Eyes
By Dutchie

I walked into the interrogation room one morning after hearing some rumors about a guy the chief brought in the night before. In the cell there was an older guy, all dirty and hunched over the back wall.

“Morning, Chief..” I spoke up to Anderson sitting in a chair facing the glass. He was older, knew a thing or two about the field. “This the guy from last night?”

“Yeah..” He replied, his voice tired.

“I hear you guys found him at the national park up in Careland.”

“Yeah, the ranger called in, said this guy came running out of the woods around 3 am last night looking all panicked, and when he saw the blood, he called in.” At the chief’s words, I shuddered and made the connection.

“The guys out front said he was, missing his eyes?” I was unsure if I believed them, but curiosity got the best of me.

“Well,” Anderson responded, “Seems more like they got all tore up in the underbrush. His wife called in this morning, around 7. I guess he’s been blind his whole life, milky eyes and all. She says he’s never had a problem with camping, but last night they both went to sleep, and when she woke up, he was just… gone. Really didn’t seem like there were any malintentions in her voice either.” the chief never took his eyes off the guy.

“You try questioning him?” I asked, mostly just wanting to know the results.

“He’s pretty unresponsive, just babbling a bunch.” He trailed off, before almost whispering to himself. “Must have seen something crazy out there.”

I turned and gave the guy another look over, and it struck me, he was scratching a faint sort of mural into the back wall. I could see the lines of pine boughs overhead and tall trunks scratched in from the floor up. But what sent a shiver down my spine, was in the center, there was some sort of creature drawn, looking right back at me.

I never want to see with, my own eyes, whatever that thing was.

July
By Mary V

She has wandered off from the rowdy gaggle of children playing behind the blue house. Almost no one notices her finish up her ice cream bar, hand the sticky popsicle to her mother, and creep down to the water’s edge.

It’s a gentle creek, hardly a current and not very deep at all. It’s just enough for her to reach her little fingers down into a small pool and pull up a fistful of mud. She holds it up for a moment, letting the sunlight glint off its slimy surface before she dashes it onto a nearby rock and squeals with delight. She looks back quickly to make sure no one has heard her and then hurls another clump of mud, laughing gleefully. Satisfied, she sits down on the damp mossy bank and begins examining a small white flower. The warm air hums. The grass flutters. A bumble bee flirts with the flowers on her dress before flitting over to the yellow lilies nearby. A toad hops along the rocks, pausing to look at her. Its sudden croak startles her, but her yelp soon becomes a helpless giggle.

And then it seems the brook is giggling with her. She reaches down to splash the surface of the water, which leaps up to gently lick her hand.

And then she hears it. A gentle rush. Looking up into the swaying, sun-speckled branches, she sees them. Wings, glinting like stained glass. She sits up, lifting a dripping hand to her eyes, straining to get a better look. There, in the green glow of the leaves, she thinks she sees…

A voice calls out for her and she runs off in hot pursuit of water balloons and super-soakers.

But later on, in the blue twilight, shivering in a pink and purple towel, she sneaks down to the cool riverbank. Leaning over, she listens for a moment, then whispers, “See you tomorrow!” before scampering back to her mother.

I watch her step into the golden light of the house and smile. “See you tomorrow, little one!”

“Lens Flare”
By: ClockworkPigeonz

His camera strap rubs against his neck, the DSLR thumping against his chest with every step. Gravel slides and crunches beneath his boots, bringing the dusty scent of a well-worn path with it.

Despite the lovely weather it’s still early enough to keep most people at home. Certain hours of the day are crucial for good photography though and Gillian had beaten even the rangers to the park gates that morning. Hours later he still walks alone and undisturbed to take his pictures. Crouching to get close-ups of golden light illuminating wildflowers and moss-covered stones.

Every now and then he checks over his shoulder.

In Gillian’s opinion, humans have for the most part left the wilderness, it’s not their place anymore. And there’s a shiver of old, half-remembered fear that even for a life-long hiker creeps up occasionally. A person doesn’t just blunder into the forest during the waking hours unprepared and unobservant.

It’s with him today…ancient, primal instincts adding to the cool sweat on the nape of his neck.

As a pair of crows break through the boughs overhead, startled by his presence. Gillian crouches, aiming through his viewfinder and holding down the shutter button to create a machine-gun staccato of quiet clicks. Long enough to capture the corvids’ images on the glowing screen.

He grins as they dance off into the distance, calling out to one another.

It’s rare that he captures such moments and he’s delighted to get some good photos of the pair. Most are disappointingly overexposed, the colorful glint of the birds’ feathers lost to the glare of the sun. Branches a tangled mass of indistinct, black shapes.

Suddenly he pauses.

A lens flare surely…but he’s never seen a lens flare like that.

A glitch?

Gillian looks up hesitantly at the opposite ridge, breath catching in his throat.

There between the trees is a flame-like blur of movement.

But fire doesn’t run on two legs.

Or have a wreath of auburn hair.

Or a set of massive, coppery wings- feathers glinting gold in the morning light.

“Ghost of our early days”
by Larissa (LaribHaven)

I tossed the money in the nightstand and leave, driving my car back home.
“Why am I even coming back?” I asked myself.
The traffic lights turned red. There was no reason to stop, but I stopped anyway. The hot tropical breeze made me uneasy. While I waited for the green light, I looked at my windshield, nothing but the very calm streets and the darkness beneath, yet I was distressed.
“I could just go back to the motel. It’s not like she still waiting…”
“Truth or dare?”
I look at the back of my car, for a split second, I saw her. I knew that voice.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” I look at my passenger’s seat. I could almost make her silhouette.
“It isn’t her, she’s not that young anymore, and you know she is at home!” I tell myself, closing my eyes and calming down.
I arrive at the front door, entering and stumbling in the stairs. I open the door of our bedroom, and there you are, sound asleep.
I laugh. “She’s sleeping! She was never there.”
“I dare you, Nerd!” She then taunts me again this time behind me. Her draped dress fleeing from my sight.
“We were kids when we made those plans. We changed” I say angrily to the voice. Why do I keep seeing you this young?
I can’t hold back the tears. I turn to you. The you that is sleeping on our bed, I approach you and stand mere centimeters from your face.
“I double dare you! Tell me! Go on! Do you like me?”
I open my mouth and close. The words just won’t come to me. If I tell you this way would you forgive me?
“I promise you I won’t do this again!” I say in tears.
You smile, semi-awake now and say: “Don’t cry baby, I’m here.” -and then kisses my forehead- “It was just a bad dream, go back to sleep.”
I lay down next to you, and the ghost of our early days lays between us.

Let Me Tell You About It..

I saw it. Well at least I thought I saw it. I definitely saw something that day. Well of course I did, it’s impossible to have not seen anything. Unless perhaps I’ve become blind? No, I can see the paper in front of me and the pen I’m holding. So therefore, I think it’s safe to say I am not blind.
To find out what I saw, I must retrace the events that occurred that day. It was a Monday, so I must have been at work. But I don’t remember working that day… It was a Bank Holiday! Yes, that must have been it. And I was in the city square by the beautiful stone fountain, it was marvellous that day the sun was so warm. And as I stood watching the Sun reflect on the water of the fountain; I saw something. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a policeman was arresting a seagull. But that isn’t interesting, so it can’t be what I saw that day; what I saw was truly story worthy. What I saw as far more interesting than a seagull being arrested.

After my walk to the fountain, I thought I’d treat myself to an ice cream; with a chocolate flake as well because I was feeling particularly happy to be alive. Anyway, I swear I caught a glimpse of something eyebrow raising. It was a man eating a Kiwi without peeling off the skin! But it wasn’t the fruit kind of Kiwi, it was the human cricket playing kind. But that can’t be the extramundane thing I saw that day because it’s only mildly amusing.

On the drive home, after being kidnapped by aliens a few hours earlier, that is when I saw it! As I drove past, through my rear mirror I glimpsed one of those famous pop singers that you see on TV, giving a pound to a homeless beggar. It was so heart-warming to see that they care about the homeless. Yes, that is what I saw that day. Let me tell you about it…

– Joe Kharms

A Rejected Glimpse
by J. Douglas

“Fate is a cruel beast of cosmic injustice. We are shackled by indifference and subjugated by the meaningless. In all of human existence, the question of “why” has permeated all cultures and peoples. Why…. do we exist?”

The Professor checked his watch. five minutes until ten.

“That will be the next lecture. Class dismissed.”

As the class loudly and happily left the room, the professor unstrung his tie, feeling the air breathing down his neck. He slumped into his chair, tapping the tile floor with his shoes and fiddling with the buttons on his sleeve.

“The answer is obvious” he thought.
“Fate is what I do with my life. “Meaning” is what I perceive it to be. I am my own person. This makes me the most important person and thing in my life” he pondered while looking at his ring . The ring always reminded him of this most valuable lesson.

The professor then swiveled in his chair to face the computer monitor, noticing a man dressed in a dark velvet purple suit behind it. A modest suit. Somehow not bold, but not underwhelming. The man had curly brown hair and stood with confidence. The professor couldn’t tell, but it seemed there was a soft golden hue around the man. The man began to speak.

“I have heard your thoughts and decided to make an example of you. I will show you a glimpse of cosmic truth and you will reject it.”

Suddenly, a bright light shown behind the man. It was blinding, but the professor couldn’t look away. He had to look, this was the answer to all of his questions. The light behind the man spoke.

“Fate is my will. Cast away the false God of yourself and you will find truth.”

Suddenly the light faded away and the man along with it, and the professor sat alone. He pondered on this incredible sight. A glimpse into the answer to all of his questions. After an hour of sitting in silence, the professor walked out of the classroom. The ring, was still on his hand.

Futures
By APW

“They tell me you are, what’s the word… gifted?” asks the man in the charcoal suit.

‘Gifted.’ That’s what the firm’s lawyers cleared for use in an interview. Gifted analysts exist, of course, precogs do not. If they did, it would be unethical to hire them. Cute.

“I have a special intuition,” I answer, equally coyly. “Jeremy, by the way.”

I extend my hand, unconcerned. I saw myself working here the moment I set foot in the building.

Not ‘imagined’. Saw.

“Call me Bill.” His handshake has force, but little enthusiasm.

I see it then: the next year. Bill will yell at me, threaten to fire me, to sue me, to call the cops, anything to keep me working through the nights, to keep our numbers up, his ambitions afloat.

“When did you first develop your ‘special intuition’, Jeremy?”

“I was eleven, riding my bike,” I recall. “I was turning around a corner when I felt the SUV hit me. The pain made me stop, just in time to see the real thing cross the intersection, going fifty.”

“I see, I see,” he mutters, disinterested. “Any proof of this talent?”

Two years later – I realize then – he will be slapping my shoulder, calling me his son. He tells others how he always believed in me.

“You’ve seen my trades?”

“With your own money, kid?” He laughs. “Doesn’t count. Any schmuck can turn ten-K into a million. I need to know you can grow a billion!”

He tests me: pick a card, guess the contents of a box. I see the results just by reaching towards one choice or another.

I also see five years later. I am visiting Bill in jail, assuring him that the firm has his back, that we’ll do everything we can to get him out. It lasts just long enough to know I am lying.

“Alright kid, you are in,” he admits. “Contingent on results. Tests can be faked, you see? The market can’t.

“Well, not for long,” he laughs.

I laugh too. “Of course, Bill.”

It’s going to be a long five years.

The Lonely and the Mad
By Connor Mann (Unforged)

“Did you see it then, Red? It was right there. It went right past the window, Red. Did you see it? Did you see it this time?” Captain Howard giggled. He squeezed his lifeless partner with one arm, pointing to the escape pod’s viewing screen with the other. “There it goes again, Red. I think it wants us to see it. Should we say ‘hello’ to it, Red?”

The interior of the tiny pod, with its stale air and it’s temperature rising for every moment that passed, was enough to make the captain sweat bullets. The thin suit he wore under his void-armor stuck to his skin in a maddening way, but he no longer cared about it. He no longer cared about the smell of sweat and faeces that permeated the pod. He didn’t care about how badly his partner’s corpse was beginning to deteriorate.

He was simply happy. Happy to have another visitor in this lonely little joyride through the stars.

“See that? There it goes…right past the window. You can’t see it, but it’s there. Here, have a better look.” The captain’s yellow teeth grinned wildly through a beard matted with drool. He took in his gloved hands the corpse that sat in the seat next to him, grunting as he tried to wrench Red’s remains out from the seat’s buckles. The head lolled back and forth with the captain’s efforts before a crack was heard. A crack that didn’t stop the captain, who finally pulled the body free from the buckle.

“There…see? Just watch. Watch for it when it goes by. It’s a fast lil’ devil, so watch close,” Captain Howard said giddily. He held Red’s face up to the viewing screen, countless stars set into an endless, black sea reflecting off dead, glassy eyes. For a long, long moment, all was silent, save for the captain’s excited, raspy breathing, his own gaze flickering from the screen to his dead comrade. Sweat dripped from his face. A string of drool dribbled from his beard.

Nothing happened on the screen.

The Tail of the Unknown (A Fleeting Glimpse)
By Philip C.

It was following him again. He could tell when it was around, for it lightly rustled the bushes as it slunk behind him in the long shadows cast by the setting sun. Mark had always seemed to attract these strange creatures, ever since he was a child of five or six; ever since he had begun to really explore the world around him.

At first, Mark had thought that it was just a coincidence, seeing the bright yellow or green eyes out of the corner of his own when he chanced to look behind, or hearing this now familiar swish of disturbed leaves trailing along. They never approached him, so he thought nothing of it. But as he grew older, he took greater notice, and he came to the horrifying conclusion that, wherever he went, one or more of them always followed.

The familiar feeling of trepidation crept up on him again as he looked around for any sign of the beast, wishing for one of his friends to walk by. A slight motion, whether a waving leaf or a passing shadow, looked sinister to him in the growing shade, and he sped up, hoisting his bag further up his shoulder. He knew it would be no good to run, for it would only pursue energetically, but he could not push down his desire to get home as soon as possible.

Suddenly, as Mark turned a corner in the road, he heard a loud crack from up ahead, and a moment later a dark shadow blinked across the path. He stood still, trembling, looking around, trying to see where it went.

Nothing stirred. It had gone at last. Grasping his school bag’s straps firmly, he took a deep breath and faced back towards home, to safety.

Something soft rubbed against his leg, causing him to almost jump in fright. Mark looked down, but he saw nothing save a few dark hairs on the pants leg of his uniform. The soft rustle of leaves came from behind again, and turning, he just glimpsed a long, black-furred tail disappearing into the undergrowth.

“Crywolf”, by Candyfiction

Bouts of thunder rocked the ground so hard Hollie could feel vibrations beneath her. Flashes of lightning that followed gave her just enough light so she wouldn’t trip. Any electricity her tiny village possessed was cut off because of the raging storm.

Hollie would’ve given anything to teleport to her house. She didn’t need her hair whipping her frost-bitten face, nor the icy droplets that felt like needles against her skin.

Unfortunately she couldn’t do anything about it. While it was dangerous for a child to be out alone in this weather she refused to sit in her school’s lobby waiting for it to end. Her baby brother needed her back at home. He was terrified of thunder storms and Hollies parents were hours away, stuck at work until the weather calmed.

It would be fine. Hollie was merely five minutes away from home. Little rain can’t hurt her, right? No, and rain wasn’t what scared her…

In the woods next to her howls echoed. Low, wailing harmonies that made her shiver more than the cold. Crywolf. A legend derived from villagers catching a few fleeting glimpses of a shadow, some people going missing… Only the worst was said about Crywolf. A huge reward was even set for bringing it back, dead.

Hollie gripped her pepper spray tightly in hand, trying to forget the sound. Soon she would be home, safe.

Just as she thought that, a loud crunch and two glowing blue eyes paralysed her. A grey blur leaped towards her. Hollie screamed and fell back, dropping the can. She fully expected to be ripped to shreds then and there but instead heard Crywolf’s signature wail.

Confused, she opened her eyes to see… not a wolf but a herding dog with its foot tangled in rope. It was injured and looked starved.

Hollie felt bad and gave it her uneaten lunch which made it calm significantly.

“You’re what everyone fears so badly?”
She pondered and freed the dog from rope’s grasp. It gratefully rubbed its head against Hollie.

“Not anymore,” She said “I’ll protect you now Cry- …Mico.”

‘Mico’, Latin word meaning ‘flash’. I thought it was fitting because a flash of light is just as scary as a glimpse of a shadow, too short to process but equally leaving you wondering what it was that you saw.

I hope, If possible to add art to this later, right now I cant wait to post the submission so, yeah I hope you enjoyed it!

“Hunted”
By Hemming Sebastian Bane

The autumn leaves crunched under the man’s feet. His chest ached; his legs burned. He wanted to stop, but he knew that was not an option. It saw him, and, worse, he saw it. His only option was run. Run back to the village; he’d be safe there.

Then, the man heard it: a loping gait. It was chasing him. Faster. He had to run faster, or it would do to him what it did to his brother. He remembered the blur of red that struck the older man down. The unnatural way his brother laid on the forest floor. The man fought back the image of the gory scene and redoubled his efforts. His feet grew numb from the shock of striking the cold hard ground. His arms bore the scratches of briars and low-hanging branches.

“Just a bit more,” he whispered.

Suddenly, the man’s foot hit something hard. Time slowed as he tumbled to the ground, his shoulder taking the brunt force. Frantic, the man looked to the ground behind him. He had tripped on an up-grown root. The man pushed off from the ground and began to run again. It was closer now; he could hear its breath. He could smell the faint iron. He could even feel its eagerness; it was enjoying this.

The man fought the instinct to look back and ran. He could see the village’s torchlight now. He was so close, but he could feel himself slowing down. His heartbeat was out of control. He was so tired he didn’t feel the large claws rip into his back, breaking skin and bone. The man fell to the ground. The pain came as the fear gripped him; it had him.

—

The next morning, the two hunters from the village walked into the forest and found some claw marks nearby. The younger looked to his elder for an explanation. The older hunter just kicked dirt over them.

“This is why we hunt during the day, Jaecar,” the older man said, his voice like stones scraping. “Because something else hunts at night.”

Title: Behind
By Tricoto

“Cleo, here” said the teacher as he handed over her essay.
I wanna go home. I want go elsewhere, I don’t even know where. She quickly went through the papers searching for her grade.

It was a B. “Pheww…” she sighed with relief. It was okay.

Her peers were screaming, the room was loud, it made her mind foggy – she wouldn’t be able to solve the simplest of problems if she was asked to, at the moment.

They were chatting about their grades. Everyone did a great job, no exceptions.

The professor was the kind she had only seen in movies, a real master. He talked about fiction as none other could, or, should I say, with the passion she desired her entire life. However, she would try to appear as uninterested in the class as she could, not because she was careless, but because … I am not careless! …Cleo just tried to fit in, with them. They hated him, because they couldn’t score maximum in his tests. “I’m so bad at this” – no you’re not.

Oh, how they love to complain, express some kind of self-hatred as if it was a duty that one, who was given more, had to, in exchange for their abilities, since they’ve never experienced the same coming from outside.

The class had increasing popularity amongst the teachers. An intelligent bunch, they were often described as. Scientists of the future…what am I doing here?

She finally got to read the prof’s small review written next to her grade just now. What?

She felt anxious, her breath just caught up with her. One sentence stood out and she couldn’t take her eyes off of it, the world had stopped for a moment. It suggested that she had something great. No way, so I am, I can be good at somethi-…Oh.

I almost believed it. She read it wrong.

It fled away so quickly, leaving her exactly where she was before, behind.

My Brother
By T.E.

My brother and I have always been like night and day. I spent a good portion of my childhood exploring the large forest behind our house. While he was always in his room, devouring scientific books like a little professor.

When we became teenagers he moved out to our barn and seldom left it. He barely showed up for dinner! During this time I was going out drinking with my friends whenever I had the chance. I seldom saw him, but everything changed that peculiar night.

I had been out that night and was far from sober. After drinking I’m often urging to have a talk with someone, and that night was no exception. I came home in the small hours. Our house was dark, but lights were on in the barn so I knew he was awake. I flung the door open without knocking and was met with a sight out of the wildest fever dream. What I’d always known as my brother hung empty and discarded over a chair, his body was open and hollow with a small interior zipper allowing opening and closing. At the back of the barn stood a strange grey creature, hammering on a metallic construction resembling a caricature of the UFO:s seen on TV. The creature turned around. “Hello brother,” it said. Followed by “please hand me my skin.” In my diminished condition, I picked up his outward appearance and handed it to him. He promptly entered the skin and zipped up. He reassuringly put his hand on my shoulder and I followed him outside. We sat on the lawn, laughing and talking until the sun rose in the distance. Then I hugged him goodnight and went to bed.

When I awoke the following morning I found the barn empty. Not a sign was left of my brother, and my parents denied that he even existed. But I often see a star darting around in the night sky, and I always wave.

“Just A Vision”
By Joshua (Joshrr00)

Just a vision. That’s what I keep telling myself. It was just a vision, a hallucination brought about by severe sleep deprivation, nothing more. I didn’t actually see her floating down the hall, it was just some..mirage that could have been brought forth by any number of far more plausible, completely scientific, easily explained factors. Heh. Of course I’d prefer the easy answers.

There was a time when I didn’t believe in spirits. Frankly, the idea sounded preposterous. The idea of tortured souls, made to eternally wander the physical realm, denied the peaceful rest of the beyond because of some traumatising event from their life? Such territory was either purely the realm of raving lunatics who had clearly lost their full set of screws quite some time ago, or pathetic wastes of air simply looking for attention. And yet, whenever my best friend asked me to join him on one of his ghost hunts, I could never bring myself to say no. But, lord save me, I despised it. Every time, I could’ve been hanging out at the club, watching a movie, having a drink with a pretty woman, maybe even get into her bed. But no, I was stuck with this kook till six in the morning in some rundown mansion, or mineshaft, or prison, or whatever. Take your pick, it’s all the same.

And yet….I can still recall the moment I saw her with perfect clarity. There are times it feels more like I’m inspecting a painting, the details seem so vivid in my mind. Her utter lack of dimension, the silver sheen of her skin, the static rippling through her as she hovered but a few feet away. More like a picture from an old film projector than a real girl, floating there with her neck snapped in two, the obvious sign of a hanging. The walls suddenly felt tighter around me than before. Not gonna lie, I thought I was going to die. And yet, with just a blink of my eyes, she was gone. The orphanage around me returned to the dull mess of mildewed wood and rotting plaster before my little encounter. And it was then I knew, no matter what I told myself, I could never go back to my life of blissful ignorance ever again.

Last Rites
PitL

The pale glare of moonlight shines into the clearing, illuminating the hunched figure within. He stands alone, staff in one hand and chalk in the other.

“Day of wrath and doom impending – ”

He bends down with the chalk, dragging across the dirt. He does not twitch or stumble, and the line is unbroken.

“David’s words with Sibyl’s blending – ”

He grabs a pouch from his side, and walks around his crudely-drawn pentacle, leaving a dash at each point. He dare not flinch or miss; he will get no more chances after this one.

“Heaven and Earth in ashes ending – ”

He readies his staff, holding it with both of his hands far above his head. He breathes in the air one last time, and comes down to strike the top corner of the star.

“From this you are spared.”

He falls, and the rune on the ground glows an uncanny green. He sees, and a grin comes across her face, perhaps the first real one in a decade. He readies himself, waiting for the exchange to come.

She rises from the ground, cast from behind in the same green light. He stands – opens his arms –

The figure speaks. “Father?”

“Yeah. C’mere, kid.”

He clasps his arms around her. It’s back to normal, how it should have been from the start.

“I’m so, so sorry, kid.” He pauses. “I’m your dad, I was supposed to have protected you – ”

She flickers. “Father? What’s happening?”

He rushes with his bag of salt, liberally dousing each corner with a handful. “No – no – wait, stop – ”

The rune flashes a brilliant white, the salt at each corner sinking into the ground. “Father…”

The rune vanishes, and the clearing is bathed in darkness.

The First Day…
by Alex Nightingale

Shades. That was all I could see, in my mind. Shades and noises. It was warm and moderately comfortable on my mattress, but I still wished for a pillow. The heating must be on and a dim orange light shook over my eyes. It was in these shades, that the light made move, where I saw something uncomfortably familiar.

I tried to breathe steadily. They had told me to do so, in order to remain calm. In and out. In and out. It was important that I remain calm. From the corner of my eyes, I saw the shades move and shift; just far enough to remain undefined, but just close enough to be noticed.

In and out. In and out. Over and over again, these shades taunted me with their haunting vision. What were they? I did not know.

It felt like I should. Like an old friend, whose face seems familiar, but one cannot remember, for the life of them. An old friend. Yes. That would be a good word to describe the shades.

An old friend…

I began to shiver. It was warm, but for some reason, I felt cold. This shade did not belong. It did not belong here, in my room, in my mind.

The shades were fleeting now; only the smallest speck, in the corner of my eye. A fleeting glimpse of something, I didn’t quite understand.

I know this, I thought. I know you from somewhere. Did we go to school together? School. It seemed so distant now. A memory, I couldn’t quite grab. What was it called again? Ah, it was on the tip of my tongue.

No matter. It would surely come back to me.

I took another glimpse at the spot, where I saw the shades. They were gone now. No more shades, no more movement.

That old friend… Who was he again?

Wait. That wasn’t right. I had no old friends.

From above, I heard a voice; the first voice I had ever heard: “Memories extracted. Welcome, to the first day of your new life.”

Farouk, by Not’the ChosenJuan

The young boy Maxis is done with his chores in the tower and now playing his favorite game with his morphing glass friend Clear, giving trees names.

Maxis “Clear turn into a knife please.” Clear morphs from a glass sphere into a sharp knife in a couple seconds. “Thanks, now lets see here…” He looks up at a very tall tree “Hmm… how about Sequoioideae?” Clear adds a question mark to the knife’s handle. “Yeah, maybe Redwood since the color.” He engraved the tree with its new name. “Now this apple tree is also new.” He plucked the plumpest apple he could find and took a big bite. “I don’t know why the red theme when father made these new trees but I know what I’m calling this one… Red Delicious.”

Before Maxis can carve the tree’s name he hears a rumbling voice asking “WHO ARE YOU?” and “WHAT DO YOU TASTE LIKE?” Maxis quickly moves away from the tree “We need Father.” Maxis starts sprinting towards the clearing; feeling something new in his heart a feeling worse than discomfort. The thunderous voice returns “WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?” and quickly followed up by “WHY WERE YOU MADE?” Maxis is running faster than he ever ran before and he doesn’t know why but he can’t let himself get too close to the voice.

Maxis tripped on a tree root falling in the clearing so close to the Tower, but the creature is even closer. A large set of yellow teeth and a massive glowing white eye with a burning red pupil. Maxis is frozen, his body isn’t moving, not even his throat can utter a whimper. In an instant the creature disappears without a trace. Maxis got up and ran inside to see his father.

The Man in the Silk Robes is tinkering with a clock until Maxis barges in and hugs him. Maxis says “I saw a monster with big teeth and…” he was cut off by his father “did he ask questions?” Maxis nods his head, his father smiled “That’s just your brother Farouk.”

A Fleeting Glimpse of Shadow

By Shatterdoll

A Fallen London (by FailBetter Games) fan fiction

The shadows flicker at the edges of your vision these days.

They’ve started doing that since you’d come back.

Playing chess with the Boatman while utterly soulless, his casual remark as you went that he looked forward to the oddness you’d stir up again? A classic, that. You can’t believe you’d missed it, and the thought that you’d maybe lost your touch is embarrassing to the extreme.

You don’t show it on your face, of course, not in a cafe like this. You are on vacation, sipping at one of the new, fancy things with coffee and more than a few “additions” after a discreet tip to the waiter. You gaze out the window into the well-curated view of the darkness above the city lights, another pretentiously wealthy patron among many, the susurrus of gentle conversation swirling into the quiet orchestra playing at the perfect distance from the tables.

Your eyes catch those of an urchin girl hopping rooftops; only a moment, but that was enough for the edges of your vision to curl and writhe.

This one? they would have asked, if they could speak. Oh, this one, this one?

But your gaze, half-lidded with boredom, was already drifting away to another indeterminable point in the horizon. If you could laugh at the way it wilts in the back of your mind, the sensation fresh as if you hadn’t had the conversation several hundred times previously, you……probably wouldn’t, if only for the principle of it. They always catch the tail end of your amusement, though, so there wasn’t any need, anyway.

Before anyone shows, your eyes drift to a tall, languid man, yellow-eyed and flirting outrageously with his young male companion as they promenade in the street below. You feel the edges of your vision shrink, the little puppy guzzling at the strength of your emotions.

It isn’t the luck you were expecting out of this meeting, but you’ll take it.

Your body is deceptively relaxed as you pay the outrageous price for your drink and your time.

You don’t need to see them to follow, not anymore.

That one, puppy, you tell them. The one who took my soul from me.

Title: Stop Holding Back

By: Twangyflame0

Ryan and Iris sat at a bench beside a busy street. Iris felt strange sitting next to him without everyone else. The entire day he had been acting strange. She hoped that he would tell her why.

“Today’s the anniversary.” Ryan said, ominously.

“What,” Iris then glanced down at his metal hands, “Oh, the accident…”

“You know,” Ryan leaned back and looked at the street, “I have dreams of this place around this time.”

“What kind of dreams?” Iris felt anxious, this was incredibly out of character for such an upbeat guy.

Ryan was still smiling like always, “Back when it happened, they were very vivid. Sometimes I even felt the pain all over again. I would wake up screaming.”

“And now?” Iris asked cautiously.

“It’s like a mirage,” This was the first time Iris could say Iris that he had a somber expression, “the only thing that’s ever clear, is my dad’s smile before the accident.”

“Oh…” Iris never thought she would ever feel sorry for Ryan. No, this wasn’t pity, or sympathy, she too had been through that kind of situation as well.

“You probably think that that is sort of sad,” Ryan looked at her, still a twinkle in his eye, “But it’s really not.”

“How so?”

“Well, I can’t hold onto that day forever,” Ryan’s smile grew immensely, “otherwise I can’t help people.”

Iris felt her heart move but she clenched her first, “You still feel that pain.”

“Huh?”

“Everyday,” Iris felt her voice rise, “you live with that pain everyday. Hidden from us, from your friends.”

“Iris…”

“You can’t act all righteous forever,” Iris turned and met Ryan’s ember eyes, “Everyone needs a shoulder to lean on. Let me bare some of your burden.”

“Heh…” Ryan threw his head up in a hearty laugh, “Just what I would suspect from someone like you, Iris.”

Iris immediately turn away and felt her cheeks grow hot as she realized her own words.

“Tell ya what,” Ryan turned to Iris, “I’ll let you bare mine if you do the same.”

“Huh?”

“What, ya didn’t I would notice?”

“The Marks” by Carrie (Glaceon373)

“I’m sorry I’m bringing the grade down, guys,” Sam sighed as she walked towards the lunchroom. “I’ve never been great at presentations. I butchered ALL of my slides.”

“Nonsense!” Jidz nudged Sam with one of his hoofs playfully. “You did great! Oh, sorry, you okay?”

“Yeah, just still not used to centaur kicks.” Sam recovered her balance.

“That was barely a tap!”

Roselyn giggled. “Come on, guys, let’s head to lunch.”

Sam lagged behind her friends, rubbing where Jidz had “tapped” her, when she felt a real tap on her shoulder.

“Huh?” She turned around. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Surprised to see me, Sammy?” Mavthos casually fell into place beside Sam, his barbed tail and red wings dangerously close to Sam’s sensitive, annoyed ears.

She continued walking forward. “Unless you’re extending that apology you gave Roselyn yesterday to me, I don’t want to speak with you.”

The imp laughed. “Rosie’s apology was for her only. I have something more important to tell you.”

“Spit it out, summoned hellbeast.”

“Oh, insults, insults,” He flashed a chauvinistic, taunting grin. “You’d regret insulting a Markbearer, right?”

“What?” Sam spun around. Sure enough, a purple sigil in a segmented circle rested on the back of Mavthos’ hand, mocking her just as much as his face did.

“Mr. Nicklescribe is handing these out to only the best of the best, right? How come I have one and you don’t?”

Sam bared her pointed teeth, then stopped.

Something in Mavthos’ eyes seemed…wrong. Tainted. Messed with. And purple, but Sam couldn’t place why.

She blinked, and it was gone, replaced by more mockery.

Sam sighed and turned back down the hallway. “I don’t need a Mark. I have more important things to worry about.”

“Whatever you say, Sammy.” He cackled again and pranced off.

Sam continued down the hallway. “And unless I was seeing things, I don’t think I want one anyway.”

One Last Look
By BrokenEarth

This felt familiar. Cassiel was certain she had seen this before, been here before, but couldn’t remember when. It was very strange, and thinking about it gave her a headache.

Then it was gone. And Cassiel did not remember it any more.

Strolling through the starlilies, Cassiel thought about all the fun things she could do in this wonderful place, full of beautiful flowers. The starlilies were her favorite, because they reminded her of… Something. She couldn’t remember quite what, but it felt warm, so it must have been a good memory.

Then the starlilies were gone, and she did not remember them any more.

Walking through the empty field, Cassiel paused. Why had she come here? It was a nice spot for a picnic, but she didn’t have any food.

Perhaps, she thought, there was a small sandwich in her pocket. She searched through them but found nothing. Then, in the last pocket, she found a letter that seemed old and worn.

She knew where the letter came from, it was someone dear to her. But she couldn’t remember their name.

Then the letter was gone, and she did not remember it any more.

Cold and rather unhappy, Cassiel wanted to go home. She did not know where home was.

Voices started playing in Cassiel’s ears, broken and full of static. “A… you can’t…”

Cassiel knew this very well. It was from her grandfather, one of his letters she loved reading. Didn’t she just have it with her? She couldn’t have forgotten it.

Then the voice was gone, but Cassiel did not forget it.

The starlilies used to be here, she thought, having a terrible headache. Where did the starlilies go?

The headache grew worse as she tried to think about the things that were gone. The pain was such that Cassiel thought she might go insane.

Then it stopped. And Cassiel remembered. The starlilies, the letter, all of it. Then she remembered that she wasn’t alone when she came here.

Cassiel ran to find the letter, the starlilies, and her friend.

She needed to see them.