Cyberia - The City of Ladies

Just finished this one today.

Excerpt:
After we had moved to our second apartment in Hoogvliet, and my father had finished his studies, we suddenly started collecting pets. We had a dog, Cerbie (Cerberus) since I was about two, a half chow half wolf puppy, ferocious to others but my very best friend. Dogs are the sort of friends only children value above all others. I could dress him up in clothes or endlessly throw the ball or a stick. Because of his fierce loyalty to my well being I could go anywhere in the neighbourhood if I took the dog. The dog was a given, he was family, not really a pet.

What was new was my father’s self indulgence of collecting up birds and fish. The first bird was Oliver a handed down canary my dad brought home from work one day (for mom, said he, but…), It was a lovely yellow bird with a ring of black around his little head like the hairlines of a Franciscan monk.

Read the whole story at www.sparrows.wordpress.com or http://aletta.org/Sparrowweb20.shtml

BERNADINE SANTISTEVAN, DIRECTOR OF “The Cry” was kind enough to make a special trip to my blog “Owl Creek Bridge” in order to share some stories about making her Supernatural Thriller based on the Legend of La Llorona.

I am very excited to be able to bring you her story because
Bernadine is a great example of taking hold of your creative dream and making it live.

Please stop by and check it out here:

http://anita64.wordpress.com/2006/10/27/the-cry/

Happy Halloween from

Anita Marie

Aside from adding a Sparrowgirl afepress shop (www.cafepress.com/sparrowgirl), as well as having written some new stories. More finalized watercolour illustrations have started replacing the placeholder sketches.

stories at www.aletta.org/sparrowweb01.shtml

by Anita Marie Moscoso

Inspired by the Soul Food Cafe Prompt:

” Fantasy Writing “

http://www.dailywriting.net/FantasyWriting.htm

 

Slumber Boneset doesn’t celebrate her birthday because she’s not sure of the exact date and that’s always been a sore spot for Slumber Boneset because she’s sure of a lot of things.

She’s sure about what the weather is going to be like, she’s sure of what it is people are thinking even when they’re saying something else and she’s always sure about where her six children and 14 grandchildren are and how they’re doing.

Over the years people have made their way to Slumber Boneset’s House by moonlight and for a few dollars she can help them solve all sorts of problems.

So to not know something as basic as her own birth date has kept Slumber Boneset humble.

The plus side to this embarrassing situation is that it makes for a good story that her children and grandchildren insist on hearing every November 1st.

That’s when they celebrate Slumber Boneset’s Found Day.

” Oh you don’t want to hear that sad tired old story again! ” she said to her family over the dinner table last November.

” Yes we do! ” the youngest Boneset insisted in a panic “Your story is the best Halloween Story ever!”

Slumber started to laugh and asked her daughter, “ are you sure you want another one these?”

“ More then anything” she told her Mother and Slumber motioned for her grandson to take a seat.

Then Slumber sighed and she agreed to tell her story.

Someone got up and lit the candles and someone else made sure everyone had their spiced apple cider cups filled and then the lights were turned off and Slumber began.

Stonecrop Cemetery and Funeral Home is just a Park nowadays and there hasn’t been a funeral there for years.

Sixty –five years ago though it was still struggling along.

The problem was Stonecrop looked like a page from a Victorian Ghost Story about headless women dressed in white wandering along the rows of tombstones.

No one really wanted to visit there let alone have their remains interred there for all of eternity so business was slowing down and going out to Larkspear which was an up can coming style of cemetery complete with dark green manicured lawns and park benches and reflection pools full of fresh clean water.

Mr and Mrs. Cabbagetree were the owners of Stonecrop and all around they were good people who tended their dark overgrown cemetery the best they could.

Because it was so old already there was little to no money coming in and what repairs were needed they did on their own and they really didn’t mind. Stonecrop was their home and besides each other they didn’t have anything else.

They had each other and if you asked that was all they said they needed.

One morning Mrs. Cabbagetree was out in the Cemetery raking leaves and trying her best to visit the graves as she worked. She was pushing her rake along when a sharp pain raced up her arm to her jaw and it took her breath away.

” I’m only 42 ” she said to no one and then the rake fell from her hands and she died.

Mrs. Cabbagetree was buried on Morningside Hill, that’s where the children were buried in Stonecrop and I’m sorry to say it was an extensive section of the cemetery…infant mortality having been such a problem all those years ago.

” I know she wanted children, ” Mr Cabbagetree told on his friends at the graveside of Mrs. Cabbagetree ” and did she insist or even bring it up? Not once, she knew what this place meant to me, she worked so hard Burke and in the end that’s all she had to.”

” It’s not right, she should have had something of her own. She should have had that child”

Everyone said Mr Cabbagetree wasn’t the same after he lost his wife. He walked slow and talked slow and you almost wanted to reach out and touch his arm to make sure he was there.

He was already a ghost and when he died no one was surprised.

They found him one day sitting by a reflection pool full of leaves and his eyes were wide open and in his dead hands was a baby’s rattle and a black shawl.

After Mr Cabbagetree died the City started to bring in their own maintenance crews to keep up Stonecrop and one day they opened the gates and the first thing they saw were at least a dozen mounds of freshly turned earth dotting Morningside Hill.

Mrs. Cabbagetree’ s grave was opened and when they looked in she had a shovel in her hands and a smile on her face.

It was the Day after Halloween that the work crews returned to Stonecrop and before they could unlock the gates and go in they saw a little box sitting off to the side…. and it was moving.

One of them looked into the box and there, wrapped in a black shawl with a tag sewn onto the collar that said  ” Slumber Boneset ” was a baby.

She had black hair and her skin was a soft caramel color and one of her eyes was midnight black and the other was ice blue and besides that she was perfect.

” So that’s my story, I was known for a long time as the Cemetery Baby and some people think I have the gift … but we know better then that, don’t we? ” Slumber asked.

From the other end of the table Slumber’s eldest daughter said, ” Mom, I think it’s time.”

” Yes it is…. please someone get my Shawl from my bedroom closet. Yes, the black one of course. After all, this is a special occasion.”

Slumber raced down the hall to the kitchen and when she returned she had a shovel in one hand and a baby’s rattle in the other. ” Let’s go dear, I’m ready. “

 by Anita Marie Moscoso

Inspired by The Soul Food Cafe Prompt

” The Red Death “

http://www.dailywriting.net/red-death.htm

Violet didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the end of the world; it was what happened after it was all over that would keep Violet awake at nights.

She’d would be laying there in the dark picturing a dead and lifeless world with a small yellow sun rising in front of a blood red moon while all around her room on tables and in the windows and on their own special tables were dead and dieing plants in overpriced planters.

There were no starter plants with tiny little roots floating around in plastic fast food drinking cups in this room.

Only the best for her little victims.

Violet figured it was the least she could do for some poor plant that was bound to die once she got her hands on it.

What she did to plants was nothing compared to what she could do to those colorful fish you kept in wine glasses with the half marbles scattered at the bottom. She was no expert in forensics but she was pretty sure that her collection of fish had starved to death.

She had come in from work one day and found all that was left of her fish were blue and red scales stuck to what looked like a fish’s skeleton. She felt so bad about the fish that she never brought them home again.

In fact, she decided it would probably be better if she avoided the live animal route all together.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know any better.

There was the puppy in the basket she got when she was eight. ” Santa ” had brought it and she still remembered the look on her Mother’s face when she carried the basket with the red bow tied to the handle out to the living room on Christmas morning.

Violet had said, ” It coughed all night, I don’t think it feels well. Can you exchange it? “

There was the kitten four years later that started to bleed from it’s ears and not to soon after that the baby brother that turned from pink to dark red right in front of Violet’s eyes.

Then she grew up and moved out and started with the plants.

It was like having a bad tooth…your tongue just wants to go to it and poke around. That’s the way Violet was with plants; she just kept buying them or planting seeds and they just kept dieing on her.

And Violet kept watching.

So it’s not really a shock that she couldn’t sleep at nights.

And then it got be too much.

One evening Violet’s dieing and decomposing plants couldn’t keep her mind off of the little things that nibbled away at her mind during the day so she reached for her TV remote control and when she pushed the ‘on’ button the little black and silver box hummed in her hand and she knew the battery was dead.

She reached over and turned her bedroom light on and then she popped the back panel off of the remote.

Along with plant murder she had rotten luck with batteries too. She had guessed that if she bought batteries from someplace other than ” Dollar Bonanza” (where all the stock was a dollar or less) they might last a bit longer.

She reached into her nightstand drawer for some new batteries when she saw that the battery in the remote control had split at the seam and the acid had started to ooze out and then before it ran off the side of the battery it had hardened and turned to dust.

She dropped the remote on the floor and reached for the little ivy plant that was dieing in the planter shaped liked an elephant. She touched one of the leaves and felt it turn to power between her fingers.

Now that was a new one.

Violet reached over and turned off her lamp but she didn’t sleep.

It wasn’t soon after that she stopped sleeping all together.

So instead of sleeping Violet did a lot of thinking; she thought about her dead and dieing plants, her puppy and kitten and little brother. She thought about the way no one ever sat next to her on the bus.

Even if her seat was the last open seat and they had to stand.

She remembered the way her own Mother would wipe her hand against her hip after helping Violet brush her hair and the way her Father would hold his hands out to stop Violet from rushing into his arms the way all little kids do.

It was strange, those little gestures that people used to keep Violet away. They were the same gestures Violet saw when someone had a coughing or sneezing fit and the person standing next to them would turn their head or pull in a long deep breath and try not to exhale until they were safely away.

That’s exactly the way people acted when they got to close to Violet.

One morning Violet brushed her teeth and combed her hair and put on a bright yellow t-shirt. Yellow was her favorite color and today she wanted to do something nice for herself.

She walked down to the Lake and watched birds fall from the sky and bees drop from flowers. The trees put up more of a fight. She could hear them creak and groan and she could hear the leaves whither and then curl and crumble right on the braches.

When she got to the lake she put her hand into the water and she watched it thicken and could smell it go bad and then the fish all rose to the surface and tried to jump to land and before they were airborne for more then a second they fell dead back into the water.

Violet got up and walked to a little hill and when she got to the top she sat on a bench and she could see the route she had walked because it was a dead route now and unless you were looking you probably wouldn’t notice the narrow trail of death; but Violet did.

That was it for Violet, this was all she would ever do-she would infect anything unlucky enough to get to close to her and then it would die.

Violet looked at the trail she had walked and saw the dead trees and plants she had passed could see the trees and grass and plants further away start to turn brown and curl and she could smell them turn to dust.

Violet Delaflote was spreading.

Violet walked to the lookout spot next to the Lake she had infected (there was no other way for her to think of it) and she figured she could just walk out and keep walking until the water covered her head.

She couldn’t swim, she had never learned how…not after watching her swimming instructor drown all those years ago. ” She had some kind of Virus, ” her Dad told her ” and when she dove into the water she got sick and couldn’t breathe and she drowned.”

Violet passed the picnic table and walked into the water and she was surprised at how easy this was turning out to be…but what was the alternative?

She was a serial plant killer and she lived alone.

That was Violet’s life.

She kept walking and by the time the water was up to her chest she realized what she was doing…she spun around went under and fought her way back to shore.

When she turned around and looked back at the lake…she covered her face with her hands and screamed until her throat felt raw.

Then she ran.

She ran and ran until she came to the Shopping Mall and she collapsed on a bench outside of the food court.

People were eating and laughing and scowling and living…and when it came down to it Violet decided she wanted to live too. She wanted to eat soft pretzels and drink strawberry lemonade and she wanted to shop and be rude to salespeople…just like everybody else.

That was what Violet wanted, she covered her face with her hands and she cried for the life she would never have.

When it came right down to it Violet decided she might only be a germ that had somehow disguised itself as a short woman with okay skin and dry hair but she still wanted to live just like anyone else.

She knew though she couldn’t do that like everyone else and Violet knew that was alright.

So she took her hand away from her mouth and nose….

And she sneezed.

The eyes are the windows to our souls.”

Whoever came up with this adage was a very insightful person. I never much thought about it before; I’d just go Hmm, that’s a neat way of putting it. How poetic… whenever I came across the line. But then one day, I guess my curiosity was finally ‘roused enough to wonder, I decided to test that opinion. I started watching people, on tv and those around me. I took my time looking at them. At their eyes. I looked for telltale signs of warmth and friendliness, if their eyes sparkled and mirrored the smiles curving the lips below. I looked for the opposite as well, if the eyes were cold, lifeless and devoid of any emotion.

And I proved the old adage true. *soft smile* In as far as those who’re on the far opposite sides of the spectrum. Those in the middle…? Well, they’re less easy to tell. Some are very adept at hiding what they’re feeling and thinking. Others I see as the professional con artistes of the world. Those who’re masters/mistresses of deception, swindlers who take innocent and gullible people for all they’ve got financially. But these professionals draw the line at murder.

It’s interesting to see how the eyes really mirror the inside of a person. If a person is smiling, but there is no corresponding warmth and smile or sparkle in his or her eyes, you know he’s or she’s not totally sincere or happy. If you pass a person of the opposite sex on the street, or spot him or her at a party, and his or her eyes refect warm and sincere friendliness, mirroring his or her easy smile and relaxed, self-assured stance it makes this person more attractive to you. Ten to one, you’re gonna follow or go over to this person and introduce yourself.

Similarly, come to ponder it, it’s interesting to me to note that some people fool their victims, luring them to their own murders and then getting away with it for years before they are caught. For when you look at mugshots of these socio or psychopaths, if you look at their eyes, you’ll see they’re flat, lifeless, cold, creepy. There’s an evil darkness about these people. ‘Course, they’re also quite intelligent, so that accounts for their long period of freedom before they’re caught–if they’re caught. *thinking of Jack the Ripper* Wonder who he really was?

These are people without conscience, without any cares for other people, without any morals or ethics. And their eyes reveal this.

For me, when I want an initial impression of someone, if I can, I look at their eyes and look for a corresponding smile. If there’s no smile, I still look at their eyes, for the eyes tell the story.

Posted by: Shiloh

“Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen
and thinking what nobody has thought.”
~Albert Szent-Györgyi von Nagyrapolt~

Discovery is one of my favorite words–been thinking about making a list of ‘em, actually. If ya think about it, life is all about discovery. As babies, we discover shapes and colors, new sounds…our toes…among other things. (My six-month-old nephew Iain has been here with his mama and brother, Brogan, for close to three weeks–they left last night–and it’s been fun to see him at this stage. He’s discovered his feet and toes, making it amusing for me to watch as one foot or the other came into his line of vision. When it did he’d grab it in both pudgy lil hands and pull it to his open mouth. Pretty soon you’d hear sucking sounds coming from where he lay. He’s also learning how to crawl. Iain has barely discovered how to get on his hands and knees. He’s not completely balanced on them yet, but it won’t be long before he’ll be pulling himself up on all fours fairly regularly.)As we grow older we discover likes and dislikes, hobbies, strengths and weaknesses. We discover how to do more things on our own. We discover our environment and the Elements. Rarely is there or should there be a day when we’re not discovering something new or rediscovering something we’d forgotten. Discoveries are what make life interesting and exciting.

My favorite discoveries are of the Self, about things in Nature and science and finding new hobbies/talents–I guess these fall under the Self category. Oh well. I love learning new things. Sometimes more so than others if the discovery is a sobering one, like a weakness I would rather not have. One of my more recent discoveries involves this journal or blog. In setting this up I had to learn SSI code and how to write and insert an external stylesheet. They’re not too hard to do once you understand how to write the codes. And really, SSI has saved me steps and some frustration.

I have also learned that to beat a weakness, you can’t just ignore it, for it won’t go away on its own. It’ll still be there in the background, waiting to rear its ugly, embarrassing head, taunting you. You need to confront the weakness, yet be smart and strong enough to avoid the temptation it offers. *sigh* I almost fell into the trap of my gravest weakness yesterday, and had I not known the feelings it would bring after all was said and done, and not wanted to feel dark and the shameful guilt I would have given in to the urge. Thankfully, I was strong this time. I mentally shook my head and stepped back. I didn’t, wouldn’t, go there.

Discoveries in science and medicine are not only exciting, but they advance societies as well. Not to mention, they tell us about the world in which we live, about civilizations past and what the Earth was like thousands, even millions of years ago. The only thing that needs remembering in the pursuit of these discoveries are ethics. Where would we be without penacilin or the process of pasteurization? How would we connect with distant ancestors, or learn about animals, plants and peoples that’ve and who’ve died out if there were never such discoveries? Life would be a lot more basic, simple and boring.

So, look for a discovery or rediscovery each new day. You might be surprised to discover life isn’t so dull after all.

“Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: To explore strange new worlds. To seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no man has gone before.”
 ~Captain James T. Kirk, Star Trek~

Posted by: Shiloh

I remember the glorious blue sky and the feeling of disbelief that such a beautiful day could contain such overwhelming sorrow and tragedy.

I remember Pastor Bill talking about watching the second plane hit the tower and seeing it collapse as he stood with a handful of strangers on a cliff on this side of the Hudson River.

I remember the memorial service that week. Pastor Bill asked who was afraid and hands were raised–and he read Psalms of God’s protection. He asked who mourned, then walked among us praying. He asked whose faith had been shaken and brought us all into prayer. He asked who had been there–and embraced those who stood and wept.

I remember my “forever friend,” Mike, who heard the crash and saw the fire and who bought bottles of water and with his coworker washed the faces and eyes of those who were fleeing the cloud of dust and debris.

I remember seeing that cloud day after day every time I looked toward New York City.

I remember the stories told by people who came into the library that week and for months afterwards: the woman who lived on Boulevard East with curtains shut tight because she couldn’t bare to see the empty place in the skyline;The little Muslim boy with the soulful eyes who followed me around asking where he could buy a flag because he was frightened;the man who came a year later, a survivor’s armband on his shirtsleeve, and who longed to find the name of the fireman who had rescued him. I remember him searching the internet site, reading hundreds and hundreds of names–unable to stop, lips murmuring prayers, eyes glistening with tears.

I remember the prayers and the endless pictures on TV, I remember the fear and outrage, the yellow police tape cordoning off a public telephone in front of the library, where a suspicious phone call had been made, the loss of personal safety we all felt and the strangeness that, for those of us left, life would go on.

I remember that before I went to sleep that night I picked up the tiny Bible my father carried with him during WWII and began to read Psalm 27:

“The Lord is my light and my salvation–whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life–of whom shall I be afraid?”

by Anita Marie Moscoso

Inspired By The Soul Food Cafe Prompt

Flight of Imagination

http://www.dailywriting.net/imagery1.htm

It was only five doors down to her own house; a three minute walk on a well lit street on a quiet cold night last October.

But that didn’t matter because Damiana Dergmuse knew she was in trouble the minute that door shut behind her and she heard the tumblers in the lock grind together and lock.

With that sound that half block turned into miles and she was going to have to walk it all alone.

” There’s nothing to be afraid of, ” she told herself out loud. ” There’s nothing out here now that isn’t out here when the lights are on. “

Then she took a deep breath and it froze in her chest and she was about to run back into the house she had just come out of because that rah-rah speech she had just given herself wasn’t going to work.

In fact she was about to have a nervous breakdown right there on the street and how would that look?

It was settled she was turning back.

No.

She could do this, it was only five doors down and she’d be there in seconds, minutes if she could just put one foot in front of the other and move.

Then each of those steps would add up until she would be through her own front door and she would find herself in the safety of her own room and the cinnamon smell that always filled her house during the winter months.

Wouldn’t that be better then sitting in front of a neighbor’s fireplace, in a neighbor’s chair, petting a neighbor’s cat in a neighbor’s house?

Of course it would be better to be in her own home so Damiana started to walk and as she passed the first house she heard a thump, thump and then a drag and a hiss and she realized that was the sound of her own heart stopping and starting in her own chest.

” Stupid woman ” she told herself.

She put her hand to her heart and felt to make sure that it was still beating and when she felt it pound against her hand she started to walk again.

And almost hidden under the sounds of her own foot steps and rapid breathing she heard something sliding across the pavement behind her.

What she heard was a dragging sound, metal against concrete and as much as she wanted to stop and turn around to find out what could be making such an awful sound she couldn’t because now she was three doors down from her own home and in the horizon she could see a thin line of orange in the skyline.

Damiana was sure of one thing, that’s not the last thing she wanted to see on this Earth, so she walked a little faster and as she did the sky filled with crows, hundreds of them and they were flying east.

The sun was coming up, and the thin line got a little wider and Damiana could hardly breath and behind her the dragging sound got a little louder and a little heavier and she was determined that sound wouldn’t be the last thing she would hear in this life so she picked up her feet and ran.

The scraping sound got louder and she heard a whoosh and she flew up her stairs and to her door and she pushed it open and without turning around slammed it behind herself.

It was morning and the sun was coming through the windows and outside she could hear birds singing and with that sound ringing in her ears she ran faster up the stairs to the top floor of her house.

” Made it!” she cried with relief, ” I’ve made it!”

Then she laid down on her bed and said as she slammed her coffin lid shut over her head. ” There’s nothing out there to be afraid of…not now anyway.”

By Anita Marie Moscoso 

Inspired By The Alluvial Mine Project

” Duende “

http://www.outbackonline.net/Alluvial_Mining/Main_Mine_Duende.htm

Last night Kamcela Turnsole got a phone call from her neighbor whose name was Romey Setwall. ” Come over right away” her neighbor says.” My family is gone.”

Kamcela was glad Romey couldn’t see her; because it was obvious what was on Kamcela’s face wasn’t confusion or shock.

She closed her eyes and for the fist time in days Kamcela could take a deep breath and relax. ” I’m sorry to hear that Romey, do you know where they went?”

” They’re in the living room. “

Kamcela heard a click and then the line went dead and  then she dialed a single number and without being asked by the operator at the other end she said, ” My friend just hurt her family, please come.”

The phone fell from her hand and Kamcela left it on the floor where she dropped it and then she stepped over it and went out into the darkness to the house next door and it took a million hours to reach it.

That’s how it felt anyway.

It all started three days ago on a Sunday morning.

Kamcela was out on the Great Newspaper Hunt. It was a tradition that she and her paper carrier had. Her paper carrier blindly tossed the paper from her car window and Kamcela went out and walked the length of her yard and tried to find it.

Today wasn’t even sport, it was on the sidewalk, hanging off the curb and Kamcela wondered if the woman who brought the paper in the morning was parked around the corner just waiting for Kamcela to reach over so she could squash her under the wheels of her giant SUV when Kamcela heard a scream and she heard a door banging open and she saw her friend Romey running through the rose bushes that separated their yards.

” There’s a stranger in my house! Kamcela call the police!”

Then Romey’s door banged open again and Kamcela saw Sanford, Romey’s husband running through the rose bushes after her and he when he got to her yard didn’t even seem to notice Kamcela standing there in her t-shirt and socks with the newspaper clutched to chest.

Sanford grabbed Romey by her arm and spun her around and he stared hard down into her face.

But it was Kamcela he talked to.

” It’s okay Kamcela, she’s been having these night terrors and she doesn’t always wake up right away. She’s not herself right now.”

Romey pushed Sanford away and she didn’t scream, she didn’t yell …she looked up at him and growled, ” Get away from me. “

They both went back into their house together and after that things just got worse.

Kamcela saw Romey later that day at the grocery store. Her children were walking ahead of her down the cereal aisle and when Kamcela looked up and saw Romey looking at the back of her children’s heads she wanted to grab them away from their Mother and run.

As they walked towards each other Romey only slowed down long enough to tell Kamcela, ” It took my children too. “

On the second day Kamcela saw Romey standing out in her front yard wearing the same clothes from the day before, only they were wrinkled and her hair was unbrushed.

She walked around the Rose Bush Fence and into Romey’s yard and she stopped just a few feet away from Romey because she was scared.

Scared of that look on Romey’s face, scared of the way her voice sounded, scared of the way Romey’s foot was turned in.

Romey was standing on her ankle and didn’t seem to care.

“We went to Hidden Hills for a hike ” Romey told her. ” Sanford wanted to show the children that wall in the cave behind the waterfall with the petroglyphs. You know, the one with the drawings of those people with two faces.”

” And horns ” Kamcela said.

” And horns.” Romey agreed.

” Well, we go to leave and April and Kevin don’t want to leave. They’re looking at the pictures and when finally convince them to go April slips a little and I remember she looked down and the look on her face Kamcela…”

Kamcela waited and then she looked right into Romey’s eyes and Romey said, ” she looked down at her own feet and screamed. “

” She was hysterical and crying that her feet were gone. It didn’t make any sense and then she tried to walk towards us. She fell and hit her head and there was blood everywhere. Sanford grabbed her and ran out and I grabbed Kevin and Kamcela…he bit me.”

” His teeth Kamcela were…they were wrong, they weren’t Kevin’s.”

Kamcela wasn’t afraid of her friend’s story.

What scared her was the feeling that what she was hearing was the truth.

On the third day, the last day Kamcela say April and Kevin walking passed her house. They were pushing their bicycles instead of riding them and when Kamcela called out to them they let the bikes fall over onto their sides and they stood there with their messy hair and dirty clothes…and they smiled at her.

Kamcela came within a few feet of the children and then she stopped and for no reason at all she wanted to run, she wanted to scream, she would have dug a hole in the concrete with her bare hands to get away from those two…

and she had no idea why.

April and Kevin stood there with their shoulders turned and a little twisted and their legs not quite straight and they looked up at Kamcela with those dull blue eyes of theirs and waited.

No they watched her.

” How’s your Mom” Kamcela asked.

The children reached down and picked up their bikes and started to walk away and Kamcela reached out, even though she didn’t want to and she put her hand on April’s shoulder and bit down hard on her lips.

It was April, she told herself. She was there the afternoon April was born at Alderwood Hospital, she was helped Romey set up Kevin’s nursery.

It was April and Kevin she told herself as she watched them walk away…it was April and Kevin.

Who else could it be?

The door was open and the house was dark and Romey was sitting on the bottom of the stairs.

” What’d you do Romey.” Kamcela asked.

” I’ve been in this house for the three days with those things, those things that killed my husband and my children. Those hideous little monsters…they don’t even look human Kamcela. How could you leave me alone with them? How could anyone leave me with those things?”

” Where are they Romey? ” Kamcela asked and when Romey looked up at her Kamcela looked down and she saw Romey for the last time.

Romey turned her face away and when she looked back up Kamcela screamed and backed away.

Romey was gone, she was right there a few minutes ago and now she wasn’t there anymore.

Only her voice was the same, ” It takes you a little at a time Kamcela, it spreads through you like a virus. You can’t stop it, you can’t make it go away.”

” But it can make you go away, that’s what it does.”

Kamcela went back to her house after the police came and she closed all of her curtains when they came to take away the bodies of Romey’s husband and children.

She wasn’t sure what she believed, she wasn’t sure what she thought and when Kamcela pushed the hair away from her face to rub her tired eyes she snatched her hand back and held it up to the light.

There was something wrong with it…something was different.