Corner Bar Magazinecornerbarmagazine.com/pdfs/corner-bar-volume-05-issue-03.pdf · graduate of Christopher Newport University seeking to establish a literary portfolio with my speculative

Corner Bar MagazineVolume 5 Number 3

Page 1 — SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THE CAT by Robert P. Bishop. Mr. Bishop, aformer soldier and teacher, holds a Master’s degree Biology. He has worked in North andSouth America, Africa, and the Mid-East. His short-story fiction has appeared in The LiteraryHatchet, The Umbrella Factory Magazine, Commuterlit, Lunate Fiction, and Spelk. He lives inTucson, Arizona Page 6 — A SHRUNKEN STONE by Hareendran Kallinkeel. Mr. Kallinkeel lives in Kerala,India, after a stint of 15 years in a police organization and 5 years in the Special Forces. Hewrites fiction. Recent publications include: Pif Magazine, BlazeVox, New Reader Magazine, As

You Were: The Military Review, Reality Break Press, Palabras Journal, and Queen Mobs. His workswill appear in Djed Press, Bryant Literary Review, and Pennsylvania Literary Journal.Page 8 — PERSISTENT SORCERY by Charles Wall. Mr. Wall writes, “I am a librarian andgraduate of Christopher Newport University seeking to establish a literary portfolio with myspeculative fiction short stories. In my short stories I try to focus on aspects of the genre that Ifind interesting. In Persistent Sorcery, I take a different perspective on magic that I hope isrepresented in the story.”Page 18 — 1504 by Thomas Fitzgerald McCarthy. Mr. McCarthy is a licensed English HSteacher, a short story writer and a semi-professional poker player from New Jersey.Page 21 — FREEDOM by Shainur Ullah. Mr. Ullah writes, “My name is Shainur Ullah and Iam from England. I like writing short fictional horror stories on the creepypasta site(http://www.creepypasta.org/user/ullahshy). I also have a reddit account called Shortstory1with more horror short stories. My most popular horror stories online have gone “viral” –“Crunched Up Paper House,” “The Camera Man,” and “The Guys Behind Hollywood.” Theyhave also been narrated onto YouTube - check them out!

“Neal, something is wrong with thecat,” Mary said. “Look at him.” Neal didn’trespond to Mary’s comment but he did rat-tle the newspaper he was reading. “Neal,did you hear me?” Neal sighed and put the newspaper onthe table. “I heard you. You said somethingis wrong with the cat.” He picked up thenewspaper again, the sports section, andtried to find his place in the article he wasreading about the playoff chances of theSeattle Seahawks. “Yes, that is what I said. Something iswrong with KittyKat.” Mary sat on theother side of the table, facing Neal. Sheheld a cup of coffee in her hands. “He’s a cat, Mary. Cats are weird.There’s probably nothing wrong with him,”Neal said from behind the newspaper.“Other than being a cat,” he added. “Neal,” Mary protested. “Look at him.That isn’t normal.” Neal sighed again and put the newspa-per down. He recognized defeat when heencountered it. “What isn’t normal?” “He keeps licking himself. It is just toostrange for him to do that all the time.”Mary drained her coffee cup, got up,fetched the carafe and refilled both theircups. It was their morning routine; drinkthe carafe dry while Neal hid behind the

paper and Mary talked to him before get-ting on with their day. Neal picked up thepaper again. Mary returned to her chair. “Now youwatch, Neal, see if I’m right.” Neal put the paper on the table andfocused on KittyKat lying in the stream ofwarm air coming from under the front ofthe refrigerator, working methodically onhis luxurious black fur with his tongue.Neal sipped the hot coffee. “It’s how catskeep clean, Mary. When they lick them-selves, they shampoo and brush their fur atthe same time. It’s a natural thing for catsto do.” “Oh, gross!” yelped Mary whenKittyKat lifted his leg and started lickinghis balls. “Bad KittyKat,” Mary said, “bad, badKitty. Stop that!” When KittyKat didn’tstop, Mary cast reproachful eyes on Neal, asif he were to blame for the cat’s behavior.“He does that all the time now. It’s nasty.Make him stop.” “I can’t make him stop, Mary. Howwould I do that?” Neal laughed. “Besides, itprobably feels good. That’s why he does it.” “Don’t be disgusting,” huffed Mary. “Ithink KittyKat is overdoing it.” “By licking his balls?” “Yes,” shouted Mary. “That is what I

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“SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THE CAT”by ROBERT P. BISHOP

mean. Can’t you understand?” Neal shrugged. “I’m going to call the vet, see if he canexamine KittyKat this afternoon. I’m surethere must be something wrong with him,”Mary said. “The vet will figure it out.” At mention of the word vet, KittyKatlooked at Mary with the yellow eyes of anapex predator. He lay still as death, watch-ing her. When she remained in her chairhe started licking his balls again. “See, see?” Mary howled. “He’s doing itagain. Oh, oh, it’s so disgusting!” “He’s a cat, Mary. That’s what cats do,for crying out loud.” Neal picked up thenewspaper. Now his balls itched furiously.He put the newspaper down, stood up andraised his leg. He scratched. Mary watchedhim, her lips turned down in a frown. “For Pete’s sake, Neal, you’re as bad asthe cat.” She rolled her eyes. Neal leered at her. “What do youthink, maybe tonight when we go to bedyou can li...” Mary interrupted him. “Don’t you even start that,” she saidsharply. Neal sighed and picked up the newspa-per. He realized he spent a lot of time sigh-ing recently whenever he and Mary talked.KittyKat continued grooming himself infront of the refrigerator. “Lucky cat,” Nealmuttered from behind the newspaper.

“What did the vet say?” Neal askedwhen Mary came into the kitchen carryingthe metal cage with KittyKat in it. Marydidn’t answer him. She put the cage on thefloor, opened the door and waited for

KittyKat to come out. “The vet said there’s nothing wrongwith him, but I don’t believe it,” Mary saidand watched KittyKat head for the warmair flowing from under the refrigerator. Helay down and started licking his fur. “Poorlittle thing, just look at him. I think the vetshined me up. He didn’t spend much timeexamining KittyKat.” Neal poured two glasses of wine, hand-ed one to Mary. He peered at her over therim of his glass. “What are you going todo?” “I think KittyKat needs a bath.” “Cats hate water.” “Well, that’s just too bad.” She dranksome wine. “I’m sure he has fleas. Ormaybe dandruff.” “Who? The vet or KittyKat?” Neal emp-tied his glass and refilled it. Mary snorted. “Of course, I meanKittyKat. Why are you so obtuse all thetime?” She emptied her wine glass thenheld it out to Neal for a refill. “When are you going to do it?” Mary ignored him. She watchedKittyKat, sprawled in front of the refrigera-tor, still grooming himself. She drained herglass, held it out for more. Neal emptiedthe bottle into it. KittyKat lifted his leg andstarted licking his balls. “Oh, oh,”exclaimed Mary. “He’s doing that nastything again.” “Lucky cat,” Neal muttered. “You males are all alike,” complainedMary. “That is so, so... ugh.” She finishedthe wine, set the glass on the counter. “I’mgoing to run his bath now.”

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“That isn’t going to turn out well,”Neal cautioned. “I wouldn’t do it.” “Don’t be silly. It’s just a bath.” “I don’t want any part of it.” Nealsipped his wine. “Of course you don’t,” snapped Mary.She left the kitchen. Neal heard water run-ning in the bathroom. He finished hiswine, rinsed the glass, got out the bottle ofwhiskey and poured the glass full. He sat atthe kitchen table. “This is going to be interesting,” hesaid aloud and took a good hit of the fieryliquid. Mary returned to the kitchen. “I have awonderful surprise for you,” she cooed asshe picked up KittyKat. “You are such alucky KittyKat, oh yes you are,” she purred.“Mommy loves you sooooo much.”KittyKat stared at her with his yellow eyes. “Maybe I do want to watch this.” Nealfollowed them to the bathroom and stoodin the doorway. Mary held KittyKat to her bosom.“First you have to get good and wet, thenI’m going to give you such a marvelousshampoo,” she said, as if KittyKat couldunderstand her words. She knelt by theside of the tub and plunged KittyKat underthe water. “Ow, ow, ow,” Mary screamed asKittyKat scratched and bit her hands. Shereleased her grip on him. He shot to thesurface, screeching and splashing watereverywhere, his eyes wide and wild. Heclawed his way up her arms and onto herhead. Mary screamed as his claws dug intoher scalp. She jumped up and flailed at

KittyKat with her hands. He dug his clawsin deeper and screeched again. “Jesus Christ!” Neal shouted from thedoorway. He drank some whiskey. “Oh, oh!” screamed Mary. “Get himoff, get him off!” She spun around, slippedon the wet floor and fell down. Her headthumped against the floor tiles. KittyKatsprang into the air and raced out of thebathroom, leaving a trail of wet behindhim. Mary lay still, with her eyes rolled upso only the whites showed. “Jesus Christ!” Neal shouted againfrom the doorway. He drank some morewhiskey. Mary moaned. “Are you all right?” Neal asked. Hedrank more whiskey. Mary moaned again, blinked severaltimes, sat up and glared at him. “That didn’t go very well now, did it?”he observed and finished the whiskey. Sheheld out her hand. He took it and pulledher to her feet. Mary left the bathroomwithout saying a word to him. “Hunh,”Neal grunted. “I told you cats don’t likewater.” KittyKat remained under the sofa forthe rest of the afternoon. Neal and Marydidn’t mention the bath fiasco, but theydid empty the whiskey bottle. That helpedmake the day mellow.

In the evening Mary coaxed KittyKatfrom under the sofa by putting his favoritefood in his bowl by the refrigerator. Hecrept out and approached the food cau-tiously, his eyes glued on Mary. When she


tried to pet him, he spat and hissed at her,his back arched, fur standing on end. “At least his fur is dry,” she said andpulled her hands back. KittyKat ate the food then hid under

the sofa again. “I think he hates you,” Neal said. “Don’t be silly. He’s just a little upset.He’ll get over it.” “I don’t know,” Neal said. He was sit-


ting at the kitchen table, trying to finish aNew York Times crossword. “The old boywas eyeballing you pretty hard. He was giv-ing you the evil eye. You know, that stink-eye look he gets when he’s annoyed.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Neal, he’s a cat.What does he know?” Neal shrugged. “Cats are crafty.” Hewent back to the New York Times cross-word puzzle. “I’m going to take a couple of Valiumsand go to bed,” Mary said. “This whole dayhas been a disaster, just a horrible disaster.” “Hunh,” Neal snorted. KittyKat poked his head from underthe sofa and watched Mary leave the room.His pupils were long vertical slits, giving hiseyes a dangerous, reptilian look. Theylocked onto Mary and followed her like aradar beam. He retreated under the sofawhen Mary was no longer visible.

KittyKat crept from under the sofawhen the house became middle-of-the-nightstill and dark and padded down the hallwayto the bedroom where Mary and Neal weresleeping. Mary lay on her back, arms at hersides, mouth slightly open, in a deep sleepinduced by alcohol and tranquilizers. Neallay on his side with his back to her. KittyKat jumped up on the bed byMary’s feet and paused. When neither Nealnor Mary stirred, KittyKat crept up the bedand lay across Mary’s face. He dug his clawsinto the pillow on either side of her headand pulled his body down, pressing tightlyagainst her nose and mouth.

The medical examiner remainedbehind after his assistants had bagged Maryand taken her away. He and Neal stoodnear the front door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nerks,”the medical examiner said. “Sometimes aperson just stops breathing in the nightand doesn’t wake up.” “Do you think that is what happenedto Mary?” Neal asked. “Yes, I do. Of course, I’ll know moreafter the post-mortem, but it looks like shesimply stopped breathing, or experiencedcardiac arrest.” “Yes, I imagine so,” Neal said, wonder-ing how one experiences cardiac arrest.“Aren’t you supposed to survive in order tohave an experience?” he asked the medicalexaminer. The medical examiner left withoutanswering Neal’s question. He was alone inthe house, except for the cat lying in frontof the refrigerator, licking his fur. Nealpoured a cup of coffee and sat down at thekitchen table. KittyKat stopped grooming himself,raised his leg and started licking his balls.He paused and looked into Neal’s eyes. Neal laughed. “You don’t have to worryabout me,” he said to the cat. “I’m nevergiving you a bath.”. v


An aristocrat, in a chariot drawn by sev-eral horses, arrives at a crowded street cor-ner. Men and women, half-clad in dirty andtorn clothes, flock around vendors sellingtheir staple of rice, littered with tiny wormsand mites their malnourished eyes canhardly detect; or vegetables, shrunken anddrained of juices, like their shriveled souls. “Our city,” the aristocrat says. “Why isit devoid of beauty, any freshness to greetmy thirsting eyes?” His bard, following close-by on foot,pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath.“Your muse, she’s on vacation, as you mayremember. The townsfolk aren’t fore-warned.” She wipes the sweat drippingdown her chin, into her deep cleavage. “Alas, thou art a pleasure to my ears,thy voice sweet as honey, I’ve almost forgot-ten...” The aristocrat pauses as a suddengust of wind sweeps a cloud of dust ontohis face. He spits a lump of blood near thebard’s feet. “The wines you devour, oh lord, thelove you make, have begun to corrupt yourliver...” The bard’s song begins to soundlike a lament. “Behold, ye singer of praises,” the aris-tocrat speaks aloud, holding up his hand.“Here cometh she, the beauty I wish to bedrunk on, unto death.”

A woman, clad in a white sari, its tailwrapped across her shoulders, yet revealingthe fleshiness of her shapely breastsbeneath, enters the street, with two maid-ens flanking her sides. Her garment ratheraccentuates than conceals the contours ofher hips and thighs as she walks along thestreet with a dancer’s grace evident in herstrides. “So lustrous and illustrious, oh lord, Imust say,” the bard sings. “No praisesenough a tribute to this damsel that devas-tates.” The aristocrat picks up a bag that con-tains gold coins, kept by the side of hisseat, throws it at the woman’s feet. “For you to take,” he says. “A hundred,for spending some time with me...” Rain in the making announces itsarrival. Dark clouds swarm on the horizon.A bolt of thunder jerks the chariot’swheels. The woman, undaunted by the changein the climate, picks up the offering, holdsit aloft, as if weighing its worth. “Sorry, I’vealready given my time to someone else,” shesays. Wind lashes, a cold chill sweeps alongthe aristocrat’s face, carrying the stench ofthe rot from a nearby drain. The woman’s nose wrinkles, she wraps

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“A SHRUNKEN STONE”by HAREENDRAN KALLINKEEL

her arms around her chest, as her sari getsshifted a little when the gust gathersmomentum. The aristocrat takes out another bag,concealed beneath his seat, and throws ittowards her. “It’s a thousand,” he says. “Itshould be enough to buy anyone of yourkind.” He climbs down the chariot andapproaches her. The woman picks up the bag, examinesits hem, sewn with gold threads. “Nicedesign,” she says. “But, again, I’m sorry.The one to whom I’ve already given mytime, I can’t back away from my commit-ment.” She thrusts the bags toward him. “Not even for a thousand, and well, ahundred plus already?” “Sorry, no. It’s a matter of bonding,with the atman.” The rumbling of thunder shakes theearth. The aristocrat feels the tremorsbeneath his feet. “Atman?” he says. “Wherein hell can one find one?”

On the steps of the shrine, flanked byseveral younger priests of lesser significance,the chief priest stands. The woman touches the ground beforethe first on a flight of steps, brings herhand to her forehead, in a gesture ofrespect for her Lord. “How shameless can a woman be,” thechief priest says. “Entering a premise wherewhores like you have no purpose...” He pauses as a blast of wind splatterssheets of rain across his chest. “I’m here to visit Lord Nataraja, theking of dances, his linga; the divine phal-

lus.” She bows before the shrine. “Yes, divine,” the chief priest says, “nota place for dancers like you, whom thelandlords and aristocrats bed once you fin-ish your nrithya, the so-called dance.” Thundershowers, like an avalanche,keep crashing down from the sky. A torrentlashes across the temple’s courtyard, edgingover the shrine’s steps. “No priest can deny a true devotee herright to pray,” the woman says. The gushing water turns into tiny rip-ples that embrace the ash-smeared stonesalong the flight of steps. The voice of the aristocrat’s bardbooms in the chief priest’s ears. “Pave way,the lord is on the path.” The priest holds his palms together insalutation; the rampart built by his aides’bodies opens up. The aristocrat climbs thesteps to the shrine. The woman retreats, her Lord, hismighty phallus, stronger than ever, a cap-tive within her soul. The aristocrat bends before his God,chants the mantras he learned, closing hiseyes, as tradition dictated. As the thunderbolt’s cadence wears off,he opens his eyes. In the sanctum sanctorum, with therain’s anger, the thunder’s rumble, andlightning’s ferocity gone, the aristocratstands bewildered. He stares at the Lord’s phallus, shrunk-en, shriveled, and drained; the stone? v

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Meditation is not a luxury granted tothe hunted, but Millicent sat cross-leggedon the overturned tree trunk regardless.She meditated to forget her surroundings,but the rustling of branches nagged for hervexation. She wanted nothing more than towrite in her journal but cursed herself forslathering the last of the ink on her bracerearlier that day. When she opened her eyes and scowledaround the clearing, she found the shadowsof the forest had only moved by a couple ofinches. She closed her eyes again, fightingback sleep that beckoned to her with itstranquil tendrils wrapping around herthoughts. Every time it threatened to takehold, she snapped back to alertness,remembering her pursuers would makeshort work of her traps. The hunters were close. She could feelit in the same concretely intangible way shecould feel power coursing through herfingertips after casting a spell. She buriedeverything she didn’t need, she avoided themain roads, she never built a fire; anythingshe could do to keep the hunters off hertrail. Still they closed in on her with eachpassing day. Moments after she tried to fall backinto meditation, she heard a cry resonate inthe distance. She listened and it came

again, a terrified cry that sent chills downher spine. The sounds of the forest hadbecome all too familiar to her in the pastmonth and this sounded nothing like thecries of prey as nocturnal predators begantheir wakeful hours. This sound belongedto a person, not an animal. It crossed hermind that the sound could be bait to lureher into a trap. But after two months ofrunning, she had no desire to hide fromher hunters. As she stalked through thickets andbushes the cry changed into a scream.When she arrived at the source of thesound, she looked through the densebushes and saw a horse-drawn wagonstopped in the middle of a dirt path cuttingthrough the forest. An old man sat atop hishorse, shouting at a black wolf sitting inthe middle of the road. The beast ignoredthe old man’s protests and stared at himlike a furred gargoyle. The old man pulled on the reins andtold his horse to back up. Instead, it rearedup, knocking its rider to the ground with aloud thump. With its prey on equalfooting, the wolf advanced towards thefarmer. Each step it took made its muscularshoulder blades jut up like furredmountains. In the rising moonlight,Millicent could see the wolf’s glistening

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“PERSISTENT SORCERY”by CHARLES WALL

maw as it stalked closer to its next meal. Disappointed in her findings, sheturned back towards her clearing. She knewthat without her help the farmer’s bloodwould stain the wolf’s moon colored fangs.But there was no benefit from starving thewolf of its next meal, at least until she cameup with a purpose for him. It didn’t takeher long to come up with an idea. When itdid, a smirk graced her face for the firsttime in two months: a remnant of her oldself. Muscles showed under the wolf’s fur asit lunged at the farmer. The farmerscreamed and squeezed his eyes shut,bracing himself for the mountain of mangeto set upon him. As the wolf pounced, shedove between them. In a motion too fastfor the farmer to see, she swiped the fingersof her right hand against the bracer on herleft arm, coating them in a layer of blackink. Flecks of ink flew through the nightair, punching holes in the stream ofmoonlight coming from between thebranches. In a motion just as fast as herfirst, she traced a symbol on her palm withthe ink covered fingers. When the farmer opened his eyes hefound the wolf hovering midair, strugglingto break free from the invisible stringsholding it suspended. It snapped its teethat Millicent, blaming her for itsimprisonment. With a swipe of her hand,she sent the wolf soaring through the air.The beast landed several feet away andscampered deeper into the forest with itstail tucked between its legs. Millicent watched the wolf as it fled,

satisfied with her work. Out of the cornerof her eye, Millicent saw a figure movingtowards her. She whipped around with herfinger pressed against the palm of herhand, ready to sling a spell at whatevermight come at her. She turned to find not a beast but thefarmer coming towards her. When sheturned, the farmer let out another shoutand fell onto his rear. She tried not tolaugh but the hood and tail of her robeflapped in the wind with a sound likelaughter. “Please! Don’t hurt me!” “I wouldn’t think of it oldtimer.” Shesaid and offered her hand to him. He tookit and stood eye to eye with his savior. “Areyou okay?” “I think so. Thanks to you sorcerer.” “Please, call me Millicent. What is yourname?” “It’s James Tuttle. I’m in your debt.”He said with a peasant’s bow. “Under normal circumstances I wouldsay there is no debt, but these are notnormal circumstances. I need somethingfrom you.” The farmer’s donned a frown thatmade him look years, if not decades older.Millicent didn’t require sorcery to read histhoughts. ‘What do I have that a sorcererdoes not? What could a peasant like meknow that a sorcerer did not? What couldthey not learn from the thousands of tomesavailable to them at the Library?’ Despitehis appearance, the farmer bowed again.“Anything you ask.” Millicent was impressed; no coercion

Copyright 2020 Charles Wall 9 Corner Bar Magazine

necessary. “I need somewhere to stay for acouple of nights and then I will be on myway.” He hesitated. “My farm is over yonder.”And gestured towards the other directionof the path. Millicent shook her head. “That won’tdo. If my pursuers find me they will nothesitate to kill you and anyone else there.” James flinched at her words as if shehad stabbed him. “There is an abandonedcottage deeper in the woods. Townsfolk callit the Welshire house.” He hesitated,“Though I doubt it’s suitable for a sorcererof the Library.” “It’ll do.” She said and interruptedJames before he could protest. “I am nopampered ward of the Library. Two monthsago you may have been right. But life onthe road has a way of changing you.” Shethought, ‘But life on the run has a way ofchanging you’ would have closer to thetruth. “Aye.” “I will also need food, paper and inkfrom town. You mustn’t tell anyone youmet me or we will both be in danger. Bringthe supplies in three days. Understand?”She handed him a single gold coin, morethan enough to pay for the supplies sherequested. “I promise.” There was no convictionin James’s voice but Millicent said nothing.If she couldn’t trust him after she saved hislife, then she might as well have let the wolfslaughter the man. “Let us be off.” Millicent said andhopped on the back of the cart. James

climbed to the rider’s seat and took themdeeper into the forest, where the Welshirehouse waited in the dark.

Three days later, James found himselfstanding in front of the Welshire House.All James carried with him was a leatherbag with the supplies the sorcerer needed.For the past ten minutes he’d tried tomuster enough courage to knock at thedoor, but it stood over him like an ancientgolem. He held his breath and tapped hisknuckles against the rotting surface of thedoor. When no reply came, he said. “It’sJames Tuttle!” His fingers tightened aroundthe leather bag while he looked back at hisdonkey. He wished more than anything hecould ride away and forget this cursed placeever existed. He turned back to the door andwatched it swing open on its own. Hestood frozen, staring into the puncturewound of a door frame. An odor of decaystruck his nose, bludgeoning its way up hisnostrils and strangling his sinuses with itsstench. He stepped through the door tofind spiderwebs cluttering every corner. Inone of the webs James saw a beetleconvulsing in its silk prison while a fatspider stared at its victim with eightunblinking eyes. The door slammed shut behind himwhile he searched for Millicent in theshadows that blanketed the cottage.Without the light from the doorway, all hehad to guide him were the flickeringcandles placed on shelves and windowsills.

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In the dim light James saw black markingspainted on the floor and walls. Themarkings bent in sharp right angles thatstopped and started without completingany pattern. “Welcome.” Millicent said from behindhim. James reeled in surprise, turning tosee the sorcerer seated at a table in a darkcorner of the room. “I hope you don’tmind the mess. It feels good to have timeto research again, even if it is temporary.”Millicent said and lit a half-melted candle.“Do you have what I asked of you?” “Ink, paper, and provisions.” He saidand sat the bag of supplies down on thetable. “Very good. Keep the remainder of thecoin. Please, have a seat.” She said andunpacked the supplies from the bag. Jamestried to read her face, but what littleemotion he might have seen was lost in avignette of candlelight. Instead, he watchedher uncork the bottle of ink and pour itinto her hand. She then rubbed the ink onthe bracer on her left forearm, coating themetal surface with the glossy liquid. While she worked, James studied thesymbols on the floors and walls aroundhim. “Did you make these markings? Orwere they here before?” Without looking up from her arm shesaid, “I made them. They’re sigils orsupposed to be, at least.” A half-smilecurled on her lips. “I don’t expect you toknow what that means. Few sorcerers knowof their existence, fewer know how to usethem.” She paused. “How much do youknow about sorcery?”

“All I know is from the stories I’veheard from travelers. They say sorcerers usesymbols they paint to cast spells. But it’sbeen years since anyone I know has seen asorcerer in person.” “Correct. But there are two types ofsymbols. All sorcerers use spells.” Shelowered her right hand to her left wrist andslid her index finger across the length ofthe bracer, coating her fingertip in a layerof ink. Then she brought her finger to thepalm of her left hand and traced a roundcurving symbol. When she finished, the symbols glowedorange and a small flame appeared in thepalm of her hand. James watched with wideeyes as it drifted between her fingers,speeding up with each lap. “Spells like thisand the ones you saw the other night aresimple, fleeting.” She caught the flame inher hand and when she opened it again,the fire and symbols vanished. Again she painted ink across her handand she raised her palm to face James. Thistime a series of sharp angles covered herhand, similar but different from the onespainted on the cottage interior. “This is asigil. Few sorcerers besides the topLibrarians know of their existence. Sigilscan alter reality itself for as long as Ichoose.” The sigil glowed blue and shevanished without so much as a sound. James found himself alone, the silenceand darkness in the cottage pressing in onhim in every direction. “Come back!” Hesaid and in the next instant she reappearedin her seat. “Then what do these do?” He asked,

pointing towards the markings behind him. “They’re all incomplete versions of thesame sigil. With some adjustments itshould allow for teleportation. I was on theverge of a breakthrough before theLibrarians discovered my research and senttheir hunter after me. I’ve been on the runever since.” “I can’t believe met a sorcerer. I have somany questions I’d like to ask you.” But Millicent didn’t hear him. Her eyeswere distant, seeing something that Jamescouldn’t. They glowed with a pale purplelight that reminded James of the lightMillicent’s sigil emitted when she activatedit. “The hunter’s here.” He listened for evidence of someonemoving outside but only heard birdssinging. “It’s probably some kids pokingaround where they don’t belong.” “Stay here. If I don’t return soon, leavethrough the back and go home.” She said. Without another word, she stepped outof the cottage into the evening sunlight.Squirrels scurried through the overgrowthof grass as she stepped out into the yard. Abreeze swept through the clearing,fluttering her cloak and making thebuilding behind her creak. “Come out. Or I’ll topple those treeson top of you.” She said. A man stepped out from theunderstory. He wore light armor thatcovered his forearms, shoulders, and chest.The parts not covered by armor hid behinddark green cloth, including gloves and ahigh collar. A mask made from the samesteel as his armor covered his face. It bore

no expression, with lips and a nose thatwould look at home on a dead man. Theman’s eyes glared through slits in the mask,making up for all the emotion the masklacked. More important than his clothingwas the weapons the man carried. On eachhip, a sword rested in it sheath. “You’re no sorcerer. Who are you?” Behind the mask, the hunter’s eyestwitched with uncontained anger. Shecould feel his hate channeling through themask like sunlight through a looking glass.“The Librarians call me Costel or just‘hunter’.” “If you don’t put your weapons on theground and leave this will be your lasthunt. I won’t show you mercy, even if youcan’t use sorcery.” “I do not expect your mercy, for I’llshow you none.” He took a step towards her and beforehis foot could touch the ground, a beam oflight streaked across the clearing. Thehunter lunged sideways seconds before theground next to him exploded. Millicent slung another spell andaimed it at the hunter’s chest. He slidacross the ground as the beam passedoverhead. Although the beam missed, theresulting shockwave rippled through thehunter’s body and sent him flying. Theblast was strong enough to topple severaltrees which crashed to the ground with agroan. A cloud of dirt spread throughoutthe clearing, concealing the hunter. The spells should have been enough todispatch the hunter but she didn’t want totake any chances. She stared into the dust


cloud with her fingers covered in ink, readyto cast a spell at a moment’s notice.Something moved from within the cloudand an instant later Costel came at her atfull speed. Dirt and debris covered hisarmor but he still managed to dodge andweave between her spells. His blades swiped at her chest andarms, each slash cutting closer and closer.The next spell Millicent cast bathed herhand in a dark orange glow. With the samehand, she grabbed the blade without itcutting into her. Millicent twisted her wristand sent the sword flying across theclearing with a clang. Costel withdrew his second blade andswung at her. There was no time to castanother spell before the sword connectedwith the gauntlet on her left forearm. Painexploded through her arm, but she refusedto let it stop her. She painted a spell on herright hand and pushed it into Costel’sstomach. Fire burned between herfingertips and smoke drifted up fromCostel’s abdomen as the blade fell from hishand. With the hunter disarmed, Millicentreadied to deliver the finishing blow. Beforeshe could cast the spell, Costel’s handwrapped around her throat and lifted heroff of her feet. She gasped and reached upto pry the fingers from around her neck. Millicent looked down at the hole shepunched in Costel’s abdomen and sawflakes of charred flesh falling away to showthreads of healthy tissue closing the wound.After several seconds the gap closed and atattoo began to form on the fresh skin. Her

skin went pale when she saw how thetattoo twisted in sharp right angles andknew it was a sigil. Her fingers dropped away from thehand around her throat and she used thelittle amount of ink left on her fingertips tocast a spell that flung her from Costel’sgrip. Air rushed back into her lungsmaking it easier to think. She knew shehad no choice but to run. She painted aspell on her palm that released a cloud ofsmoke, allowing her to escape into thewoods. Roots and weeds lashed at her as shestumbled through the unfamiliar forest.Behind her the hunter followed in hertracks. As Millicent ran, she slung spells inhis direction. Trees came crashing downaround Costel but he didn’t miss a step.She fled until she came to a dirt road atthe edge of the forest. Further down theroad Millicent saw a broken wagonstanding tilted on three wheels. Millicent tripped as she crossed theroad, cutting her elbows on the dry dirt.With the hunter close behind, she crawledbehind the wagon, hoping it would give herenough time to regain her footing. Thehunter slowed when he saw Millicent crawlto the other side of the wagon, knowingthat he had her trapped. He steppedaround the side of the carriage in time tosee Millicent scrabbling to her feet. “Enough running!” He said with a stepforward and noticed the ink dripping fromMillicent’s fingers. He looked down andsaw a circle of spells surrounding him. Heopened his mouth to shout but a white orb


of light surged up from under him tovaporize the words from his throat. Thespells glowed with white-hot energy thatexpanded within the circle to form a dome,disintegrating everything it touched. When the orb reached its apex itconsumed every trace of the hunter in awhite void. After a moment, the orbflickered out of existence with a pop of air.Other than the smooth crater in theground, there was no sign that Costel orthe spells ever existed. Millicent exhaled.She wiped off her hands on her robe andbegan tending to her injuries. Althoughpain flared through her body, she couldn’thelp but smirk in satisfaction. A sound like crackling firewood madeher turn back to the crater. In front of it,she saw specs of ash floating in the aircollect together in shapes as they scorchedinto existence. Millicent’s heart stopped.She counted six of them. Together theyformed a rough pentagram with sigil in themiddle. The particles solidified into black sigilsthat conformed around a body that was yetto exist. The smell of bone meal filled theair as bones snapped into place, somefloating in the air before connecting withothers. Ribs aligned themselves on theskeleton’s chest while vertebra linked intoplace along its spine. Above it all, agrinning skull molded together and turnedto glare at Millicent with hollow sockets. For the first time in her life Millicentwanted to scream but found she couldn’t.When she tried to look away she found herbody paralyzed by terror. Her skin crawled

at the sound of bone grinding against boneas ligaments formed. Muscles gatheredaround bones, each fiber weaving withanother as if the flesh were cloth on aloom. A heart and lungs expanded fromknobs of flesh, bulging until they filled theempty chest cavity. Millicent flinched as arms wrappedaround her and lifted her to her feet. Sheclawed at them until she realized it wasJames pulling her away from Costel. “Canyou move?” He asked. She nodded. With a few strokes of herfingers, she cast a spell that created twochunks of ice around Costel’s feet. “Wehave to get back to the house. Now.”Millicent said. James nodded and led her back to theedge of the forest. Before they disappearedinto the treeline Millicent turned back tolook at Costel. His body had nearlyfinished rebuilding, revealing theuninterrupted network of tattoos across hispale skin.

When they returned to the cottageMillicent fell to her knees and beganworking on the sigils on the floor. “Youhave to go!” James said. “There is no time!Leave now while you still have a chance tolose him.” Millicent refused to look away from herwork. “This is the only way.” James wantedto argue with her, but knew it was no use. James heard a rustling sound fromoutside and moments later, the cottage’sfront door slammed open. He didn’t havetime to react before he felt a knife pressed


against his neck. Millicent ignored thehunter’s intrusion and continued scribblingat the sigils while Costel pulled Jamestowards him. “Don’t move old man. This blademight be blunt, but it’ll get the job done.”Costel hissed, pressing a knife againstJames’s neck hard enough to draw blood.“And we both know it won’t be pretty.” Hesaid through a grin full of hate. Jamesswallowed and felt his Adam’s apple bobagainst the rusted metal. “Sorcerer. Removeyour gauntlet and come here.” She stood up, her back still turned toboth of the men. She winced and loosenedthe straps that kept the gauntlet tightagainst her arm. Then she turned aroundto toss it towards Costel. With her armbare James could see a gash oozing blooddown her forearm. “Don’t do it Millicent!” He said, butshe took a step towards them, her hands inthe air. With Costel focused on Millicent,James took his chance. He drove his elbowinto Costel’s stomach in one strike. Thehunter doubled over and let go of James. Inthat instant, Millicent pushed Jamestowards the door. He landed on the groundaway from them and looked up to seeMillicent grappling with Costel. She wrapped one arm around Costel’sneck and dragged him to the ground.While they struggled, the sigils beneaththem glowed. Instead of landing on thewooden floor, Costel and Millicent sankinto the floorboards, sending ripples outaround them. They sunk deeper until both

disappeared and the floor returned tonormal.

Millicent opened her eyes to see anocean stretching out across the horizon.Waves crashed against the shore withmaddening tranquility. She stood up onlyto lose her footing and teeter at the edge ofa cliff overlooking the ocean. She regainedher balance and fell to the ground muchlike James had when he first saw her. Her mind relaxed only for a momentbefore she realized she was not out ofharm’s way just yet. Millicent scanned theline of trees farther inland and checkedbehind boulders but found no trace ofCostel. He could be hiding anywhere,waiting for the perfect opportunity tostrike. But she couldn’t waste time looking forthe hunter. She had to get back to theWelshire house, this time without bringingCostel with her. It would be simple enoughto create a partner for the sigil back at theWelshire house, countless miles away. Shealready had a design in mind and couldhave the sigil painted within minutes. Shereached down for her bracer but instead ofcool metal pressing against her fingertips,she felt warm blood gushing out of thegash along her forearm. Pain swelledthrough her arm, but it wasn’t without areward. With her fingers coated in her ownblood, she began tracing her fingers acrossthe stone beneath her. The ocean breeze howled in her ears asshe worked, it ruffled her clothes anddisheveled her hair but she ignored it in


her fierce focus. When the wind finallydied down, a sound came that made herheart stop. Stone pebbles crackled and sheheard labored breathing so quiet that shecouldn’t be sure that it was real. Shestopped to listen and heard the soundagain. This time she determined it camefrom beyond the cliff overlooking theocean. She peered over the edge and sawCostel’s grimacing face look back at herseveral yards down the cliff. Costel bared his teeth as his fingersclutched the rocks sticking out from thecliff. Deep cuts and punctures covered hisbody but the sigils were hard at workrepairing his wounds. At the bottom of thecliff Millicent saw dozens of pointed rockssticking out from the ocean like standingneedles. Costel was already halfway up thecliff and only moved faster when he andMillicent locked eyes. Half panicked,Millicent scrambled back to her sigil. She was almost finished when shelooked up to see one hand and thenanother reach over the edge of the cliff.Muscle memory made her reach for hergauntlet but instead of ink, she covered herfingers in more blood. She cursed and usedthat blood to start a new symbol. Millicent could hear Costel’s bare feettapping against the stone as he limpedtowards her, chunks of flesh still missingwhere the pointed rocks pierced him.Millicent painted the new spell in fourmotions to create a wall of fire that blockedCostel’s path. The hunter hesitated at theheat of the flames but when he saw thesigil was close to finished, he took a step

forward even as the flames scorched hislegs. Millicent dragged her fingers across theground a last time and the sigil began toglow. She dove into it without looking atCostel. The flames burning all around himextinguished but the pain of his charredflesh flaking off remained. He approachedthe spot where Millicent disappeared tofind the blood used to create it now drying.Costel pushed his hands against it andscreamed but the sigil did respond.

James moved away as the floor besidehim shimmered and Millicent tumbledthrough covered in sweat. She turned backat the floor, expecting Costel to appear infront of her. Long seconds passed beforeshe peeled her eyes away from the bloodsigil’s partner. “I need to get out of this damnedplace.” Millicent said and snatched hercasting gauntlet up off the floor. Jamesfollowed after her, not wanting to stay inthe cottage a second longer than heneeded. He found Millicent outside,looking at her gauntlet as if it had beenyears since she had last seen it. Shestrapped it on, wincing in pain as ittightened around her wounded arm. Millicent reached in her pouch andtook out a scroll. She unfurled it andswiped her fingers across the bracer.Instead of the blinding speed she used topaint spells when he first met her, now herstrokes were like an artist taking their firstbrushes at a blank canvas. When she finished, she handed the


scroll to James. “What does it do?” Heasked her. “I did the best I could. I sent him veryfar away. I don’t think he’ll ever come back.But if you ever need my aid, for anything atall, just open that scroll and I will return.”She paused. “It doesn’t feel like enough forthe help you have given but it is all I canoffer.” “Thank you.” He said, holding thescroll in his hand as if it were an artifacthanded down by his family for generations. Millicent nodded, but said nothing.She didn’t bother with a goodbye. For thefirst time in her life, she was free of the

Library’s oppression. Free to do as she likednow that she defeated their unkillablehunter. But her thoughts kept returning toher once captors and how one day shemight return to them, to teach them thelessons their hunter taught her. v


They found the monster hiding in theonly orange tree left standing. A flash flood had destroyed most ofthe grove. Nick Marsh was the first to layhis eyes on the wreckage. Tim Craigs andSarah Tucker held their breath. Nickbegan to weep and hurled his rifle into thesand with a dull plush. Shaken with help-less fury, he stood at the top of the sanddrift and cursed toward the dry thunder-heads recoiling southward. A fierce after-noon sun smoldered down over them, bak-ing the dusty desert. It burned so brightlythat even the moon came out to watch, farabove the horizon. The moon doesn’t belong there, Timthought distantly. He already knew what was waiting forthem on the other side. Where a oncethriving farm had once stood, only darkrivulets of caked mud remained, carving upthe valley like the ugly, varicose veins of adrug addict. Forests of stunted cacti andsalt flats were laid bare to the white rockbeneath, like the bones of a dried cadaver. Oranges were scattered everywhere,crushed and split open. The adobe wallssurrounding the grove were mostly rubble.The splintered pole of a cottonwood treewas jutting through the south wall like abattering ram. A few cacti and juniper

plants were strewn about the ruins, half-swallowed by the mercurial silt. Tim thought that he should say some-thing comforting, maybe something aboutthe reliability of their food stores.Replanting trees wasn’t the same thing asreplanting ruined corn stalks. It wouldtake twenty years to rebuild all of this.Beside him, Sarah Ward was crying. Thiswas their largest farm. Nearly a full thirdof their harvest was gone, and half theorange trees were unsalvageable for futureharvests. Nick Marsh was still panting, hiseyes wide and filmy with unfocused rage asthey drank in the scene. It felt like an act of God. The colonywould be devastated. Before Tim could say anything, Nicksnatched up his rifle and swiftly descendedthe sand drift. Something had caught hiseye. Tim and Sarah clambered down afterhim, carefully picking their way throughthe jumble of boughs and severed stumps. Tim froze in mid-step as he caughtsight of the Gaborl. It was perched in an orphaned tree atthe peak of the north rise. The creature’sshape was unmistakable, blotted against thespiderweb of orange-laden branches like agangly knot in a tangle of wires. The treeprovided pitiful shade. It was dark green

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and amphibian-like. Its eyes were as big asgoose eggs and as black as oil. It was hair-less and ribboned with muscles. Four hugefangs as large as butcher’s knives weresheathed behind its thick gums. Tim’s father had shown him a terrify-ing cartoon film called The Hobbit when hewas a boy. There were these foul creaturescalled goblins that lived in dark cavernsand had disproportionately large mouthsbig enough to swallow a goat. Tim didn’tknow where the name Gaborl had originat-ed, but it started with a ‘G’ too, so maybe itwas related. Was the Hobbit based on a true story?

Tim wondered. “How did it get here?” Sarah demand-ed. Gaborl were nocturnal amphibians.The sun blistered them, but didn’t killthem outright unless they were subjected tolong term exposure—a form of executionstill popular among some in the colony forcaptured Gaborl. Sunlight didn’t turnthem into pillars of salt or clouds of ash,like the vampires from those old pulp fic-tion stories. But it caused them excruciat-ing pain. “The flood,” Tim mumbled, saluting tokeep the sun off his face. “Some river,somewhere.” Above them, the moon floated aimless-ly across the sky, like a drunken actor lin-gering onstage after the curtain had fallen. The first Gaborl had been discoveredin an extensive subterranean system inIndonesia at the beginning of the twenty-first century, geographically isolated for mil-

lions of years. Small domes grew on theirskin, like great blisters, isolating the deadlydiseases that their immune systems hadfailed to purge. When the first creaturestepped out into the sunlight and its skinsplit open, all of the horrid little monstersthat they had been keeping prisoner for solong swept the globe, eradicating humancivilization with the same relentless profi-ciency as smallpox flattening the Native-Americans. Overhead, the moon continued tobrave the blue infinity, drifting closer to thesun, as if angling for a fight. Who understood such things anymore,though? For nearly ten years, members ofthe Colony had regarded a film called TheMatrix as a historical docudrama. “It’s all your fault!” Nick screamedmadly at the silent creature. “The wars—the plagues—the flood—everything!” Marsh raised his rifle and shot off thenubs of a few branches. He seemed to missintentionally. Maybe to frighten the thing,toy with it. Behind them, Tim heard therest of the group arrive, a hush falling overthem as they surveyed the carnage. Slowly,one by one, the monster’s presence seemedto incense them, like a rapidly spreadingwildfire. The creature shivered, either in painfrom the unrelenting sun, or fear of whatwould become of it as the human mobbegan to mass beneath the tree. “Torches!” Someone yelled, and surelyenough there were torches. “We shouldn’t—” Tim murmured. Butno one listened. They were angry. They


wanted blood. The creature’s presenceseemed predetermined. A gift from thegods. A sacrifice to sate their bloodlust.The thing might as well have fallen out ofthe sky, because that’s exactly where it wasgoing. Tim didn’t fear the Gaborl so much.They were lethal, but only when provoked,and mostly when confused. They were likegreat white sharks. They only attackedwhen they were backed into a corner, ormistook humans for fat deer. Several years back, a playful sergeantnamed Todd Longmore had wandered outof the colony’s barracks on Christmas Eve,drunk and wearing a beer helmet with rein-deer antler’s tapered to them, and hadbeen carried off by several of the creatures. They set the torches to the base of thetree, but it didn’t burn, the bark still dampfrom the night before. So they fired off afew more shots and hooted menacingly.Tim wanted to say something... Darkness suddenly fell across thedesert. Dumbfounded, he glanced up intothe heavens. Something had abruptlymoved in front of the sun, directly center-ing itself over the star’s white-hot corona. His thoughts suddenly drifted to a doc-umentary that he’d watched on the HistoryChannel as a boy. A man from some dis-tant continent called Europe landed on anisland named Jamaica, seeking spices andnatural resources. The natives were dis-trustful, regarding the sea captain withunnatural white skin at the point of aspear. Until finally, this man—Tim believedthat his name was Columbus—turned their

attention toward the sky and predicted alunar eclipse to enthrall them with hispower. With tremendous awe, theywatched as the moon slid into the daylight,slowly snuffing it out. Humbled by the ful-filled prophecy, the tribes began to listen. When he looked again, Tim found thatthe sun was a black hole scalloped in a ringof liquid gold. Columbus was said to have smirkedwhen it happened, extending his hand infriendship to a local chieftain. There was a fierce, inhuman caterwaul,followed by a sharp crash. Someonescreamed. Gunshots glanced off tree bark.More screams. Bodies hit the wet groundwith sickening thuds. Before Tim couldthink to move, blood sprayed the left halfof his face. Hot breath plumed over theback of his neck. The New World. March 2074. March1504. v


Ed. Note: Gentle reader, welcome to thefirst episode of the serialized short novelFreedom. In this story, alien beings feedand survive off the freedoms of humans,who can only combat them by restrictingtheir own rights, even to the point of slav-ery. Enjoy....

Episode 1

Awake, I rubbed my eyes, it had not yetdawned, the sun was held by the gloom, atthat moment I remembered getting off mybed. I went down the stairs ready to askfor help to drink some water, but I had thefeeling that I should not scream, or at leastthat's what I remember; I walk down a bighall, then I see her, my grandmother, theone my parents had said I would never seeagain. Trying to offer me through an exagger-ated gesture the desired liquid, but alsospeaking to me of freedom and to accompa-ny it, extending a hand, I felt sleepy and myreflexes forced me to take it, I felt a strongsqueeze in my stomach and as if flying awayquickly away from the room in which ourreunion happened; I heard screaming, cry-ing and I felt very confused. That night Islept in my parents' bed, I was four yearsold when I saw them for the first time, not

in the way they are really, but in the friend-liest way they could find, my grandmotherhad died only a few months ago, and atthis moment I realized that I did not under-stand, and her first attempt to take me wasalmost successful. It would not be the first time I wouldsee them, there were many more attempts,all unsuccessful, what worried my parentsmost was the frequency with which theyhappened, and every year that passed I wasbecoming more aware of everything thatwas happening, not I could understandwhy they called me and wanted me on theirside. I confess that at first I was quite scaredby the possibilities of never seeing my fami-ly again, or that these beings hurt them, Itold my parents, one night my motherentered the room, I had noticed all theworry that I had been around for a longtime, and as a self-sacrificing mother, I hadto find the way in which I felt protected.My mother sat on the bed and said, "youshould not fear, we will always be by yourside taking care of you." "Mom, why dothey want me? There are a lot of children inthe world, why are they still chasing me?” Isaid between sobs. “You are a very, veryspecial child, they seek to have that wonder-ful mind inside that little head, but

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nobody, not even you should allow it," andat that moment my mother took an objectout of her pocket. She opened her handover mine and gave me a medallion, shetold me that it had belonged to her grand-father, and also to his father, the use of thisobject had given him great value, and thatwhile he was wearing it, he would never beafraid. The medallion was of a very rarematerial, I do not remember what nameshe said to describe it, she promised to takeit always hidden, because it was valuableand maybe there was a danger that some-one would steal it from me. From that day Ihave hidden it in my pocket, somehow Ithought that this would give me thecourage to face them, but sometimes Icould feel that their presence called me. One day I told my parents that I wasattracted by the company of these beingswhom I knew at that time as "beingsbeyond the earth", it was something unusu-al for many people the presence of theseentities, some people in the town said thata couple of similar cases had occurred inregions thousands of kilometers away, andthat in many cases these beings had gottentheir way, had managed to take many ofour own, my parents were disturbed by thefact that only they had taken people whohad a good economic status, like us, wenever heard of an incident with the slaves,no person who was in the service of anoth-er; We still had very little information atthe time, but we hoped that there was someway to prevent them from contacting me. One day I heard a person close to ourfamily talk about that another appearance

of these beings had been reported, in atown quite close to ours, I hid behind somefurniture to hear this conversation, thetruth is that this topic interested me Toomuch, I could say that I even obsessed, andalthough sometimes I was very afraid, whenthese beings came to meet me I had a feel-ing of familiarity, the truth had the desireto take his hand and go on a trip withthem, as unknown, to nothing, or whateveris beyond. "The official figures are of three peoplewho have disappeared into the hands ofthese beings, the truth is that no oneknows where they are going, or what hap-pens next, there was a family that thoughtthey saw their son in a nearby park, theysay that He has gone completely " John, myfather's friend, told him this and he paidgreat attention to all the details, it was clearthat my father wanted to get these beingsaway from me. After that night several months passedbefore a new attempt arose, it happened inthe patio of my house, a child approachedme, said he was lost, he wanted a little com-pany, I asked him about his parents and hetold me that they let him take walks alone,that he was free to do whatever he wanted;When he started talking about this, I had astrange sensation in the body, I knew it wasanother entity, I could not understand whyhe did not react the way the frienddescribed the other people, he said thatthey almost immediately accepted the deal ,because they always found the most attrac-tive way to convince their victims. My parents almost never left me alone,

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but there were times when this wasinevitable, that day dad left early and momwas taking a bath so I decided to go outinto the yard, and now I was in this situa-tion, my father told me yesterday,“Whatever the offer these beings show you,any promise they make to you, any questionthey have for you, you should always say no,promise it," to which I replied, “I will neveraccept anything from them." My parentstaught me that promises cannot be broken,so I should always say no. The boy began to tell me that his par-ents let him eat sweets every time he want-ed, that he could go home at the time hewanted, and many more, that he was alwayshappy and satisfied, that his life was won-derful and that your parents would like tooffer this opportunity to other people. Iplayed in silence for a few more minutes, Iheard a strangled cry, my mother was petri-fied at the door, I turned to look at herand when I looked back at the child, thiswas a monstrous looking creature, reallydisgusting, I took courage (although I couldlisten to the beating of my heart very loudlyin my ears), without stopping looking athim I said firmly, “no thank you, at homeI am happy," and ran into my mother'sarms. She locked the door, pressed mehard against her chest and cried until Dadcame home; he found us on the floor ofthe room and he knew exactly what hadhappened. That night I slept with my par-ents and talked about a trip, apparently myfather would go with the authorities of thenearest town to know the details of the lastcase, they just wanted to protect me.

The next day my father left, they decid-ed that they would keep an eye on methroughout the day, my mother agreed andpromised to take care of me day and night,and that's how it was. He appointed severalof our slaves to be with me at all times, andthey would notify immediately when some-thing happened, they had a fairly strictschedule and they would keep watch atnight. As we were a wealthy family, there weremany slaves who could cover all areas of thehouse so that I would never be alone. Ittook a couple of days for Papa to return,and he did not return at all animated, hesat me and my mother in the main roomand told us, "they do not know what this isall about, nor where the creatures comefrom, much less how fight them." My moth-er was sad, but determined to do every-thing in her power to prevent these crea-tures from taking me away from her arms, Iwas her only son. "Jacob is safe, he is guarded all day,nothing and no one can enter his roomwithout being seen," said my mother look-ing into my father's eyes. I went to bedshortly after my father arrived, I was tired, Iwas not afraid anymore, I just did not wantto see my mom and dad sad anymore. So the years went by, I grew up withoutseeing more of the mysterious beings whopersecuted me so much when I was just achild, now being an adult I was more awareof everything that had happened, and sud-denly I was interested in asking a littlemore about the past events, however, to myparents this did not seem like a good idea,

Copyright 2020 Shainur Ullah Corner Bar Magazine23

they did not want to remove the memoriesof a time when they could not even restwell with the idea that at any moment theycould lose their son, a stage in which peacehad abandoned their lives, and worry andstress was what abounded in our home. Every time I approached them lookingfor information about what had happenedto me, they only changed the subject. Iknow that my questions did them a lot ofdamage, but I wanted to know what hap-pened, and I also wanted to know if Iwould visit the entity that wanted to accom-pany him. One day I was in one of our lands,watched our slaves, saw how they workedthe land, the foremen were even more cruelwhen my father or I were close, maybe hethought that this way he could show thathe was doing a good job, the truth is Thatdid not interest me, I only care about theresults, I liked that the family business wasquite productive. Things in the nation were changingcontinuously, slavery was popular, but not anorm, not even in the homes of wealthierfamilies like mine, in the environmentthere was a much freer air. I remember thatthe prohibitions regarding the treatmentgiven to workers were at first somewhatinsignificant for a master like me, for exam-ple, to reduce one hour of work for all. I never considered myself a very strictmaster, nor very kind, but I must confessthat at first I did not think that this wouldaffect the way we handled those peopleunder our orders, however, little by little,this process would change the way we saw

life and also the lives of the slaves. My family and I tried to adapt to all thechanges that arose daily in the nation, butthey were already somewhat old, that is,they spent a great part of their lives takingcare of me incessantly so that no one couldharm me. Their hard work had aged theirbodies, and also their vital energy, theywere also slaves in a certain sense, myslaves, because every step I took had to besupervised, they always had to take care ofme, they could not do anything else. Inever understood why we were the onlyfamily of that place which was persecutedby these beings, that is, I never heard ofanything like it, everywhere I went was the"weird" or the "phenomenon", when I wassad cause of any rejection, I could feel that"they" would come for me, however, mymother and father always knew how tocheer me up, then that sensation wasimmediately removed, it was me again. In adulthood I understood that I wasalways strong enough in spirit, that is, whatchild would reject a house full of sweets orbetter yet, play without stopping, live with-out rules, be free to do what you want;However none of this was enough to con-vince me, for this reason I always felt strongand secure, practically invincible, I was surethat if at this moment these beings visitedme, surely they would take a good scare,that is, I would dare to fight them withoutfear. It seems that "they" heard thatthought, because I did not have to waitlong to feel their presence again. Sometime later, really significantchanges were presented to all the slave own-


ers, certain laws had been passed whichindicated that having "slaves" was not con-sidered as ideal, that these should be treat-ed as a kind of "workers", what a surprisefor my parents, it seemed an abominationto them what was happening, as I saidbefore, they were old, it was not easy forthem to adapt to the changes, I think Ialways agreed with what was now dictated,but I definitely did not want to admit it. Soon, my slaves became my workers,they would have to do the hard work, inexchange for a salary, it was not long afterthis for the beings to make a new visit. Hewas witnessed by a small group, a family of"workers". They say that one of his ances-tors approached one of his children, andtold him that he would not have to workanymore, and the boy simply touched thisfigure and died in front of his family's eyes.I knew the little one, he was a good boy,curious and hardworking, it was an unex-pected and sad news. Days later I saw the boy walking infront of the patio of the house, I went outto make sure my eyes were not deceivingme, then he turned around and stared atme. "Jacob, come with me, this place iswonderful, you will like it." I knew that Itried them, they would never leave mealone, I had to find answers, I did notknow who would give them, or how tostart, but I knew that at some point myfather would have to give me details aboutthe places he visited during the time hehad lasted the visits of the beings to ourhome. That night I decided to speak with my

father again, and I decided that I wouldnot retire without some explanation, someindication that I might have about theseevents, so after dinner I decided to go upto his bedroom and demand an answer,after all it was me who was disturbing allthis mysteries, so I think that at least someinformation was necessary to understandmuch of what had happened to us andwhat was still happening. I approached my father, who this timehad a different face, surely one of our work-ers saw the scene in which the childapproached me to offer me again the free-dom to be with them. My father had tiredeyes, my mother, who had stayed in theroom too, this seems to have cried at thenew appearance of these beings, surely thistouched something inside her, somethinghe thought he had forgotten. I demandedexplanations from my father, who told methat he traveled to the town closest to us,where these beings had completed theirtask and had taken a child they had beenchasing for a few weeks. That day he cameto the town and spoke with the authorities,at the beginning there was a time when theofficers did not want to attend him, howev-er he insisted and told them that he wasgoing through a similar situation, the per-sonnel designated for the case treated himmuch better, and they even asked for moredetails about what was happening to me atthat moment. They told her that a few weeks ago thefamily tried to seek help from the authori-ties, since they were living something verystrange, her eldest daughter, who had


already been deceased for several years, vis-ited her brother on several occasions; thegentleman had always talked about his littlegirl, who had fallen ill and later the diseasehad claimed his life, however these brothershad not met, the child recognized by familyphotographs that they kept in a visibleplace. The child told his parents that hissister came to play with him and asked toaccompany her, first they thought it wassomething "supernatural" and in a way itcomplied with the description of the word,but it was much more tangible than an "entity." Mr. Wilson, the father of the boy, wentto a religious authority to help his littleone, but he did not find anything thatwould merit the help of the church, manythought that the signs were hallucinating ormaybe he wanted to attract attention, togive him A little life to a place as quiet asthat town was. Nobody could help this, sohe went to the authorities, without an argu-ment that was really valid, much said thatperhaps they had not completely overcomethe death of his daughter, and that reflect-ed in the little William Wilson. The fatherof the boy went home, defeated, but soonthey had to contact the man, they hadheard of a similar case very far away, in thatcase the girl had died, she gave herself tothese beings because she could not resistmore fleeing from them at every moment. The officers decided to go to theWilsons' house, so they prepared everythingto move there and give them informationabout what was happening in that distantplace where also a person (who was no

longer among the living) near the familycircle of the girl he had proposed to givehis life for in exchange for the tranquilitythat he was looking for. The person who was attending told me,"I know that if I tell you, you will notbelieve it. For this reason I prefer you toread it yourself." He then approached adesk, removed some things and took outsome sheets, placing them in the roomwhere we were sitting and brought me tothem. It was the statement of one of thepeople who went to the place. At first Ihad the regulatory information, but then Iread something that interested me: “... wearrived at the place and knocked on thedoor, about three times, and nobody cameto the call, however, looking through thewindow we spotted four subjects inside theroom, we thought that maybe they were ina situation of risk, for which we decided toact and made use of force to enter home.We found Mr. and Mrs. Wilson with littleWilliam, and he was staring at a person infront, a girl, whom we later identified as lit-tle Sarah Wilson (deceased), the boy hadhis hand outstretched and Sarah took it,and at that moment her appearancechanged, she was a horrible creature, offunereal aspect, almost like a corpse, andwith a creepy voice she said that the littleone would be fine because she is free. Laterthe body of the boy fell to the floor, with-out life, and the creature disappeared ...."Of course, these statements seemed as scaryas the description of the creature, whenrelating all this to my case, I understoodthat the frequent method of these creatures


is to take a friendly look, so that we maytake their proposal seriously, withoutintending to frighten us with their realaspect, and that they can find the character-istics of close relatives, or familiar people,as a means. But what caught my attentionmore than what I had read was that theycould not take the aspect of beings thatwere alive, or at least that is how I had con-cluded it, for if one of the creatures sowished that I leave with them, it could easi-ly have taken on the appearance of myfather or mother. Imagine that they couldend the lives they wanted to achieve theirpurposes, I thought, and this caused mechills. I thanked them for the attention they

had given me, and I left the place, but notbefore I had asked for Mr. Wilson'saddress. I knew from experience that peo-ple keep some information in their memo-ry that does not seem useful to them rea-sons, and I thought that perhaps somethingthat did not seem relevant would help meto understand much more, or even to backthe theories that were rapidly circulating inmy brain. I knew that somehow this wouldhelp me. I took all my things ready to go tothe house of Mr. Wilson; the house someyears ago my parents had avoided the deathof a son; although these parents had to dealwith much more, the disappearance oftheir offspring by the hand of a creature inthe form of their deceased daughter. v


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Corner Bar Magazinecornerbarmagazine.com/pdfs/corner-bar-volume-05-issue-03.pdf · graduate of Christopher Newport University seeking to establish a literary portfolio with my speculative