interests and wore the clothes he liked; she was
clean, young, pretty, and made him feel better than I ever
had.

93
 He had hired someone else to come take care of
Alicia and the house, but I was on my own. He wasn't
going to make someone take care of me when I wouldn't
even take care of myself.
I asked him when I should expect divorce papers,
and he scoffed at me. He wasn't going to divorce me. He
knew that he wouldn't get custody of Alicia with how the
court system worked. The child support would eat him
alive. It was cheaper for him to pay for the housing and
utility costs of two households than to get 60 percent of
his income bled out in child support every month.
The best approach in his opinion was for him and
his little slut to get their own place, get someone to take
care of Alicia and the house so she could stay in her
home, and wait for me to die on my own. He even told
me he already had my funeral paid for so that as soon as I
was dead he could get on with Saddie taking my place.
Sounder logic I've never heard... Sarcasm...
He came by to see Alicia every few days and
called her every night to make sure she was doing well.
Without fail he was there to pick her up on Friday night
and dropped her back off Saturday evening. She didn't
want for anything. I can't fault him or say he didn't do his
fatherly duties. I even understood why he didn't move her
into his new place: she had always lived in our house and
the move would be hard on her. It would have been
harder than just staying put until I eventually killed
myself.
The only problem was that I wasn't suicidal. I
never have been. I didn't want to die or kill myself; I just
didn't want to exist.
Life went on in a gray blur for a few months. I

94
don't remember much since everything just bled together
into one long eternal moment. After Adkin's discussion
with me, the next thing that I remember clearly was when
the police came knocking on my door.
While officers and detectives tore my home apart I
was briefed on the ridiculous notion that my eight-year-
old daughter was a murder suspect. I laughed out loud,
laughed in the detective's face, laughed until I was
doubled over sobbing. I was delirious and light headed. I
didn't believe a word they said until I took them to see the
security footage of her tree house and watched with them
as recordings of my little girl feeding other kids to a ghost
proved me wrong. When I saw her dismembering a girl's
bitten-off arm and blending it up to eat herself I fainted.
In my daughter's tree house, the police found so
much blood, so much hair, tiny bits of bone. I don't know
how no one ever noticed it.
Well, yeah I do. I hadn't left my room in ten
months and her father hadn't been farther into the house
than the foyer in at least six months.
They took her. They tried and sentenced her all
without the public ever being allowed in. Mindy told me
it was to keep her reputation clear for when she was
released, but I suspect it was more because the evidence
was so crazy. They didn't want to have to explain to
regular people what the fuck had happened because they
weren't even sure themselves.
I couldn't even find it within me to blame them.
Alicia was sent to a children's mental hospital with
a release date for her 18th birthday. She will never be let
out though.
We found out not long after her incarceration that

95
there was a tumor in her frontal lobe. She had mentioned
it during her interrogation that her ghost friend had said
she had a tumor in the front of her head. Imagine the
shock when we all learned that she was right. The mass
was inoperable, growing, and the prognosis was bleak at
best.
Alicia's tumor caused her to become extremely
violent to anyone and anything near her, and she had to
be put into isolation. She was in a tiny padded isolation
cell for 23 hours a day, every day, for many months.
Being totally alone and mentally unstable does something
to a person so young. She sat on the bed with her back
against the wall staring out into space without any
expression.
I don't know what she was thinking. She wouldn't
speak to anyone. She didn't react to anything.
No one knows if it was her mental illness or the
out of control cells growing in her head. Maybe her state
was due to the realization that her ghost was never
coming back.
Alicia passed away seven months into her
sentence.
Adkin moved back in with me after the funeral.
Saddie left him when he went into his own decent of
depression. She could handle his daughter being a crazed
cannibal, but his extreme mourning was too much for her.
All his money and connections weren't enough to keep
her interest in a 45-year-old man with crippled emotions,
a broken wife, and a deceased insane murderer for a
daughter.
I don't blame her, but I do resent her. A part of me
always loved him, even when he was such a horrible

96
person who just wanted me to kill myself. I would have
preferred her to step up like an adult and take care of him
when he needed it most instead of dropping him the way
she did.
He moved back into the house with the
explanation that he didn't need his own place without a
girlfriend and daughter. He'd been living in the basement,
which is basically a huge studio apartment anyway. Even
being in the same house I never saw him. Usually, he was
at work or wherever the hell he went when he wasn't
home or there. I didn't keep track of his comings and
goings. Now, though, I suspect he was at Alicia's grave.
Things had faded back to gray when Adkin had his
breakdown last Halloween. I don't know why he even
wanted to give out candy that night. Maybe it made him
feel like less of a failed father; maybe it made him feel
better to see how excited kids were to get the candy.
He was drinking when he shot that little boy, but
he was definitely not in his right mind before that. Even
now he maintains that he never saw anything but a huge
dog barking and jumping at him.
Personally, I don't know what I believe. Mostly I
just think the stress finally got to him. He's been in a
mental ward of his own after the judge determined him
mentally unfit to stand trial. I've never visited him. I
never will.
Since then I've had to move into a tiny little studio
apartment in the roach-infested crackhead side of town. I
had to sell the house and liquidate literally everything we
owned to pay for the legal fees left over from Adkin and
Alicia's problems. As much as I'd love to just curl up in
bed and not come out again I now have to work. Six days

97
a week I can be found in a sandwich shop a few blocks
from my apartment making overpriced footlongs for
potheads and meth addicts with two teeth in their whole
heads.
Life is worse now than it's ever been, but I'm still
not suicidal. I want to make that really, really, abundantly
clear: I do not want to kill myself. I don't want to live
either though. That makes my dilemma all the harder.
Right now I'm crossing the street on the way to
work. I just stepped out into the crosswalk, and the lights
from the bus are blinding. It's holding down on its horn
too so I feel like my eardrums are going to explode. The
bus wasn't visible when I stepped from behind a huge
truck parallel parked along the road. The crosswalk light
had turned green and I'd just started walking because I
was already running a little late and if I didn't get there on
time I was going to be written up again. I guess the bus
just didn't have time to stop.
My problem is that I have just enough time to get
out of the way if I really want to. It may even run over
my legs and get me a nice court settlement that would get
me out of this ghetto.
At the same time though, all I have to do to end all
the bullshit that is my life is to stay right where I am. The
massive front wheel of the bus is poised just right to
utterly destroy me.
I've never thought of how to kill myself because
I've never wanted to, but when an opportunity presents
itself so perfectly how can I tell it no?

98