Point nemo

My son is currently on an expedition to study the mating cycle of eels. His team just departed from the coast of New Zealand. Their destination is located at coordinates 48°52.6′S, 123°23.6’W. It’s a simple thirty-day trip, with a stop at the Pitcairn Islands, and then thirty days onward to Lima, Peru. There, they will assist local coral reef farmers before returning home.

 

Anthony’s recent emails have started to worry me. Initially, he wrote with excitement about the first leg of the journey, but his messages have since turned into almost illegible gibberish, and then there was no contact at all. His Starlink connection status shifted from offline to unreachable. Each week of the journey seemed to bring stranger developments, until all communication stopped.

 

In Anthony’s first email after leaving port, he mentioned that his group was sailing at a steady five nautical miles per hour, covering roughly one hundred miles on the first day. Between stops to identify various sea life, I was surprised they made it that far. He assured me they would pick up the pace over the next few days, as the captain was committed to staying on schedule.

 

As usual, Anthony filled his email with drawings. He captured groups of galaxiids swimming vibrantly, illustrated lampreys feeding on bait, showed a mudfish caught in a crab trap, and even depicted a school of adorable “cucumber fish” (which I now know are actually called smelt).

 

Anthony’s ability to see and recreate moments artistically was remarkable. He found bullies while scuba diving and sketched them in oil pastels. He depicted torrent fish evading a shark with stencils, black flounders at dusk in charcoal, and no email was complete without an eel sketch. This one showed an eel scavenging for food in what seemed to be oil-based paint.

 

His second email arrived around the sixth day of the journey. By then, they had traveled more than eight hundred miles. Anthony joked about their last glimpse of humanity being four hundred nautical miles behind them. Now, it was just them and the unknown.

 

Even at the time, reading this sent chills down my spine. Through my own research, I discovered that beyond this point, there was no regular air traffic or marine route. They were truly alone, pitted against the vast, seemingly endless ocean. The limitless blue, interrupted only by bursts of marine life.

 

This email marked the beginning of his research. He started studying the nocturnal behaviors of marine life and shared his experiences through art. He illustrated the contrast of baby sailfish against the dark ocean, mobula rays dancing around his scuba partner at dusk, a white-tailed shark lurking below, and even whales diving deeper after releasing waste—out of reach of any predators.

 

His final sketches showed an exceptional rendition of two currents meeting—a unique line of fertile water in an otherwise featureless ocean, sparking a feeding frenzy. The abundance of phytoplankton attracted anchovies, which lured in skipjack tuna, followed by silky sharks.

 

Anthony mentioned, however, that the whole crew had been waking up to a strange sound they couldn’t identify. It screeched violently for the past two nights at exactly three in the morning, only to stop as suddenly as it began. He admitted that it creeped him out, though the captain assured him it was likely just a whale.

 

Anthony’s third email, which came on their ninth day, is so unsettling that I feel it’s best to share it with you exactly as he wrote it.

**********.   ***********.    *************

 

Buenos días, mami número uno,

 

We’re about halfway to our destination. The weather has been fair, though a slight fog has settled over the past few days—hopefully, it will let up soon. It feels like I haven’t slept in two days. We’re still hearing that sound every morning, and it’s become a small fixation among the crew. Nothing like ghost stories on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

 

One sailor called it “the Abyssalith” the other night at chow. He said these creatures have roamed the desolate seas for centuries, finding solo voyages like ours and dragging them into the abyss, one by one, until only the captain remains. Then, they take the captain and leave the ship to drift.

 

All just nonsense to rile up the new members finding their sea legs. But, mom, for an entire day, every bump in the sea had someone whispering, “Was that the Abyssalith?” But when the screech came in the morning, no one was laughing anymore. Garcia began to pray in Spanish, clutching his rosary beads.

 

Mom, I’ve been at this sonar station an hour before and an hour after the last two nights. Nothing has come up on sonar. Davis was using his drone for perimeter surveillance, but the fog has become so thick that it’s pointless now. I decided to watch the drone footage for giggles, hoping it would calm my nerves.

 

The first night he sent it out, everything seemed ordinary. However, around 0230, a bright red flash appeared in the corner of the drone’s view. Rewinding and pausing didn’t help me identify it. Trying not to spook myself, I wrote it off as a light on the drone.

 

The second night, though, there was something in the water. It torpedoed toward the boat, circled us, then swam away at the same speed. The dark shape was over two meters long and almost seemed to be doing a butterfly stroke. Given its size and speed, I convinced myself it was probably an orca, bull shark, or a very curious dolphin.

 

The next morning, we woke up to a sight I’d never seen. Swarms of hagfish surrounded the ship, seemingly eating something off the hull. There were so many that they rocked the ship, clogged the propeller, and then just dispersed. Carlos wouldn’t stop yelling about “el marephyte.” By lunchtime, he was burning sage all over the ship.

 

Davis volunteered to go under and check the hull. It seemed like the entire crew was on deck, waiting in silence for him to resurface. After what felt like an eternity, he came back on board and was immediately bombarded with questions. All he said was that the propeller was unclogged, then he requested a private audience with the captain.

 

This sent the rest of the crew into a panic, letting their imaginations run wild. I was kind of glad I hadn’t mentioned what I saw on the drone footage—it would have only solidified the fears of an already anxious crew. The rest of the day was pretty quiet. Everyone kept to their duties, though everyone seemed on edge.

 

We’re almost at Point Nemo, though, so hopefully, that will cheer everyone up. As usual, I’ve included some of my drawings. I hope all is well at home. I can’t wait to see you again—I’ve been dreaming about your stew chicken with peas and rice.

**********.   ***********.    *************

 

Needless to say, I’ve been constantly checking my Outlook for his next email. Even though I know Anthony’s an experienced seaman, random things like this always worry me. I feel so helpless, thousands of miles away from him.

 

On the morning of the fifteenth day, my phone alerted me to his email. I’ll just share it as well.

**********.   ***********.    *************

 

Hey Mom,

 

I know it’s been a few days since I last wrote, but we’re almost to the point. I wish I could say the crew’s spirits have risen, but a few mishaps have left everyone feeling almost zombified. Now, everyone is walking on pins and needles. Mentioning “the Abyssalith” or “el Marephyte” is like saying Voldemort.

 

The captain has been very strict about his tolerance for old wives’ tales and sea myths. The fog is so dense that we hardly know what time it is anymore. I can’t even find peace underwater; each dive feels like something is watching me out in the darkness of the ocean. I could swear I heard something call my name.

 

We had an accident the day before yesterday. Crewman Channey was pulling up the dive guide line when it must have snagged on something, yanking him back over the boat. He swears something pulled it, and now he refuses to assist with the dive team, so I’m down a knowledgeable member.

 

Last night, after the sound stopped and everyone settled back into bed, the first mate was patrolling the deck. Apparently, one of the ropes snapped and hit him across the chest. The impact was so loud that everyone on board thought it was a gunshot. I swear it sounded like a .45 went off.

 

He was taken to the infirmary, and I happened to pass by as he was being moved. The wound on his chest didn’t look like any rope injury I’ve ever seen—it was as if his entire chest had been ruptured and burned on impact. I could see down to his corroded chest, with his clothing frayed around the wound.

 

The captain informed us he would have to be airlifted when we reach the Pitcairn Islands. But after the morphine wore off the first time, his screams contradicted the captain’s briefing. I could hear him echoing through the pipes of the ship. No one with ears could miss it. He sounded terrified and desperate:

 

“There’s something out there—it tried to take me, but I fought it. You gotta listen to me, we’re not alone out here. It spoke in my mind, it knew my name, it’s not alone, we’re not leaving this place. It looked like a giant goddamn mantis shrimp, its stomach glowing red like a bloody belly comb jelly. We need to get out of here. Tell someone. They’re coming for us. Carlos was right—they’re just parts of fish… and they were in my head.

 

They were in my head.

 

They’re just parts of fish pieced together like Frankenstein.

 

They were in my head.

 

We have to get out of here. They’re coming for us all. They’re going to finish us. They’re coming for us all, and there’s nowhere to run.

 

Hahaha

 

They’re coming for us all, and there’s nowhere to run.

 

Hahaha

 

They’re coming for us all, and there’s nowhere to run.

 

Hahaha

 

They’re coming for us all, and there’s nowhere to run.

 

Just under dark ground, many enormous nests thrive. Insects scurry around, brushing orange under tall, tall oaks branches everywhere. Under pressure, oceans never move easily.

 

Just under dark ground, many enormous nests thrive. Insects scurry around, brushing orange under tall, tall oaks branches everywhere. Under pressure, oceans never move easily.

 

Just under dark ground, many enormous nests thrive. Insects scurry around, brushing orange under tall, tall oaks branches everywhere. Under pressure, oceans never move easily.

 

 

I assume the doctors made it to his room and either sedated him or he passed away. It was quiet on the ship for the rest of the night. The next morning, the captain informed us of his passing, though it wasn’t news to anyone who had seen him being taken to medical or heard his final words.

 

We’ve made it to Point Nemo, Mom. I wish this achievement felt more joyful, but it’s still something to be proud of. We’re continuing as scheduled and will be here for the next week. I’ll be so happy to be back on land. I’m also glad to say there haven’t been any more accidents, and the sound has finally stopped.

**********.   ***********.    *************

 

My mind couldn’t wrap around what I had read. If it had been anyone else, I would have assumed it was a joke. I was half convinced one of his crewmates had gotten hold of his laptop. Anthony didn’t joke like this—he was never much of a prankster. Then I saw the attachments, and they confirmed it was my son. But his illustrations in this email were dark and unsettling.

 

The first drawing was of a longnose hawkfish floating just behind the reef, looking almost ominous, as if it were stalking prey. Its figure loomed in the darkness, giving it a menacing look that felt out of place for a fish known to be shy by nature.

 

Next was his rendition of a ribbon eel lying in wait in its sand burrow, sending chills down my spine. The eyes in the drawing seemed to follow me, no matter where I moved. There was something eerie about them—a haunting undertone.

 

Then came a sketch of the Hemitaurichthys multispinosus, or many-spined butterflyfish, drifting aimlessly in the ocean current. Again, those eyes seemed to hold a deep darkness. I suddenly felt warmth on my face and wiped my nose, only to find blood on my hand. Shocked, I went to the bathroom to address the nosebleed, but my thoughts returned to the rest of his drawings. There were three more in the attachment, and I was eager to see them. That last phrase he wrote lingered in my mind. If Anthony felt it important enough to mention, there must have been something to it.

 

The fourth slide showed a yellowfin tuna they’d pulled aboard on a trolley line. The backdrop of dusk complemented the fish’s vibrant scales, making them almost glow. Yet, in the fish’s eyes, I could see a sense of impending doom.

 

The fifth image captured a wahoo being speared by a sailfish. The speed and precision of the strike were breathtaking. Anthony’s attention to detail and realism were astonishing; I could almost feel the disruption of the water during the attack.

 

The final slide depicted great reef and white-tipped reef sharks feeding on bait. Each swipe was fierce, the energy captured vividly. On one of the bait fish and a shark, Anthony even included anatomical details, dissecting the shark mid-strike as it bit into the bait. It highlighted not only his marine knowledge but also his immense talent. I could never have asked for a better son.

 

The last email arrived a few days later.

**********.   ***********.    *************

 

Hi Mom,

 

We’re finally on our way to the Pitcairn Islands. Morale on the ship is starting to pick back up, but the fog has settled back in with a vengeance, slowing us down to almost thirty knots. It’s been rough trying to get a signal with all this overcast.

 

I’ve been getting these random nosebleeds, and a few of the crew have been complaining about headaches. That sound in the dark ocean has returned. Maybe it’s just my mind playing tricks on me, but it feels like it’s closer now.

 

Never overlook. Only nature endures. Silent hills appear less lively. Lone echoes amplify vast emptiness. The horizon is silent. People linger around calm environments.

 

 

When it sounds off now, the ocean moves with it, shaking the ship with turbulent waves as we trudge on. We’ve been put on partnered watch shifts, though it hasn’t helped much since no one is actually getting any sleep.

 

Last night, Ramires jumped overboard during his shift. Our rescue attempt was unsuccessful; we searched, but to no avail. His partner, Tippers, is more than a little shaken by the incident. We’re about three days from the islands now.

 

 

 

Trouble rises as new shadows gather, revealing every soul’s secrets. Others retreat silently, while in low light, beings escape, pursued under night’s intense shadow, hidden eternally, damned.

 

 

Our engine was sabotaged yesterday. A wrench was found tangled in the gears. We’re moving again, but we’re limping forward. The blame game on the ship is reaching a tipping point. I’ve been doing my best to keep the peace where I can.

 

 

 

 

Those haunting echoes join under dark gates, emerging in shadows. Creatures observe moonlit interiors, noticing ghosts As new dawns, turn heralding endless Every xenophobic echoes, creating unsettling tones in open, narrow, empty rooms. Whispers illuminate lost lands, bringing eerie silence under moonlit memories, opening night’s Endless doorways.

 

A fire broke out in the mess hall just before chow. All hands responded quickly, and we managed to get it under control. A large part of that side of the ship is badly burned, but we’re able to continue. I’ve located a ship a few days away that could tow us, and we’re planning to rendezvous with them—hopefully soon.

 

 

Many young travelers in mist evening have all started climbing over mountains eagerly. Just under dense ground, massive earthworms nest tightly. In shadows, under pressure, ominous noises make echoes.

**********.   ***********.    *************

 

I’m heading to the airport now. I’ve been in contact with the authorities in the Pitcairn Islands, alerting them to the situation. Anthony’s Starlink has been inactive since.

 

The strange languages he wrote in turned out to be Coptic—an extinct language once spoken in Egypt; Nahuatl—once spoken in the Aztec Empire; and Illyrian—an ancient language from the region of present-day Balkans.

 

The messages translate as follows:

 

        1.        “No one shall leave this place.”

        2.        “My domain will not be trespassed.”

        3.        “Transgressors will be punished.”

 

 

Since reading those messages, I’ve had headaches, and my nose has started bleeding randomly. I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know Anthony is alive. He’s somewhere near Point Nemo, and I’m going to find him.

 

While trying to translate the images, I discovered the key to the code Anthony used. What I initially thought was gibberish turned out to be pleas for help—not only from him but seemingly from his crewmates as well. The first letter of each word spells out a message.

 

The first translation, if I’m correct, says, “No one shall leave this place.” The second repeats the message in the photo. The third says, “The judge is coming, and the executioner will be summoned.”

 

Reading this sent chills down my spine. Now, looking back at what his deceased crewmate said, the decoded meaning seems to be, “Judgment is upon me.”

 

Who are these “judge,” “jury,” and “executioner” that they kept talking about? I’ll update you once I land and get my hands on a boat to search for Anthony.

 

 

The jollies part 3

We stood in silence once again. Agent Davidson was flipping through the binder.

 

Tick, thump, tock, thump

Tick, thump, tock, thump

Tick, thump, tock, thump

Tick, thump, tock, thump

 

This game was driving me insane. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t think straight. All I could hear was my heart racing. Even the clock seemed to be in on the torture. My chair felt uncomfortable and too hard, and now there was even a faint buzzing noise coming from the light above us.

 

“Do you need me to lower the temperature in here?” Agent Davidson asked with slight concern.

 

“No, I’m fine. Why would you ask?”

 

“Well, you’re sweating, it looks like, and this suit is starting to get a bit hot for me,” Agent Davidson said.

 

I wiped my brow and noticed it was damp. Drying my hands on my jeans, I assured Davidson I would be fine, and we should just continue. He agreed and plopped the binder on the table. The face that stared back at me turned my anxiety right back into anger.

 

“I see I won’t have to ask if you know this man,” Agent Davidson said with a weird smirk.

 

I instantly realized I’d made my first mistake. That solid poker face had unexpectedly dissolved. There was still time to salvage it, though. My anger was justified; I was sure Agent Davidson already knew our history.

 

Jacob Reynolds—that bastard should never have crossed my doorway. I was angry and hurt, looking back; I was just too vulnerable. He was supposed to be Harvey’s best friend. I thought I could trust him. I did trust him, and all he ever did was beat me.

 

In part, it was my fault. I grieved for Harvey by taking it at first, and Jacob gave it. The fights and the beatings just never stopped, though. My kids witnessed it, the townsfolk saw the bruises and black eyes, and business even started to decline. No one wanted a cake from a lady who always had a bloody nose. Staring at him now, I remembered the last time he tried to put his hands on me.

****  **********. ***************

Flashback

 

Breakfast was being set, and I was trying to get the kids to settle down. It was only the four of us at that point. I had just found out a couple weeks prior that I was having twins. Jacob was not happy about it. He said, and I quote, “Great, now we have even more mouths to feed.” As if I ever asked him for anything.

 

He grew even more distant once he found out, which no one in the house complained about. It actually seemed to lighten the mood. Johnny was excited to have new siblings. Nina wouldn’t stop giving me name ideas. Tommy convinced Rosie she was going to be replaced like Marsha from The Brady Bunch, which caught on like fire with the other kids.

 

There was finally laughter in the house—a small taste of peace before the storm. Jacob came over one night randomly after leaving the bar. The smell of him entering my bed instantly made me think of Daniel. Here I was again, pregnant, getting cheated on, and this time, he would act if I spoke up too much about it. It still never stopped me from speaking my mind.

 

“Well, I got some… some… good news. Hiccup. I got some… some… bad news. Which-a you want first?” Jacob said, like the stuttering drunk he was.

 

“Give me the bad news first,” I said, annoyed.

 

“I need that loan I been… I been… asking you about. I ain’t asking no more. I want the money. I know you got it. Everybody in town knows you got money. Give me what you owe… owe… owe… me. Nu… nu… nu… now,” Jacob said, getting loud.

 

“What’s the good news?” I asked, sitting up and leaning toward my nightstand.

 

“I got the job in Wyoming. I’m getting transferred,” Jacob said eagerly.

 

“Well, ain’t that just amazing for you. And what’s gonna happen to your kids? Will you be sending for us when you get settled?”

 

“Now… now… now… you know I can’t do that. You got the shop and the garden here. I’ll send you some money once my check gets in order. You… you… you… know I’m good for it. But I need my money to get there and get straight. Quit… quit… quit playing now.”

 

“Ain’t even the rooster up yet. Where you expect the money to come from right now? You go on home and meet me at the bank tomorrow.” My hand was on the nightstand now.

 

“I ain’t playing with you, Laura Harrisburg. This ain’t time for your games now. I need my money, and I want that money.” Jacob stumbled forward in his drunk stupor, slamming into the bed frame and grabbing my leg.

 

“Now, I told you to get, and I won’t tell you twice,” I said, pulling out a heritage revolver from my nightstand, cocking the hammer and rotating the bullet into the chamber.

 

The door opened, and Tommy was standing there holding Nina in his arms. They both looked confused at the sight. Nina started crying and screaming; Tommy yelled something to Jacob. With everything going on, I couldn’t make it out. My gun was aimed at Jacob and ready for him to make the wrong move. Tommy ran past him and jumped in the bed. He stood between us while still holding Nina, who was crying.

 

I pulled them back to me with my left hand and kept the gun aimed at Jacob. Shaking and trembling, not only from myself but from the kids’ vibrations as well.

 

Jacob slowly stepped back toward the door. My hand didn’t move from that doorway. Jacob yelled something about the bank in the morning, and then the front door slammed violently.

 

Once the kids were off to school, my only goal was to get to the bank. It was not out of fear or malice. There was an electric feeling in the air that morning. The embers of the phoenix began to smolder. My smile was genuine, and it seemed as if the universe was aligning.

 

Johnny, before leaving, assured me everything would be fine. It resonated through me. I’m sure, looking into my teary eyes, there was an understanding between us. With a devilish wink, we both hugged each other before he ran off to catch up with the others.

 

The bank manager was even shocked to see me there so early. I made the coffee while he did whatever he had to do. The staff came in shortly after and were stunned to see me. As expected, we withdrew Jacob’s money, with no sign of him. Having time, I went to my shop and grabbed them a cake. I stopped at the salon and got Mrs. Jones to touch up my makeup real quick.

 

Then I headed to Jacob’s place, with the bank envelope on the passenger seat. Grabbing my .380 out of the glove box and putting it in my purse, I banged on Jacob’s trailer door so hard it caused all the dogs in the park to erupt in bewilderment.

 

He stumbled to the door, upon which my declaration of paying his debt back and him being free to do as he pleases, just leaving me and mine alone, began. I threw the envelope at him and got in my car, driving off and leaving his gawking neighbors—and him—in the dust.

******  ********* *****. *******

Agent Davidson got a call and excused himself from the room. This gave me a minute to calm down and collect myself. That folder was tempting me, and now it was right in my hands. Flipping through it, I found it was everything I thought it was. This guy was here for business, and he was organized.

 

The folder was, in fact, filled with all my lovers. In chronological order, every detail about them. Witnesses he had interviewed. A couple of pieces of evidence. My mind raced, thinking about how long he must have been building this case.

 

But my heart stopped when I saw the picture of my peach tree. He had been in my yard, in my garden, around my family—and I had no idea. My stomach turned almost violently. The sound of footsteps alerted me, and I quickly put the folder back. The door opened, and Agent Davidson walked in. I was not prepared for what he had in store now.

 

The pages of the folder flipped—first slowly, then he gained pace.

 

“My fault. I overlooked one thing we should’ve looked at earlier. You don’t mind if we backpedal a bit?” Davidson said, finally settling on a page in the folder.

 

He slid the folder over, revealing an enlarged photo of Marcus Benoit’s passport. I couldn’t help but caress it slightly. My melanated white knight amidst the chaos of the world. The dark chocolate that made me feel so rich and creamy.

 

Betty got all her artistic talents from him, for sure. His stoic attitude transferred over as well. Being a minority in this town was not easy for her, I know. But she made the best of it over the years—the same way we all have, in our own ways.

 

“What did you want to know?” I asked.

 

“Can you tell me what happened the last time you saw Mr. Benoit?” Davidson asked.

****  ************   **************

 

 

Flashback

 

Marcus came into my shop with his camera hanging around his neck, a pen lodged behind his ear, and a notepad in his breast pocket. It was a brutal summer day, and sweat had pooled on his shirt. His thick Canadian accent caught everyone’s attention.

 

Simultaneously, we all exchanged a look, silently asking each other where this tall, well-built, dapperly dressed, obviously foreign Black man had come from.

 

“You must be mighty parched. Let me get you a glass of water… or would you like some sweet tea?” Rebecca Hylandier said cheekily, grabbing a glass in haste. “You’ll find our little town is very progressive and open-minded. I might be a little more than most,” she added with a smile, eyeing me directly.

 

Why on earth I kept letting this snake into my shop, I had no clue. I was sure even her own shadow didn’t trust her. I tried my best to be civil with her. It was hard enough over the years to keep a friend, and this little friend group was the best I’d had. If dealing with that two-faced self-demon was a con, then so be it.

 

It wasn’t like she planned to move anywhere, but every night I prayed she would just tell one person she was or even thought about it.

 

“I’m actually looking for Mrs. Harrisburg, the owner of the shop,” he said, looking at me with a provocative stare. “I’m from the Ontario Valley Times. We’ve been collecting stories across the U.S., and you are one of the pieces I’ve been following. These meat pies must be something, to have everyone carrying on about them. I’ll be in town for the week and would love to get an interview with you.”

 

Marcus sampled some pies before he left. He toured my garden the next day and took me out to dinner the day after. I was hesitant at first when he asked me to return to his hotel room. After another Long Island Iced Tea, though, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

 

That week turned into two, then three. His publicist was calling more frequently now, always about a deadline. I knew what was coming, but this time, I felt things would be different. The week he actually had to go to California, Rebecca was suddenly extra helpful around the shop and garden.

 

“Has he called you yet? When does he plan to come back? You just can’t keep a man! Do you need me to watch the kids so you can go out and drink? I know you’re depressed—I would be too if men just used me like that!”

 

To her surprise, and everyone else’s, Marcus did come back. He pulled into town every Friday night and left each Sunday morning. This went on for about four months as he handled business throughout California, Utah, Nevada, and Phoenix.

 

Around this time, I found out about Betty. Marcus was more than overjoyed, to say the least. He took me out and bought the whole bar a round to celebrate. That was just the type of man he was—kind, generous, and out of my league.

 

I noticed a few side eyes in the crowd—friends of Harvey, friends of Jacob, friends of Carlos, friends of Daniel, and the attempted seducers of Leslie.

 

Some friends they were, still drinking with the devil they claimed to hate so much.

 

I’m sure one of them tried to warn Marcus of my tainted past in this town. I’d been waiting for him to ask about my past lovers. Yet he never did, only talking about the future. What a ray of light in such dark times. Which was also the irony of our situation—the brightest thing in town was the darkest in complexion.

 

One Friday, though, sticks in my mind to this day. He was finishing up his West Coast tour. We sat outside on a porch, and he held my hand. Looking into my eyes, he asked if I knew who Geoffrey Chaucer was, to which I replied I didn’t—which I’m sure he knew.

 

Marcus was always quoting someone or explaining where a coined phrase came from. He was always so eager to teach me something new, to give me an actual understanding of things I say day-to-day.

 

“But at the laste, as every thing hath ende, She took hir leve, and nedes wolde wende,” he said, smiling and rubbing my belly.

 

“What does that even mean?” I giggled.

 

“All good things must come to an end,” he said, kissing me.

 

I was taken aback at first, but then I understood.

 

Marcus was ready and understood what it meant to be a jolly.

 

We kissed and made love that night, never uttering more than a few words between us. Marcus packed up to head out of town that Sunday morning.

***        ********      ************

 

“Well, that’s my two birds. I see here Marcus also left you some assets and funds in his will, once his family declared him dead,” Agent Davidson said, slipping the picture back into its sleeve.

 

“Yes, it was unexpected but has set Betty up for college,” I replied.

 

He acted as if he didn’t even hear me, fumbling through the folder. Finally, he stopped at a ruby-colored tab. The face that greeted me always brought a smile to my face. Gerald DeMarco—the gambler, the mobster, and Tommy’s dad.

 

We tore this town up for one solid summer, and then his friends came to tear it up the next fall. I already knew what Davidson was going to ask. It was the same thing anyone who knows Gerald wants to know.

 

What happened to the money?

********  ********* ************

Flashback

 

School had just started, and the town was buzzing with life. Gerald drove an Oldsmobile Cutlass with Detroit plates. The trunk was filled with designer leather bags and perfumes. He went door to door and shop to shop selling his wares. The men began using him as a sports bookie.

 

He quickly became the go-to man in town for fashion and other goods. The women in town waited for his pop-up shop like cows to a hay bale. It wasn’t long before he was a regular in my shop. My Boston crème pies and Hennessy-infused donuts were his favorites.

 

His trips between Vegas and his other business, though, Gerald kept close to the chest. I knew better than to pry too much with him. As sweet as his demeanor was, there was a dark side I never wanted to see.

 

Our rooms were always filled with new perfumes and lotions—Chanel, Dior, and other designers I couldn’t even name. Rosie and Nina adored the dresses and outfits Gerald brought when he stopped by.

 

It was Christmas that year; we all went to Vegas. I saw who Gerald really was, and it scared me. The day was going perfectly, but once we put the kids to bed and went down to the casino, everything changed, and I couldn’t believe the transformation.

 

Gerald and I started off playing roulette. It was fun, even though I lost. He promised we could recoup at blackjack, which was when I should’ve gone back to the room. But the allure of that Vegas dream kept me by his side. He assured me our luck was bound to turn around.

 

It wasn’t long before his luck—and money—ran out. Before long, we were sitting in the office of the casino manager. They seemed like they knew each other from the exchange of pleasantries. Gerald was given a credit of $20,000 that night.

 

Again, I should’ve gone back to the room with the kids. But we went back down to the casino floor. This time, Gerald had a look in his eyes I’d never seen before. It was like a child about to get into trouble and looking for a place to hide.

 

I’d never seen him like this before—just scanning the casino, likely searching for something to change his luck. Before all this, my heart believed Gerald loved me; now, riding the escalator down, I realized that was far from the truth.

 

We started back at the roulette table and blew a few hundred on black. We moved to the baccarat table next, and he lost a few thousand within minutes. Gerald went to the slots to cool off while I sat next to him, dialing my spot machine back and waiting just like him. Finally, he hit a jackpot. It was nothing more than $3,000, which would’ve covered what he’d just lost.

 

I implored him to stop and walk away, even. My pleas fell on deaf ears. Our next stop was the craps table. His luck from the slots had already run out. A group of tourists from Japan invited him to join them in playing pai gow poker.

 

My stomach started to turn, and it wasn’t from the liquor. I had a really bad feeling, which Gerald must’ve noticed. He grabbed my hand and assured me everything would be fine. We’d “clean them out” and leave.

 

That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. I watched as he lost five thousand dollars off his first few hands. The translator in the group asked us if we wanted to join another private game they had. Before even hearing the game, Gerald accepted and followed them to the back rooms.

 

The upset stomach I’d had earlier was turning into knots. When the doors closed behind us, it felt like they’d closed our tomb. Security guards scattered throughout the hallway watched us silently. We might as well have been lambs heading to the slaughterhouse.

 

This all started to feel surreal.

 

“Oh boy,” Gerald said, “this is let it ride,” as we sat down at the dealer’s table.

 

Over the next hour, I watched as he lost all the money given to him. Gerald began to remove his watch, and I pleaded once more. He grabbed my arm with such force it stopped me in my tracks.

 

“Maybe you should go to the room. I’ll be up shortly,” Gerald said, giving me a look of ferocity. I could only nod and get up from the table.

 

Around seven a.m., there was a loud banging on our hotel door. He stood at the door in only his underwear, with a busted lip. His eye was swollen, and he looked like somebody had really gone at him. The white underwear he wore was covered in dirt and shoe prints.

 

Without saying a word, Gerald walked into the room, grabbed his suitcase, and went into the bathroom. The kids were still asleep, except Johnny. He always seemed to witness my weakest moments. I went and sat next to him, turning on the TV.

 

Time just seemed to drift by. After a few cartoons and some cereal, Gerald finally came out of the bathroom, fully dressed, and told me to take my time with the kids. The hotel offered us a complimentary breakfast, and he said he’d be waiting in the car whenever we got ready. In the same breath, he handed me two hundred dollars and told me to buy them some souvenirs before we left.

 

I found out I was pregnant about a month later. Gerald was more than overjoyed. There wasn’t a weekend that everyone in the local bars didn’t hear about it. His strong Detroit accent was always the most defining in the room.

 

Tommy came not long after that. I’m not sure how he did it, but Gerald left that casino with $300,000. I remember Johnny telling me he pulled into my shed like a bat out of hell, came in to feed and check up on them, then stayed in the shed for a few hours.

 

When I got home that night, Gerald was in my living room with all the lights in the house off. The kids were already in their rooms. I could hear them talking amongst themselves; they never could whisper, and I was sure Gerald had bought them toys and clothes.

 

I didn’t recognize the car in the shed.

He never told me about any money.

I never saw Gerald after that night.

 

 

The jollies pt.2

Daniel could just never stay away. Always popping up and his family asking the same questions. Expecting the answers to change. Now here I am once again answering questions about a man I haven’t seen in over twenty years. That can of Coke looked so tempting on the table. The condensation of the can started to leave a small puddle around the base.

 

 

 

“If you’re thirsty, you can have a drink,” Agent Davidson said, interrupting my answer.

 

“No, I’m fine. I’d much rather finish this up and head home,” I said as meekly as I could.

 

“You just keep looking at the can while we’ve been talking, just figured I would let you know again we are happy to accommodate you while we sort this out,” he said, ruffling through the pages in the folder.

 

“I’m fine. It’s just I don’t understand why you’re bringing Daniel back up. You haven’t found him, haven’t given me any new information. I was cleared as a suspect years ago. I’m just a bit confused as to what is going on,” I said, starting to get a bit edgy.

 

“I’m just here to get the whole picture. You’ve had a lot of unfortunate events in your life over the years, as I have noticed in your file. A lot of insurance money has been paid out. Trust funds set up, a few interesting health inspection violations. Yet since I got off that plane and checked into my hotel room, everyone has recommended going to your bakery. Honestly, I’ve passed by, but I haven’t gone in to try anything yet,” Davidson finished with a focused look on his face.

 

 

 

I felt as if he was trying to read my thoughts and see if what came out of my mouth differed.

 

 

 

“Why haven’t you? This week’s special is my famous peach cobbler. It’s almost to die for,” I said, feeling like a trapped animal, knowing those were the wrong set of words to mix together in this setting. However, if he wanted to play, I would play. All my alibis are rock solid and have been looked over with a microscope a hundred times.

 

 

 

He was just another punk in a suit trying to make a name for himself off my blood, sweat, and tears. Your husband dies, and you make a way to salvage the family and home. Now you’re suspect number one, America’s most wanted. Yet when the bills were piled up and I was alone with hungry kids, there was no one offering to help. My husband has both his parents, brothers, and sisters. Their grandson/nephew has barely received a card in years, all because I took the money that was meant for me.

 

 

This agent is different from the rest. I could tell by his demeanor. He seemed like a city boy. This country life was overwhelming him. I could tell just by the way he kept having to wipe his nose. Those sinuses will damn near break down when they get a taste of this real pollen out here. Now I just need to figure out what’s his angle.

 

 

 

“I’ve seen in your file you won the town’s bake-off twelve times. That’s impressive, congratulations,” the agent said with a snarky yet facetious tone.

 

“Would have been 13 if the mill didn’t close down that year,” I said defensively, still a little bitter I let Rebecca Hylandier steal my first place with cinnamon rolls.

 

 Was he trying to gauge my reactions and responses like a human lie detector? Whatever his motive was, there was nothing to find, no matter how deep he dug.

 

This folder in front of me, though, still made me feel uneasy.

 

 

 

It seemed to be custom-made by him. The inside seemed to be color-coded by section. I got a glance at the page behind Daniel’s picture. He took very detailed notes. The printed page had bullet points and even a custom border. With mere seconds, there was no way to decipher what it actually was. It seemed to be small black praying mantises.

 

******      *******.        ********.           ******

 

Flashback

 

 

 

Daniel pulled into the driveway and stumbled out of the car. He looked at his watch and it read a little half past ten. In his state, thinking about the exact time was too much, knowing it was almost eleven was good enough. Standing up straight and trying to fix himself, he attempted to make it to the front door.

 

 After the third attempt of picking his keys off the floor and trying them at the lock, there was success finally and into the house he stumbled further in, making his way to the bedroom. Daniel bumped into every wall, even knocking a few pictures over. The sound of breaking glass is what actually woke me up. Yet I dare not move while he was in this state.

 

 

The smell of liquor and sweat now filled our bed. The peaceful silence and comfort that filled our home was now filled with Daniel’s snoring and farting in his sleep. The smell of some other woman’s perfume and his sweat made me nauseous. I slowly slipped out of bed in order to stabilize my already on-the-fritz senses.

 

 

I walked in the dark along the wall, trying to avoid the broken glass. Thankfully the moon was bright enough that night to illuminate the hallways just enough. I would take care of that in the morning. Making it to the baby’s room I was still constructing by myself. The runt started kicking, causing me to halt, grabbing his baby crib and trying to calm him down.

 

 The baby crib was given to us from his parents. It had been in their shed for years. I had to thoroughly clean it and sand it back down. My favorite part was applying the wipe-on polyurethane, and seeing that wood grain glistening will never get old to me. With a quick trip to the paint store, I found this baby blue that would offset the royal blue of his room.

 

We made it to my rocking chair, and I didn’t know whether to massage my swollen feet or rub my stomach. Knowing in my state I could not do both made me even more exhausted, which quickly turned into anger since I was sound asleep ten minutes prior. Now to top it off, I’m getting hungry but just don’t have the will to get up.

 

 

 

“Well, make it through this, Johnny,” I said, rubbing my stomach to reassure him as well as myself.

 

 

With a groan, I pushed myself out of the rocking chair and headed towards the kitchen, once again trying to avoid the broken glass on the floor.

 

*****      ********      ********  **********

 

“We’ll, I’m really not trying to keep you here longer than we need. Do you mind if we continue? I do have a habit of getting off-topic,” Agent Davidson said, pulling the folder to himself and opening it up.

 

 

 

He also took the picture of Daniel off the table and slid it back into its page in the folder. The agent meticulously combed the folder. He would look up at me every now and again, as if gauging to see what the next question would be. His fingers landed in the middle of the folder at a pink index tab, and my stomach began to turn for some reason.

 

 

Placing the folder down on the table in plain view of both of us, he pulled the picture out of the plastic sleeve he custom-made it for, which creeped me out even more. I stayed focused, though, and peeked as best I could at the notes on the other page.

 

 It was the same thing as the first page I saw. Typed up with bullet points and a border. This just seemed to be some general facts, but at the bottom, he had some starred notes. I could not read what they said, though, since he closed the folder rather quickly once he noticed I was trying to snoop.

 

 

Clearing his throat, Davidson slid the paper over to me and asked if I knew the person in the photo. Tears began to well up in my eyes. I could barely control myself.

 

 

 

“Do you know where she is, or what happened to her?” I asked, almost sobbing. “Leslie said she was going back home to see her mom, and I never saw her again.”

 

 

 

“No, unfortunately I don’t have any new information on her, and I know it’s hard right now after all this time. I would still like to ask you a few questions,” Davidson said calmly, almost sympathetically.

 

 

 

“Yes, sure, anything,” I said, wiping my face with my sleeves.

 

 

 

“What happened the day before she left? Did she say anything out of the ordinary or anything about her demeanor that maybe you didn’t remember or thought was not important back then?” he asked, leaning in as if I was about to tell him a secret.

 

*****     ******     ******** ***********

 

Flashback

 

Leslie carried a laundry basket through the house and into the master bedroom. She dropped it on the floor and collapsed on the bed. She sniffed the pillow and buried her face in it.

 

“What are you doing, you weirdo?” I said, laughing as I entered the room, noticing the odd behavior.

 

“Just trying to capture your smell in my head while I’m away,” Leslie said, taking a bigger whiff and laughing.

 

“What am I going to do with you?” I said, jumping into the bed next to her.

 

“I’ve got a few things in mind.” Leslie said, jumping on top of me and kissing me as we giggled in the bed.

 

She was like the sister I never had. A best friend I never knew I needed. Leslie was my world, and the kids loved her. Over the past few months, though, she has been rebuilding the relationship with her mother. After years of no contact, Leslie was ready to reconnect, and her mom was more willing to try than her dad. The thought of having a lesbian daughter, I guess, still didn’t sit right.

 

However, after all of that, Leslie was ready to go back home, and I wanted to support her. Family was the most important thing after all. Although running the shop and managing the kids by myself for a week seemed daunting, I couldn’t allow myself not to support her just as much as she had me over the past year.

 

Looking at her now, I can still see that glimmer in her eyes that I saw the first time we met. Leslie came into the shop on a Monday and bought some croissants. By that Friday, when she came back in, she barely had enough change for a donut. I could tell she hadn’t showered in a few days. There wasn’t so much an odor coming off her as it was just the disheveled look to her.

 

After seeing this girl every day this week, sometimes even twice, I knew she was not from around here. Driving home one night, I saw her sleeping at the bus station. I had enough mouths to feed at home; I didn’t need another one, so my drive home continued without delay. The thought of a young girl out there, though, didn’t sit well with me as I tried to sleep that night.

 

The next day, though, she didn’t come in. I figured she must have finally gotten on the bus. I closed up the shop and began heading home. There she was again, just sitting on the bench. Staring into space like a zombie, she looked dirtier than she did prior. The light turned red, and I was stuck at the light.

 

Just don’t look over there, go home, and start dinner. You have enough going on. I tried chanting to myself a few times in the car. It seemed like the light would never turn green. There was hardly anybody on the road. With the anxiety building up inside me, I almost wanted to run it. Just to get away from looking to my left.

 

Then I did it, and as if fate weaved it into the tapestry of life, Leslie looked right at me, and our eyes connected.

 

“I didn’t see you at the shop today!” I said, winding my window down.

 

“I ran out of money. I’m trying to save up to get to Los Angeles,” Leslie shouted across the street.

 

There was something in her smile when she said Los Angeles that just warmed my heart. I remembered when I was young and full of dreams, before reality actually set in and the kids came.

 

“Where are you staying?” I shouted back, kind of already knowing the answer.

 

“Right here for now until I find a ride going that way or earn the money.”

 

“Hop in, you can stay with me tonight. You look like you could use a shower and a meal. These streets aren’t safe for a girl your age,” I said, and the light turned green finally. “You better choose quick; I’ve got kids to feed.”

 

Leslie hopped in the car, told me about running away, missing her bus, and not being able to afford another ticket. The creeps that tried to pick her up over the past few days. Most of them I knew and was happy she didn’t take their help. I could have given her the money to get the ticket the next morning.

 

Instead, after seeing how my kids enjoyed having her and how she helped that night after dinner, even got Rosie and Tommy to bed with no issues, I offered her a job the next morning to earn money for her bus ticket and money when she got there. I also told her we could arrange room and board here for an extra fee or help with the kids.

 

She accepted the latter. I gave her five dollars that morning as an advance, told her when the bus picked the kids up and where the town bus stop was in the neighborhood. Asked her to be at work at 8, and Leslie never disappointed me.

 

********  **********  *********** ********

 

I could hardly control the tears as I answered each of his questions. Each one pierced my heart like a dagger as I remembered all the precious times we had together before she started to act like the others.

 

“I have one final question on Ms. Manifest. There was something different about your pies that year at the fair. Did she help you with it, or do you remember what made that pie so much different from the rest? From questioning, it seems that it’s one of the more memorable years of what seems to be an iron hold on the bake-off,” he asked nonchalantly. “I quote from the festival president at the time: ‘One of the sweetest meat pies I’ve ever tasted.’”

 

“No, Leslie had already left by the time the festival came around, if I’m not mistaken,” I said.

 

“I see,” he said, just staring at me.

 

*****  *******  ****** ****** *******

 

“How about we take a break?” Davidson said, pulling the picture off the table, placing it back into its sleeve, and closing the folder.

 

“No, let’s continue so I can go. What else do you want to know? You still haven’t told me what this is about. You are bringing up people I haven’t seen in years, give me no new information about them, but yet here you are holding me against my will,” I said, starting to become irritated.

 

Agent Davidson cleared his throat. As if not even hearing me, he opened the folder again and thumbed through it once again. There were ten tabs I noticed now, which meant one thing, and my stomach really started to tighten up. Pulling myself together, I awaited his next question.

 

His fingers seemed to defy time as he flipped through the folder. It seemed like an eternity for him to turn the page. Yet I looked intensely at anything I could see on each page, trying to gather as much information as I could with every second. It was so quiet in the room I could hear every tick of the clock. My heart sounded louder though, and I prayed it was only me that could hear it.

 

Finally, he slid back to almost the start. I almost sighed out loud because I knew what was coming this time. Stopping at a lavender-looking tab, Agent Davidson pulled out another photo from the sleeve and slid it gently across the table.

 

“Well, let’s just kill two birds with one stone, shall we? I had a friend from Immigration contact me and ask me to look into this man. He was already on my list, coincidentally,” Agent Davidson said while fixing his tie.

 

“Wow, I haven’t seen or heard from Carlos in well over ten years. He went to California to work in the vineyards. He promised to send some money but never did. I just figured he started a family and forgot about us,” I said calmly.

 

“Was that before or after you planted your famous peach tree?” Agent Davidson asked.

 

“We planted it together. Carlos is the main reason my garden looks as good as it does. I’ve kept up and maintained it the best I can, but I could never have the passion he had for it,” I said, starting to glaze a bit.

 

I placed my hand on the Coke on the table. It was warm now. I couldn’t drink it, though, no matter how parched I was. To take anything from them put you right in the palm of their hands. I’ve never taken anything, and I won’t start now. They’ve grilled me harder than this before.

 

*******  ********* *********  *********

 

Flashback

 

It was not long after I opened my bakery. I remember that summer we had a heat wave. Nobody in town wanted to do a thing. Back then, it was just me and Johnny. Things were much simpler. We were struggling but happy. One Sunday, I heard a knock at the door. There was Carlos with his horse and buggy filled with lawn tools.

 

The tomatoes growing in my garden at the time looked like cherry tomatoes. They didn’t taste like them, though. I never had much of a green thumb but was giving it my best. I even found some old bins to use as compost barrels. My vision was definitely there but lacked the skill or labor time.

 

He was like a breath of fresh air, a sip of lemonade on a hot summer day. Carlos finished my lawn, backyard, and tended to my plants all before ten. He might have finished earlier if Johnny was not trying to help him out, questioning him about everything.

 

Every time I shooed him off and turned my back, Johnny was right back under him. Carlos would just laugh and continue showing him whatever he was curious about. Every Sunday, like clockwork, Carlos pulled up with that horse and buggy. Johnny would wait on the steps just to run up to them and ride to the house.

 

Over the next few months, it went from having lunch ready by the time he was done to inviting him over for dinner to Carlos staying the night. His passion for plants transitioned to the bedroom. He took care of my needs just like he tended to the roses, not missing any nook or cranny with his tongue or hand.

 

I gave him all the supplies he needed, and my garden was started. Now Johnny wanted to be a farmer, so he got a plot in the backyard. Carlos wanted a waterfall into a pond that would intertwine with the irrigation system he was setting up.

 

He dug up all the yard himself, designing the plans and adapting as he went. Johnny was stuck to him like glue. I remember fighting with him in the morning to not go in the garden before school. He would get so dirty while trying to have the plants looking good for Carlos to see.

 

Once he finished the pond, he bought koi fish and small catfish to put inside. The next week, Carlos bought a box of chicks. He and Johnny built a chicken coop not far from the compost site. It was the first time Johnny held any actual tools. Between the building and rounding up the chickens, feeding the fish and horse, he went to bed that night all by himself.

 

A few months later, after we finished the greenhouse, me, him, and Tommy planted the peach tree. I was almost about to have Nina by then. It was not much long after that, he started calling about the vineyards. I didn’t understand why. I offered him everything he wanted or could need. We had even started growing grapes in the greenhouse and around it.

 

Before Nina was even born, Carlos received the call he wanted. His friends had an opening and wanted him to come visit. He became cold and distant. The weeks following up, he became late on Sundays. Johnny sat outside waiting, and I didn’t like that.

 

********  ************  ***********

 

“That was the first year you won the bake-off with your meat pie, was it not?” Agent Davidson said, putting the picture back in his sleeve.

 

“Yes, actually it was. I do have chickens in my backyard,” I said, getting defensive now.

 

There was a long silence in the room. I couldn’t tell my heartbeat from the clock on the wall. Agent Davidson now began to skim through the folder again. I tried to look at the pages better. It was just so hard to focus over the beating.

 

Tik-thump, toc-thump, tik-thump, toc-thump

Tik-thump, toc-thump, tik-thump, toc-thump

Tik-thump, toc-thump, tik-thump, toc-thump

 

Finally, he stopped at the baby blue tab in the folder, and for once, I didn’t know what to expect. Mentally, this was draining and emotionally exhausting. His collected and composed attitude started to give me the chills. This agent was still as much a mystery to me now as he was when he first walked in.

 

Now with the picture in front of me, I knew his game. I understood what the colors on the tabs indicated. They were my children’s birthstone colors, to some extent. I would assume each one indicated their father. It felt as if all the air was slowly being sucked out of the room.

 

Agent Davidson was a psychopath in a suit, most likely grew up torturing trapped animals or his pets. Over time, it just transitioned to people. I was just one of the latest trapped animals he got to play with.

 

“From my interviews, it seems like the two of you had a very strained relationship. You, however, got another hefty insurance payout after his untimely demise.”

 

“Is there a question there, or are you just being unsympathetic to a widow for pure spite?”

 

“My apologies. Could you tell me where you were when he overdosed?” Agent Davidson said firmly.

 

“Home with my kids. I never played with that stuff, and if I knew Harvey did, I would never have let him close to my family.”

 

“The insurance money got you ten additional acres on your property, and you expanded the business.”

 

“I was his wife. That money was mine to do with what I pleased. Everyone in town is welcome and comes to my garden. It feeds the church, the schools, and anybody who’s hungry in this town. I had already taken out a loan from the bank for my expansion before Harvey’s accident. Everything I’ve gotten has been given back to the community.”

 

“I see, and I have heard. Just wanted to hear these things from the horse’s mouth.”

 

*******  **********  *********. *********

 

Flashback

 

Harvey Solferd was a name I hoped to never hear again once the funeral was over. He was the first and only husband I had to bury. That black dress is still in my closet. I’m sure in the darkest corner, still covered in plastic and pristine. Nina was old enough to understand, Daddy was not coming home.

 

It was pretty quiet in the house for a while. Even I missed the comic relief he offered. All the drinking and job losses aside, Harvey never cheated and treated my kids as his own. You would never have known we were arch-enemies a few years prior.

 

The Black Widow of Colorado was the title Harvey gave me. I couldn’t enter a bar after Jacob left without hearing it. It spread like wildfire across the town. After Gerald skipped town, even I started to believe it. I barely left the house, as customers were few and far between. Depression had finally gripped its hands into me and was not letting go.

 

I remember the first night I actually punched him in the face. After being at the bar at night, alone and grumpy, Harvey decided to follow me to the car. Asking his usual dumb questions as if he were Sherlock Holmes, going to solve the mass disappearances of all the men to unfortunately lay in my bed.

 

Before I knew it, my fist was connecting to his multiple times. I slapped and clawed at him. My cries and lashing out had a meaning behind each. Everything that had built up over the years, he received that night. For every time one of my kids came home from school crying. Each blow was a person that walked past me and whispered to their friend, avoiding me like a leper. Harvey took every blow and bite, every curse word I could muster out of my mouth.

 

When Harvey wrapped me up in a bear hug, my fury didn’t stop, though. As much effort was put into my kicks and bites. He must have finally had enough. Harvey shook me so hard, I felt my brain move.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Harvey repeated, pulling me closer and closer.

 

It was as if all the weight on my shoulders was lifted off. The tears that streamed now were not filled with rage. I couldn’t explain the feeling, but some would call it closure. After years of being terrorized by this town, the mastermind had finally gotten his. Harvey was bloody, and my makeup was smeared. We looked like a mess and collapsed on the floor. He even took the brunt of the impact.

 

From that night on, whenever I went out and was heckled, Harvey spoke up. No matter where in town or what event, he shut down all the gossip and jeers, like my own personal bodyguard now. That night between us changed everything.

 

It became almost weird to not see him at my shop. If I knew attacking Harvey would have put an end to it all, that beatdown would have come years ago. Now business at the shop was back to normal. Harvey brought me the special beers and custom ones from the brewery, which I infused into pastries and cakes for holidays and customers.

 

I knew Harvey for years in town. The thought of him being a drug addict never crossed my mind. Yes, a drunk, but during those days, who wasn’t? When the sheriff came to my door that night, it was as if he switched to speaking pig Latin mid-sentence.

 

It was not long during planning his funeral. The peace I once held faded away. That old fire of revenge started to smolder, preparing to rise out of the ashes like a phoenix. Harvey was like the rest, just with a different mask.

Why Marlon

It’s been two days, and I can’t remember ever being so unsure about anything in my life. Google seemed pointless, my bank account couldn’t support a visit, and I exhausted all the forums I could find to no avail. My home life was in shambles, and my work life wasn’t far behind.

Trying to get a grip, I splashed water on my face. I looked at the door, then down at the floor. A small shadow slowly crept up, filling the light-filled gap with darkness.

In the silence of my home, the only sound I could hear was a beat. My heart pounded as if it might leap out of my chest. Then the scratching started—slow, taunting, each swipe drawing closer to the door.

The sound of claws methodically peeling through the wood sent shivers down my spine.

“Stop, Marlon!” I yelled, watching the shadow under the door slowly back away, but not fade.

Grabbing a towel off the rack, I dried my still-wet face. This was not the time to lose my cool. I’d done this a hundred times; tonight would be no different. Giving myself what should’ve been an unnecessary pep talk only made me feel more uneasy.

Looking at the floor again was an obvious mistake. The shadow paced back and forth in front of the door, and in the silence of my apartment, I could hear his panting. Every step he took seemed to vibrate through the bathroom. That pep talk felt more useless than ever. I turned my gaze to the toilet.

I realized I hadn’t used the bathroom since I’d come in. Maybe that could ease the tension and help me settle down for bed. Tomorrow was a big day, and I had to get some rest. Glancing at my watch, it showed 22:45.

Standing in front of the toilet, I tried to relieve myself, knowing full well there was nothing to relieve. I was just going through the motions. Shaking my head, I realized my procrastination was getting the better of me.

Zipping up my pants and turning back to the sink, it felt like déjà vu. Once again, I was ready to splash my face with water. Glancing at the floor, the shadow was gone. Only the hallway light shone through the gap.

With a gulp for reassurance, I grabbed the door handle and opened it. The door slammed into the doorstop and bounced back, almost hitting me. I quickly grabbed it and peered out to see if the coast was clear.

My bedroom door was open, and the lights were still on as I had left them. I saw no sign of Marlon, so I quietly tiptoed to my room. As soon as I felt the carpet under my feet, I slammed the door shut and heard his paws skidding across the hardwood, racing toward my door.

Almost simultaneously, Marlon threw his body against the door just as I locked it and leaned against it for extra defense. The next thud pushed me off the door momentarily, and I scrambled back to brace myself against it.

Another thud hit the door, but this time it only moved me an inch or two. My feet felt as if they were rooted to the carpet.

“That’s it, Marlon! I’m not playing with you—go to bed!” I yelled, trying to put some authority in my voice, sliding my hand back on the door.

That was the most I dared to do, fearing to truly invoke his wrath. Marlon slowly paced outside the door. His tail tapped the door with every pass he made. I pressed my back against the door, ready for the next impact, but it never came.

I slowly backed away from the door, not letting it out of my sight as I made my way to the bed. My heart raced, and I knew that wasn’t going to help me sleep. Sliding into bed, I pulled the covers up and adjusted my pillows. If I didn’t know my age, I’d think I was a kid still afraid of the boogeyman.

Except I’m not a child. The boogeyman is real and outside my door, in the form of my best friend trying to get inside me. Slapping myself back into reality seemed like the only thing left to do, but my hands refused to move from gripping the covers.

Closing my eyes, I tried to calm myself. I envisioned my presentation in the morning to the partners. I’d been rehearsing it all week, practicing the Q&A section. Now, I just needed some rest.

As I stood in front of the partners and other associates, speaking, a weird feeling crept over me, like something was wrong. All eyes were on me, unblinking. Silence filled the room, except for my voice. I glanced at Rob, our newest assistant, and instantly sensed something was off.

Rob wasn’t using his cellphone. That thing is usually glued to his palm. He’s a junior associate, yet he acts as if he’s already made partner, always busy with his phone, every call so important. But now, he gave me the attention he usually reserved for his phone, and it sent chills up my spine.

That’s when I noticed the sweat dripping off him. His shirt was soaked, the wet spot visible through his jacket. They all were sweating as if trapped in a sauna, every single one of them. It looked like they’d just played full-court basketball in their suits and come straight to work. Not one of them wiped their brow, fanned themselves, or even took a sip of water.

Even Suzanne, our meeting stenographer, sat in her seat in the corner, her hands over the typewriter without hitting a key, sweating, her eyes locked on me like a torpedo in the water. Frazzled by the bizarre scene, I started to stutter and looked toward the exit.

Elliot Marcus, one of our senior partners, stood straight up from his chair. It flew back, crashing into the office wall with a thud, leaving an imprint as it slowly rolled away. He was always the gym rat of the office, an Armenian refugee from the circus, we used to joke at the coffee pot.

He strutted around the office, showing off his muscles, stacking chairs, lifting them, or asking for critiques on his poses. In the courtroom, his stature matched his wits and law knowledge. Elliot was a force to be reckoned with, and now he was walking right toward me, with that blank stare in his eyes that somehow felt menacing.

I don’t know why—I’m not usually like this—but I grabbed the first thing I could touch and hurled it at him. It happened to be another empty chair at the table. Without even flinching, the chair hit him square in the face. Blood began to ooze from his nose, and that scared me even more than him not stopping, even more than the room’s continued staring and sweating.

The blood was as black as obsidian. I bolted for the door, keeping it in my peripheral vision. Elliot leaped across the table like a gazelle clearing a fence. The force knocked me against the wall, and he pinned me there.

That’s when I saw it. Everything before made sense. My initial worry turned into genuine fear. My worst nightmare had left my home and was now in the world. Worse than that—it was at my job, inside my coworkers.

Inside the lens of Elliot’s eye was that white ring that wasn’t a ring. It was more like a silver or very opaque tiny worm. I’d never gotten close enough to examine it in detail, but I knew what was coming next, and I desperately tried to avoid it. Elliot’s hands felt like iron clamps, locking me against the wall.

I jerked my head back and forth, refusing to stare into his face, looking for anything to grab that might free me before the inevitable. His sweaty hands felt gross—like grabbing a toad, rough but slimy. Elliot released my right hand and immediately grabbed my throat, straightening my face and choking me.

That blank stare in his eyes and the little worm floating around in there locked me in terror. Elliot’s mouth began to open, his jaw unlocking. I couldn’t scream because I could barely breathe with his hands around my neck.

Then that ring, that worm, or parasite floated to the bottom of his lens almost lifeless. Six long, white, almost luminescent tentacles emerged from Elliot’s mouth, slowly reaching for my face. The more I fought, the tighter his grip became. I had to fight—I couldn’t let this thing get me like this.

I used my free hand and bashed Elliot’s face repeatedly to no avail. Just before it latched onto my face, I used my last bit of strength and let out a scream.

Jumping up in my bed, I realized I must’ve dozed off. My sheets and clothes were soaked. I looked at the clock on my nightstand; it read 2:45. I had to get up and try to dry off. I still needed to get back to sleep. Maybe some tea would settle my mind, but looking at my door, I almost immediately changed my mind.

Sitting in the darkness with a million thoughts flying through my brain, I couldn’t help but think about when this all started—last weekend. It seemed like a normal Saturday. Marlon and I went to the dog park. But that day, I just had an eerie feeling inside.

The dog park on Saturdays was usually bustling. Marlon almost always had a handful of playmates. I was actually shocked that Buster and Bob weren’t there. They were dog park regulars. If I couldn’t expect to see anyone else, I knew I’d see Bob. But last Saturday, the park was completely empty.

Marlon also seemed apprehensive about going in at first. I figured it was because he’d be stuck playing fetch with me. Looking back, I wish I’d picked up on his hesitation and gone with my first instinct to head back home. But we pushed on, and after a little leash fight, we were through the gates and into the park.

As soon as I unhooked him, Marlon took off across the field and into the tree line. There was a small rustle in the bushes, and Marlon let out a cry I’d never heard from him before. He retreated from the bushes by the time I reached him. At first, I thought it was maybe a squirrel or worse—a skunk. Checking him thoroughly and sniffing him, it didn’t seem to be either. I shrugged it off as something that just spooked him.

We left shortly after since he didn’t seem to want to play anymore. All his attention was on the bushes he’d come out of, as if in a trance. The ball flew by him, and he didn’t even budge. After trying a few more times, I gave up.

The rest of the day seemed fine. I went to work and checked on him using my indoor cameras as I usually do. It had rained before I left for work, and I forgot to lock his doggie door. I watched him run around in the backyard like a puppy, knowing my furniture would be soaked once he came in.

Back at work, I thought nothing more of it. But my curiosity got the best of me, and I’m glad it did. Looking back at my backyard camera, wanting to enjoy him frolicking around, I noticed Marlon was no longer leaping or chasing squirrels. He just stood there as if in a daze.

Marlon’s body began to shake violently, and then he started convulsing. It looked as if some invisible force was performing CPR on him. Something was coming out of him, though I couldn’t tell if he was forcing it out or if it was forcing itself out. Then the tentacles began to latch onto the ground.

Black balls spewed from his mouth, accompanied by a white liquid. The balls formed a fist-sized mound among the tentacles. As violently as the tentacles emerged, they retracted back in. Marlon just collapsed, and as I got up to run home, something caught my eye, and I sat back down.

The black balls began to move, and the mound seemed to shake. Luminescent worms cracked out of their shells and started wriggling around my yard. They seemed to examine Marlon at first, wriggling over and around him. He didn’t move or attack them. Then they started to spread throughout the yard.

I jumped out of my seat and ran out of the office. By the time I got home, Marlon greeted me at the door like he normally did. The mound of balls was nowhere to be found, along with the worms in my backyard. Rushing to my office to rewatch the video, trying to see what happened while I was driving home, I was left with more questions than answers.

The worms had just disappeared into the ground, the mound dissolving in the rain. No sign of a shell or husk. I went back outside to check for holes in the ground where I thought the worms had vanished. My lawn looked just as I’d left it. Marlon stood by my side, excited as usual, as if the worms hadn’t come out of him.

It wasn’t until the third day that I noticed the change. Marlon couldn’t seem to drink enough water. His water fountain was refilled three times that day, and the way he panted, I felt like he’d drink more if he could. Instead, he just lay around, moving from spot to spot.

Now, I’m sure all of you have done the same thing I did: Googled the symptoms to figure out what was going on. If it were just a horseshoe worm, I’d have cured my beloved friend already. But this parasite is sentient and not of this world.

It was the fourth night that convinced me and left me in such a paranoid state. Marlon’s whimpering made me cave on something I’d never done before: I let him into my bed, figuring a good cuddle would fix him right up.

In the middle of my sleep, I was slowly awoken by drops of water on my face. In my blur between wake and sleep, I didn’t fully register what was happening. Marlon was standing over me, drooling profusely. From his mouth, tentacles stretched toward me.

Coming to my senses as they reached about an inch from my face, I reacted without thinking, sending Marlon, all 120 pounds of him, crashing into my side table. I’d never gotten out of bed so fast and found the light switch on the first attempt in my life. By the time the lights came on, I caught a glimpse of those tendrils retracting into Marlon’s mouth.

The way he turned and growled at me sent chills up my spine. I immediately reached over to my other nightstand and pulled out my gun, aiming it at Marlon, taking it off safety, and cocking one in the chamber. It felt like I was in the wild against a savage beast. We were deadlocked, each of us waiting to see the other’s reaction.

Marlon’s stance relaxed, and he lowered his head, turning away from me and walking out of the room. I only moved to keep the barrel of my .45 trained on him. Once he was out of sight, I clicked the safety back on and placed the gun on my nightstand.

I got out of bed quickly and slammed my door shut. Finally, I could breathe a sigh of relief and try to comprehend what had just happened. It all felt surreal—until I heard his footsteps outside the door.

That snapped me back to the present, and once again, I was in my room, contemplating what to do. Marlon was outside my door, pacing back and forth.

The Jollies

I remember when I was younger, watching the police take my neighbor out in front of her kids. I didn’t quite understand why at the time. All my heart felt was hate for the police as I watched my friends crying and making a scene in front of their house. It seemed like something out of a movie at the time.

Men in black suits and aviator shades talked amongst themselves in her driveway. The size of his cellphone astonished me at the time; it was maybe the second one I had ever seen.

Ms. Harrisburg was the nicest person I had ever met. She would have the sweetest peach cobblers every Sunday after church. I’d had sleepovers at their house. My first kiss came from Suzy Harrisburg, right under the apple tree. We carved our names into it that day.

Ms. Harrisburg had ten children, and all were wonderful people. I couldn’t imagine what she could have done to cause that to happen to her. My mind instantly thought it was some sort of mistake. She and my mother would be laughing about it over gin rummy later tonight.

When our doorbell rang a few hours later, I jumped up and ran to it, but my parents were already there. I slowly crept down the stairs, expecting to see Ms. Harrisburg. It was Johnny Harrisburg, though, the eldest of the bunch and the captain of the ship, as I called him.

Johnny looked blue in the face, as if someone had told him Yella was dead. He walked inside like the life had been drained out of him. Once our eyes connected, mine mistakenly found my mother’s, and hers said, “Get to your room right now.” I knew that look all too well. I turned and pretended to go up the steps. My feet turned into feathers when it was time to creep back down the steps.

From the banister, it was hard to hear what Johnny was saying. I pressed my body against the wall like a fly on the wall, inching closer to the kitchen as if I were a marine deep in enemy territory. My mother was handing him a tissue to wipe his face. I cleared my eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on me, because Johnny couldn’t be crying; he was the toughest kid in town.

“They just took her and haven’t told us anything,” Johnny said. “My sisters are so scared, and I’m not sure what to do.”

“Well, don’t you worry. I’m sure it’s some kind of mix-up. Your mom will be home by tonight, and you guys will be laughing about it. As for dinner tonight, I’ll come over and make you guys dinner. I’m sure your mother will be happy to have food ready when she comes home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. You don’t know what this means to us. I’ll head home and start cleaning up and getting the kitchen ready for you. I’m sure my sisters will help in any way they can,” Johnny said, getting up from the table with a smile and a look of relief in his eyes.

My mom stood up to give him a hug and instantly noticed me. Her cold stare sent a chill up my spine. I quickly crept back and up the stairs before Johnny could see I was eavesdropping. Once he left, my mother called me down using my full name. That’s when I knew how deep in trouble I was.

With the most innocent voice I could muster, I slinked down the steps and into the kitchen. Her eyes were stern but reflected worry. This wasn’t as simple as she had told Johnny, and it showed.

“You heard what happened, so go clean up and help me carry some things to take over to the Harrisburg house. We’ll be eating dinner there. I’ll call your father and let him know,” my mother said.

Without hesitation, my feet were at the steps, heading toward the bathroom. My mother was the nicer of my parents but still not someone to upset. Once my full name was called, I knew it would be pins and needles for me the rest of the night.

Detective Ramos sat across from me with a calm demeanor. A thick yellow folder sat between us that he hadn’t opened yet. He offered me takeout options and drinks from the vending machine, all while avoiding my questions and passively telling me to calm down.

We’d known each other since junior high. In our little town, everybody knew everybody. His wife visited my shop weekly, and his kids loved my cakes and treats. All my reminiscing and pleading fell on deaf ears, though. We both knew why I was here, but I still had to play my innocent role.

At this point, it was the only way I would get out and get back to my jollies. His eyes burned through me, searching for something. The man sitting across from me was no longer my old friend. He was Detective Arthur Ramos, the iron ass of Springs Valley Police Department.

Arthur played by the rules and went by the book. He didn’t cut corners and never turned a blind eye. It was one of his honorable qualities, but at this moment, I wished it wasn’t him. His face said it all—he was feeling the same. Of all the criminals in town, it should have been anyone but me.

“Laura, I can help you if you help me,” Ramos said, finally breaking the silence. “Think of your kids and what they’ll go through.”

“I’ve been here for over an hour, haven’t been told what I’m being charged with or why I was taken out of my house on a Sunday afternoon. Do I need to get a lawyer, Arthur?”

“You might need one to get out of this.”

The door to the interview room opened, and a man I’d never seen before walked in. His tightly knit black suit told me he was a federal agent. This had gotten bigger than just the county. I began to feel uneasy in my chair as he walked over to the table with a fresh Coke in his hand.

“Mrs. Harrisburg, I’m Special Agent Davidson, and I’ve been assigned to your case. I apologize for keeping you waiting. I asked the good detective here not to say or do anything until I could address you first. Are you thirsty?”

“No. I’m upset and annoyed that I’ve been dragged away from my family like a criminal and not told why. I have rights, just like every other citizen in this country.”

Agent Davidson acknowledged my pleas and assured me that if it was a mix-up, I would be home with my kids soon enough. He slid over the folder Arthur had in front of him and opened it up. After waiting all this time, when I saw what it contained, my stomach began to churn.

He unclipped one picture from the stack and slid it in front of me very slowly. I could feel his eyes watching me as it came to my side of the table.

“Is this about Daniel?! I haven’t seen him in years. I have nothing to do with that scumbag. If this is what all this is about, I couldn’t tell you anything more than that he left without a word when our son was five.” Holding my composure, I looked stone-faced at both of them.

The anger I held for him was genuine, and I could feel my blood boiling just looking at his face after so many years. The picture was of him in his younger years. That smirk on his face made me sick to see again. Of all my children’s fathers, I hated him the most.

I was about thirteen the first time my parents took me to the fair. It was the most marvelous thing I’d ever seen. My father and I went on every ride while my mother looked on with disapproval. She always hated me, and I never understood why. My father, though, gave me all the love I could ever ask for. Papa was my best friend and guardian from my mother’s cruel ways.

The memory almost seems like it was yesterday, even though it happened over twenty years ago. I could still feel the shiny penny in my hand that my father gave me to go into the gypsy’s tent.

As I walked up, it seemed as if the eye designed on the top of her cart looked through my soul. It creeped me out, but I couldn’t stop myself from walking toward it. My knees felt weak the closer I got to the tent, and my heart pounded as if it would come out of my chest. Looking back at my dad, his face gave me the courage to go on.

Entering the tent, the smell of incense hit my nose. It pulled me in toward this strange woman sitting behind a crystal ball. Her smile made my stomach churn, and I wanted to turn around.

“Come, child, don’t be afraid. I know what you want to know. No one will hurt you in here. Sit, child,” she said as she smoked from a chrome cigarette holder.

I did as she asked and sat down. The chair was much higher than me, and it took a hop to get seated. She held her hand out for mine, and I cautiously obliged. Her fingers were soft yet calloused. I could feel the sharpness of her nails as she ran them over my palm.

“Hmmmm, I see a very prosperous and misfortunate future for you. A blessing of a multitude of children will befall you, but death will come to some. Your love life will be filled with variety, passion, and heartbreak. Many lovers will fill your bed over the years to come. Sadly, though, I see you will end up in a prison or mental institution. Your future looks as promising as it does dark. Hold on to your morals and kind nature. The path you will walk is going to be tainted by the unfortunate but necessary decisions you will have to make.”