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Short Stories

• The Inn
• 56 Cedar Lane
• Shattered Thoughts

The Inn

London, 1891

“Forty pounds, please.” 

I nodded, brushing a damp hand through my hair. “Thank you, miss. Most sincerely.” Droplets scattered across the counter, gleaming on the coins, like tiny spectres of the storm outside, each one vanishing into the wood as swiftly as they’d come.

I retrieved my portmanteau, and beneath where it had rested remained a dark patch on the carpet, stubborn and suggestive, not unlike a bloodstain left to dry in silence. The leather bore trailing streaks of moisture, and I could not help but feel as though the luggage itself had absorbed something of the night’s ill temperament. 

“This way, sir. Your keys.” The thin, slovenly woman extended a pair of rusted bronze in my hand. I tried not to stare, but her blue eyes pierced me as if my features were dissolving in front of her very nose. She flicked a sheaf of stringy blond hair from her eyes, and cocked her head. Slightly unnerved, I pulled the keys from her grip, which was surprisingly firm. I couldn’t help but notice her nails – they looked as if they could cut glass. 

In an attempt to divert her attention, I questioned the nature of the other key. She gave me a brisk smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Oh, darling, you shan’t be needing that one; it’s for the laundress. And you’re staying but a few nights, yes?”
“I am,” I replied, a little offended by her presumption. “Splendid, splendid,” she murmured, slinking her way back around the desk. Those eyes still watched me closely. 

“Your room lies just up the staircase, second door to the left. Oh, and mind your step! This building has seen many lifetimes, so the stairs do enjoy announcing one’s arrival.” She smacked hard on the desk to illustrate, and I jumped a little. 

She leaned in, close enough for me to smell a faint whiff of onion on her breath. “We do ask our guests to be quiet. We don’t want to wake Mrs. Gardiner.” A stifled giggle escaped from the hand she held to her mouth. “She’s rather… temperamental after dark.” The lady flashed a gaping grin. “Do enjoy your stay!”

Her warnings unsettled me more than I cared to admit. I quickened my pace into the corridor, only to trip over a box, its contents indiscernible, but unmistakably wet. The water – or so I hoped – sloshed thickly as I stood there, grimacing. “Blast it,” I muttered. The cold seeped through to my sock. 

I pressed onward, ascending the staircase, which, true to her word, groaned alarmingly with each step I took. My sole guide was the sickly yellow light spilling in from the street; not even the moon was out tonight.

Suddenly, the silence fractured. A bottle struck the window with violent carelessness, shattering it into jagged shards that screamed as they fell. I flung myself to the floor, heart hammering, as splinters of glass rained down like hail. A few caught my neck; sharp, stinging kisses, followed by a thousand miniscule needles burrowing into my skin.

I sighed in exasperation, waiting. I dared not rise. Somewhere beyond the broken pane, the perpetrator was waiting for me. After a few seconds had passed, yelling and hooting came from the alley outside, melting into the pouring din as they departed. I turned and yelled a curse, then quickly ran up the rest of the stairs, lest my head become acquainted with another bottle of spirits. 

I soon found out it would be impossible to proceed. There wasn’t a single window at the end of either side of the hallway to give me the faintest clue of my surroundings. I groped around the peeling wallpaper for a lamp, but my fingers found no purchase. 

There was silence in the long corridor, silence in the stairwell, silence in the floor below, from one damp end of the building to the other. Heart pumping faster than ever, I picked up my bags and made my way back down the landing, taking care to tread as lightly as possible. 

But I had underestimated the weight of my bag. Its uneven heft pulled me off balance, and the slick handle slipped from my grasp. It tumbled down the staircase, striking each step with unruly precision. Thump… thump… thump… thump… boom!

I winced with every impact, the sound bouncing around each wall of the building, making sure not to miss each one. The echo didn’t fade. It lingered, crawling up the walls and into the rafters, as though the building itself were listening. The bag lay still. Its leather casing caught the dim light, glistening with an innocent sheen—too clean, too quiet, as if mocking the chaos it had just caused.

I had barely reached the landing when I heard something slide. Upstairs. My body shook with real fear as I waited. My feet stuck in place. Then, I heard it again. 

Swish. 

The tickle of wood grazing a field of tiny fabric grains. 

It’s nothing, I told myself, it’s nothing. I picked up my bag. Then turned. Something within me, a sixth sense, told me not to come within view of the second floor. There was something there. Breathing. Sensing. Waiting. 

I clung to the railing, listening intently. 

Creeeeaaaak.

The slow twist of a doorknob, and the unmistakable, ear-rending groan of a door swinging fully open.

A step. 

A horrible, suffocating silence. 

It seemed to last forever. I dared not move, not breathe, as I knew whatever was up there, was looking. I didn’t want to check to see if it was standing at the top of the staircase, if it had seen me, if it was right behind me. I simply clung there for an eternity, eyes squeezed shut. 

A swish. A retreating footstep. A slithering click of a latch. It was gone. 

Not daring to place my possessions within reach of whatever lurked upstairs, I half tiptoed, half ran down the stairs, whispering “Miss!” as I looked frantically around. I paused in shock. She was nowhere to be seen. The lobby was so still it could be mistaken for a dollhouse. As I looked around, I frowned in disgust. What had once been a safe haven in the brunt of nature’s wrath now made the outside look like a pristine meadow. The peeling maroon wallpaper left little caves where spiders made their homes, a thick layer of dust blanketed each piece of furniture, from the tattered, disemboweled armchairs in the parlour to the lounge tables, which bore stains too horrific to describe. A curtain swished in the far corner, though no breeze stirred. In fact, the air seemed to have become more still in the few minutes that had passed.

I hugged myself tightly, shuddering. Clearly, I was not the first to find shelter in this hovel, but their remains left me wondering if this place devoured stories as quietly as it did people. I made my way around the front desk, confirming my suspicions. The innkeeper was gone. I stepped over shards of broken glass and moldy-smelling carpet, quietly calling for her. No response.

I heaved a sigh, then turned about and trudged back up, striking a match as I did. The tiny flame sprung up – doing little to help – but it was a comfort at least. As I stopped to readjust it in my fingers, I suddenly heard another set of footsteps come to a stop directly behind me. I whirled around, confronted with an empty void. I frowned. How odd. 

I shook myself, a chill clinging to my spine that didn’t come from my soaked clothes. The walls beneath my fingers were rough and slick with damp wetness. I kept to the far side of the corridor, away from the door that seemed to emanate darkness, and reached the second one, less ominous, but no less unknown.

I pressed myself to the wood. It groaned slightly. A splinter slid into my finger, but I paid it no heed.

The keys, by some miracle, did not jangle. I slipped inside.

Darkness. Thick. Waiting.

Had I chosen the right room?

I struck a match. It flared, then died, snuffed by the damp air, as if it wanted to conceal what lay within the room.

Then… footsteps. Not mine.

Close.

Too close.

A sudden sweat bathed my body; my breath caught. My body froze. For a second I pondered the choice of escape: of slamming the door open, tearing down the stairs, and fleeing this accursed place as fast as my fragile body could bear. But fear kept me in place. 

Slowly, I raised a new match to the gloom, watching as the trembling flame illuminated a two-legged stool, a cracked mirror, a small dresser, and a bare bed.

Empty…

From what I could tell.

I exhaled. Slowly. I hadn’t known I was holding it.

The fan above gave a low, steady hum, a mechanical breath that filled the silence with something almost human. I welcomed it. It was the only sound that didn’t feel wrong. The air, though, was thick, suffocating, as if the essence of despair itself had taken form as particles and all of it was contained within these few metres of space.

I set down my suitcase and a bolt of fire ran up my finger. I bit my lip, tasted blood. “Damn,” I muttered.

Almost instantaneously the fan stopped.

No wind. No hum. No sound.

In place of the droning was a silence deeper than space. The rain, apparently, had stopped. Out of sheer terror I dug the keys out of my pockets, but fumbled them in my haste. They fell to the ground. I cursed silently again, heart in my throat, and felt around the knotty carpet. The smelly, knotty, wet carpet. 

Wet.

Wrinkling my nose, I finally grasped the keys. ‘There we go.” I sighed in relief, twisting it in, then jumped half past the moon in the same moment. 

“Keep it down, will you?” 

The hiss had come a few centimetres away. Right on the other side of the door. 

I raised my eye to the peephole, and jolted in fright.

It was her.

I braced myself, wiping the fear that I was certain displayed itself on my physiognomy, and opened the door. There stood Ms. Gardiner. 

She was a bony old thing, with wisps of white tufts for hair and large, cataract-covered eyes, bulging out like a fish. In spite of my best efforts, I could not stop my fingers from shaking. “You gave me quite the scare, ma’am. But I do apologise for my loudness; I was being quite inconsiderate.” She nodded slowly. I squinted through the gloom, and for a moment, thought my eyes deceived me, but no. Her arms were marred with long, jagged gashes and bruises the colour of spoiled plums. And they were fresh.

“Pardon me for saying so, Ms. Gardiner, but are you injured?” Her mouth moved slightly but no sound came out. I frowned slightly, then asked, “Did you hear me?” 

She gave an infiniteseminal nod and weakly pointed to her neck. A glint of crimson caught my eye, but perhaps it was an illusion. “Do you need help?” I asked. She shook her head slowly. Strange people, I thought to myself. I turned and grabbed the doorknob, commenting, “It’s quite a bother that they keep it so dark in here. Ought we summon someone to see to the lamps? Or have they simply ceased to function?” 

Silence. 

I sighed and walked halfway through, before turning, brow furrowed. 

My heart skipped a beat. She was still there. Those bulging eyes stared into my chest, unseeing. 

I looked down. There was nothing wrong with my chest. 

“Ms. Gardiner?” 

I waved my hand cautiously in her face. Slowly, she turned and walked, no, glided to her room. The door swung shut.

I wanted to say something, what, I don’t know, but I couldn’t. My voice stuck in my throat. I shoved myself inside and shut the door – I was breathing so heavily, yet I clasped my hand over my mouth, knowing it could be too loud. I sank down against the wood, letting my legs sprawl out in the darkness. 

I considered my options. Going back outside would mean encountering the strange lady again – and possibly not making it out alive. Staying here would mean I could fall asleep – and leave myself defenseless to any creature that happened upon my room. My mind was made up. As soon as I removed my hand, the horrible musk hit me. My stomach lurched and I tried desperately not to retch. 

Steeling myself, I felt around for the table, hoping that, if my memory wasn’t wrong – contained a lantern. I grasped around and clutched a narrow table leg. Yes! I felt my way up and surely, it was there. I inched closer and touched an upright piece of metal. I tried to grab it, but couldn’t manage to get ahold of it. I pressed further, nicked a handle. Suddenly, I felt something give way. 

The wood creaked. 

Then a sharp snap! 

I lunged forward and grabbed the lantern while the table’s leg snapped in half, crashing with a loud bang on the floor. I searched desperately in my pocket for my matchbook, perfectly aware of what this could mean. I struck one; It didn’t catch. I tried another. My shaking fingers crushed it in half. I felt around, heart racing. Surely – no – 

There was one left.

At the same moment, I heard someone get off a bed. The sound was unmistakable. 

Creeeeeeaaaaak. 

Thump. Thump. … Thump. 

Footsteps. 

By some miracle, some cruel mercy, I was able to light the final match, my fingers trembling. The flame danced wildly, threatening to die, but I managed to tip it to the lantern’s wick, and with a hiss and a flare, light bloomed. I didn’t wait. I burst through the door, the wood shrieking behind me, and stumbled into the corridor.

I ran.

Something flashed in my periphery.

White, skeletal, motionless in the doorway. Watching.

Was it merely my mind’s jest?

I didn’t look back.

The stairs groaned beneath me as I thundered down, each step a violent echo in the suffocating dark. The lobby opened before me, wide and empty, its silence louder than any scream. I sprinted, heart clawing at my ribs, lungs burning, the exit just ahead… just there…

A sharp grip twisted my arm.

Ironlike. It clenched.

I gasped, twisted, pulled.

It didn’t let go.

I writhed, panic rising like bile, and turned, slowly, against every instinct, to see who held me.

The innkeeper.

She smiled at me pleasantly, and I froze in shock. “Let me–” I started, but she interrupted. “Mr. Kirkwood. Before you leave, I just wanted to let you know that the window you mentioned earlier has been fixed. I called a maintenance team right away. Please consider leaving a good rating, at the least.” 

Thrown entirely aghast by this sudden shift of topic, I shook my head, and could only manage a “What?” She flashed me that toothy grin of hers. “The window at the landing was smashed. A bottle hit it.” Clutching the feeble threads of my memory together, I faintly remembered it. 

“Ah- yes.”

I made a sign to leave, but she gripped my arm again, saying, “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?” My nerves kicked in again. “Really, miss, I must get going. I cannot say I enjoyed my stay here. Not at all,” I replied, with extra venom in my voice. I endeavoured to wrench my arm from her grasp, but her fingernails dug into my sleeve. A strange look came into her eyes. They suddenly turned dark, almost colourless, and fear gripped me. “No,” she hissed between her teeth. “You must go see.” Stepping back, keeping my eyes on her, she let me go, and I ran up the stairs, peering around to see if the hag was there. It was emptier than a desert. 

Gasping heavily, I turned my attention to the floor. The shards were missing. The wood, though ancient, was spotless. I was just tracing a crack with the toe of my shoe when I heard an echo of footsteps. I peered down the stairs. The innkeeper was still there, in the same position, eyes glinting in the dark. Breathing deeply, I turned back to the window. Just as she said, it was free from soot and scratches, gleaming brand new. 

I flew down the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt. 

She was gone. 

I paused, confused, glancing this way and that. 

A curtain twitched near the door. That was all. 

A cold breath washed over my soaked armsleeve. 

I spun to face her, nose inches from my neck. I jumped again, clasping my clammy hands together. 

It took me several seconds to regain the ability to speak. 

“I- I beg your pardon, but I believe you weren’t here earlier when I called you. The lobby was completely empty.” 

“Oh.” She tilted her head and frowned a little. I noted that her eyes were back to their normal blue. 

“I can assure you, sir, I was present the entire time. I saw you walking down the stairs. It was precisely 37 minutes past two.” 

“I don’t–” 

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. “Ah well, I must have been imagining things. If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave right now.” 

I stepped cautiously backwards. She didn’t budge. 

I stepped faster. She blinked once. 

I grabbed the handle. A muscle in her face twitched – a blood-curdling shriek came and she lunged at me like a banshee. 

I ran.

She clutched my arms on the doorstep, blonde hair thrashing and eyes glinting. Nails like talons pierced through my flesh. Her teeth ripped at my forehead, but she couldn’t reach; she bit wildly until her lips cut. I pushed with every morsel of strength in my limbs, but couldn’t get her off. “Come back,” she hissed. “It’s too early to leave.” She clawed at my chest, ripping the shirt into shreds and eliciting howls of pain. Claws gripped my arms. Sinking into – “Agh!”  – sinking deeper.

White pain seared my eyelids.

“You won’t escape this.” Her lips turned upwards in a cruel smile. Anger coursed through me. An innate surge of adrenaline burst through my nerves, and by some superhuman effort I managed to pry myself from her grasp, staggering out into the street. A faint sound of horseshoes clattering up the road. 

All else quiet. 

She gave me a look of steel and jumped at me again, tackling me. I hit the cobblestone street with a sharp thud, and winced as I pushed away her face, frothing with madness and champing at the air. I grabbed her wrists, groaning as she kicked at every exposed part of my body. With one final, savage shove, I hurled her off me – just as a six-horse-drawn carriage appeared in full might, wheels thundering against the cobblestones. I stumbled aside, but not quickly enough.

A hoof came down hard, smashing into my leg with a crack that sent fire through my veins. I screamed and collapsed, tasting blood in the back of my throat. I watched, half-delirious, as the carriage barrelled into her with brutal force, dragging her under in a spray of crimson before continuing at the same speed.

In the gutter I lay, wholly immobilised.

I could barely muster the strength to raise my head and see the wreck left behind; I let out a sigh of relief. A few metres away lay the broken body of the madwoman, all bloodied and battered and without the slightest sign of life. The carriage slowed down further up the street as if in hesitance, then rolled on into the darkness as if nothing had happened. 

With what remained of my feeble strength I managed to roll myself onto the sidewalk, and I stayed there, breathing heavily. I couldn’t bring myself to care that I was laying near the doorstep of the building I had vowed never to step foot in again. I was aching, aching all over, and every rush of wind sliced through my wounds, bringing new jolts of pain. 

At some point a delirious feeling took hold of me, and I was half aware of a figure bent over me, blocking out the lights of the streetlamps. Please, please help me, I thought. Pick me up. Bring me somewhere warm. I hoped for delivery, for an angel to swoop down from above and carry me far away from this misery, and it seems I was answered… though the fingers that wrapped around my back and legs bore nails like trenchant blades…

***

Pain was the first thing I registered when I awoke.

I was in a small, dark room, on an iron bed with a threadbare blanket, and I stared up at a moldy ceiling. A faint blue light came from the window, signalling it was nearly dawn. A fan above turned slowly, each blade slicing through the musty air, creaking as it went. I fixed my weak eyes on it, hurting too much to move anywhere else. Sharp pains coursed through me now, coming stronger and stronger with each wave as I gradually emerged to wakefulness. Unfortunately, I knew where I was, and grit my teeth as I sat up, turning, to place my feet on the floor. I gleaned that I was still in my clothes, and no efforts had been made to treat my wounds. Some semblance of gladness overcame me when I realised the room was empty, but with each blink, my eyes lighted on some new grimy facet of the room that I wasn’t so keen on exploring.

In a haze, I ripped part of the bedsheet, dressing my wounds, yet I was unable to shake the chilling feeling that there was someone watching me. Alas, it was impossible to tell – the walls were covered with all sorts of tiny dark spots…

Knowing that it would be foolish to stay much longer, I did the best I could with the rest of my wounds and gritted my teeth. As I approached the door, the light from the window did little to help – it was nearly pitch black in the little entranceway. I became aware of a stench, so strong it hit me in the face. With each step it grew fouler and fouler. I raised a scrap of my shirt and covered my nose and mouth. Pressing my ear against the door, I couldn’t hear a single sound, save for a slight thump at the door. It seemed like nothing though… probably just the wind. 

Be brave, I told myself. Be strong. This is not the time to back down. You’ve defeated her once. You can do it again. I pinched my nose through the cloth. But you’re injured now, another voice came. She will overpower you in an instant. But no. In the end, I knew there was no other option. I slowly lowered my hand to the doorknob. 

It turned with an eerie creak. 

Sweat dripped from under the cloth. 

I cracked it open a few centimetres. And the smell that came out choked me and my chest constricted in agony as I vomited where I stood. “Ohhh…” I groaned, heaving. “Something’s there.” I whispered. “Something-” 

Then I felt the true scorching sensation of fear. Not the kind that comes to a man as he grapples with a being stronger than humanly possible, but the kind of fear that hits him when the room is blacker than night and there is someone there right in front of you that reeks of rot and you can’t see who it is.

My heart stopped for a moment. I couldn’t move. My feet were part of the floor. I didn’t want to turn and look back. Whatever was there was right in front of me. And it was staring me in the eye. I felt around the doorframe, scared I might accidentally touch something else. There was nothing. I reached out. Empty air. 

Breathing heavily, I reached out closer to the side. A slight breeze hit my hand. Something soft – cloth. I retracted my hand like a spring and tried to scream but had no voice. My mouth gaped wide. 

Morbid curiosity drove me. I reached out and felt it again. I pressed a little deeper. Something firmer – skin. Silent tears poured down my cheeks. 

It is here it is here it is HERE.

I wanted to step past it. To run away down the corridor and fly down the stairs and never see this place again. Every muscle in my body begged to do so. 

But–

I stepped forward. Pressing myself to the edge. Cloth brushed against me fully. I tucked in my stomach. I pressed further. 

It was tall – it was – not warm. 

Cold. 

Then I bit my lip in a scream. 

Long, cold, curled fingers caught limply on my neck. I moved slightly – they bent backwards. 

I bit my bottom lip, squeezing my eyes shut as the cold things trailed along my bare neck. 

Then gave way.

I moved a little faster 

and the thing moved; 

it hit me. 

I started in terror. I couldn’t see. Every metre in front of me was enshrouded in darkness. It stretched in front of me, behind me, in my head, burning through my eyes like tar. As I felt my way into the hall, the walls started to buzz. They grew louder for a few seconds, louder, and louder and louder, reaching a fever-high pitch that went on, and on and on, until the air was so thick with sound that I could almost touch it. My head throbbed with the pain – I was choking, I didn’t know if I was screaming anymore, my body curled into an aching ball on the floor – then it rose up and up and up until the whole hallway exploded with a sudden burst of light. 

Blinding yellow-white.

It went black again, and a faint smell of lamp gas leaked into the air. I sobbed now, shaking uncontrollably – in those few seconds I had seen the truth. 

It was Ms. Gardiner. A dead Ms. Gardiner. Her body swung like a rag doll from a rope in front of my door. Her skin hung in sagging heaps where the blood had gathered, pale and blue. I brought my hand to my mouth, moved with terror and pity. 

I felt somewhat calm once more; there was nobody here, the hallway; empty. I could go, I could go! Clutching my bloody chest, shaking, I froze. 

A singsongy voice. Humming like a nightingale. It wafted up the stairs to the hallway where I crouched. It grew closer. No – I thought. No, this can’t be happening. I looked to my room in indecision. Maybe I could jump out the window – but no, it was too high. The voice grew louder. Panic flooded through me. Steady, purposeful steps. 

Then, “I’m here, Mr. Kirkwood. Why are you trying to leave?” 

I couldn’t muster a response. 

“Why don’t you stay a few more nights?” The voice was curiously pacific. 

“No.” I whispered. “I will never step foot in this place again.” 

Silence. 

“What if you never leave it?” the voice snarled. 

And then the sounds of pounding footsteps. 

I was halfway through the hall. My only hope was the back – maybe there was a ladder, something, anything. 

I ran blindly into the blackness, hands in front of me, and a nagging sensation told me to veer to the left. My sense was correct, for a heavy mass hurtled into the wall with a slam. Deep hissing followed, and I crept backwards, flinching as I hit the wall. The snarling thing drew nearer. “Spare me–” I whispered, as I hugged the wall, inching along. I could tell her piercing eyes were locked onto me. She hissed again, but this time, there was something new. It was a hiss of pleasure. I carefully moved the other way, I could feel the rotten plaster behind me crack ever so slightly. 

Warm breath slithered down my cheek. I could sense a pressure somewhere left on the wall, and the plaster cracked horribly. It soon gave way, and in a last effort of desperation I tried to run, but an arm smacked across my chest. I heaved in great pain, abruptly realising that no fewer than two of my ribs were cracked in the previous fight. 

The madwoman snarled with delight and delicately wrapped her pointed fingers around my arms, guiding me to the wall – which, I could tell, as my foot could not find ground – was no longer there. Enfeebled by agony, my attempts to pry myself from her grasp were fruitless. She shoved me playfully and that was when gravity turned upside down. I gasped as I plummeted down, down, down, into a hole I could not see or feel. Within a couple of seconds my body shook with a jarring sensation, and I impressed vaguely that I had hit the bottom of a pit. As the last breath stole from my trembling lungs, a sinister call reached my ears.

“You never were meant to leave this inn.”

---

56 Cedar Lane

This time, it was the horrible pain in his gut that led Daniel to his seat at seven in the evening, perched on the window ledge of a bungalow. He carefully slid his foot towards the frame, and with a couple of well-aimed kicks, he was in. He tumbled to the floor, cursing in silence as he stood up. He waited thirty, sixty seconds, but not a cry or footstep echoed in the hall. While peering into a mirror, aside from getting a ghastly glimpse of his own reflection, something sparkled in a cabinet a little farther down.

Daniel bit his lip in consternation.

The house was shrouded in darkness.

And the rooms more silent than death itself.

So he took a bet and entered the hallway.

A gleaming vision of the cabinet filled his senses, and his heart pounded as he drew nearer, seeing the many dishes and tea sets within.

That was the moment his heart stopped.

For in the rounded surface of a teapot, he saw another figure on his left, knitting in a rocking chair. An elderly woman, eyes glued on the small black-and-white figures in her television. The fuzzy voices coming from the screen rendered her oblivious. He shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

Abruptly, his arm tore across the shelf. Pots and dishes cascaded to the floor, crashing in heaps into his bag. The cacophony assaulted his ears like nothing else, but the old woman didn’t move.

She couldn’t stop him.

He grabbed one final dish and sprinted out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him, not pausing to glance behind. He swung into the bedroom and had nearly reached the other side when he heard a quiet, “Please.” He clambered onto the windowsill. “Stop.”

He caught sight of her in the door then swiftly turned away, his fingers shaking like fragile leaves in the wind.

“They are all I have left. Please.” The word echoed again in a puddle of broken choruses, and he heard her voice as if submerged underwater. He found himself unable to move.

The bag was pried out of his fingers, and though his mind screamed at him to yank it back, he couldn’t.

“Look at me, dear,” she said, and when he did, he could only look for a few seconds. A bony finger traced his cheek, and her eyes softened as she traced the gaping holes in his face, the face that was nearly as gaunt as hers. 

“I jus’ need some grub.” 

“Follow me.” Her eyes bored into his once more, sending a shiver down his spine. In a haze, he glanced at the bag for a moment before turning back to the hallway. The woman watched as he did, and when he moved forward, so did she.

***

Her fingers were the ones that betrayed her, trembling violently as she guided him out of the room. At one moment he fingered his gun at the back of his belt in contemplation, but let it go. It was the way she never looked back, never ran, that stopped him. 

She led him down into the kitchen, taking out some wrapped dishes from the fridge. 

“Make yourself at home. I am Melinda, by the way.”

He hesitated, but the warmth in her voice and plain honesty drew him in. She placed the food in front of him and gestured. Daniel looked at the food, then at her. His stomach growled like a caged beast, demanding to be fed. Eventually, he gave in. Melinda sat opposite him, her gaze fixed intently as he ate.

“What is your name?” 

“Daniel,” he replied between mouthfuls. 

“Daniel, you do not have to steal to survive,” she said. “There are other ways. You may stay here tonight, and in the morning I will make arrangements.” 

He nearly choked. 

“You won’t call ‘em coppers?” he finally managed to ask. 

When she didn’t object, he tilted his head, trying to figure her out.

“I wrecked yer house.”

“It does not matter to me.” Now he looked at her with eyes brimming with gratitude, yet confusion. 

***

That night, Daniel slept in a soft bed for the first time in months. The next morning he thanked her deeply and set off towards the nearest shop, beginning his hunt for a job. He knew he would never forget Melinda. Turning back towards the house, he noted the number. 

56. 

“56 Cedar Lane.” he muttered to himself. “56 Cedar Lane.”

---

Shattered Thoughts

The library, I need to get to the library, I thought, as I was pushed and shoved amongst a sea of bodies. I could have been a ghost to them. Nothing more than a flicker in their peripheral vision, a darker stain on the brick wall to be ignored. Great fog of empty dissonance drifted around; blinding, yet dark. I needed to escape. I needed silence.

It greeted me as I walked through the school’s library doors, closing the fog off in an instant. Finally. Peace and quiet.

There were a few people meandering around, scanning the shelves or buried in books. I took one out of my bag and plopped onto an armchair, falling into the story almost immediately. I barely noticed when the librarian greeted me. 

“I said good afternoon, Helena.” 

“Oh sorry, I didn’t hear you!” I said in a rushed voice. “Good afternoon, Ms. Blake. How are you doing?” My cheeks flushed. 

“I’m fine,” she replied, but her voice told otherwise. She brushed a stray brown hair out of her face. “Weather’s nice out today. Why don’t you take a walk? There won’t be too many sunny days like this one.” 

“It’s okay,” I muttered, looking down. It was quiet here, and I only had a few minutes before science class began. 

“Suit yourself.” she called, as she walked back to her desk.

Now, where was I? 

I scanned the page, looking for the right paragraph, before diving back into the thrilling adventure. I was so engrossed in my novel I jumped to my feet when the bell rang. “Crap,” I muttered, throwing my book haphazardly into my bag.

Mr. Manelli won’t be happy.

I frantically reached for, missed, and grabbed the strap, running towards the door. Before I reached it, however, it swung open with a bang. I jumped back and froze in shock. Standing in the doorway was a lean girl with sun-kissed skin, just a little taller than I. She was barely supporting a boy beside her, who looked terribly ill. But what really put my nerves on edge was her face. Oh, her face. It had set into the most dreadful expression of fear and horror I had ever seen.

“He’s been shot!” she wailed. “He’s been shot! I need help!” Her tears, a torrent of anguish, traced dark rivulets down her face, turning her mascara into inky trails of sorrow. 

For a second I just stood there, hating the panicked lump rising in my throat and the sudden pounding of my heart.

It’s a senior prank. It has to be. Clearly Ms. Blake thought the same, because she rose slowly and furrowed her brow into a stern gaze. However, in the few seconds I glanced at her, I immediately noticed her fingers trembling like leaves.

“No more of these antics. I know summer is around the corner, but—” Her voice cut off when she heard the boy.

He was groaning in pain. Very real pain.

A strange look came across her face, and almost like a rolling wave, all the whispers and rustlings in the room turned to tepid silence. It was only when my bag fell to the floor and everyone jumped that I realised what was happening. 

“Everyone, hide! Now! This is not a drill! Get under the tables!” Ms. Blake screamed.

The few students in the library that had wandered close to the front, curious, now ran for cover. Ms. Blake sprinted around the desk and slammed the doors. The boy was groaning again. 

Shortly after, a distorted message came on over the P.A. I didn’t waste another second. My heart was slamming against my ribcage. Blazing hot blood surging to my temples and pounded through my ears. Yet my legs were lead, trapped and immovable.

Then I heard them. 

Loud bangs, like a balloon popping, but amplified to a terrible level.

My ears seemed to be in a floating reality, disconnected from my mind. Vaguely I felt myself start at each bang. The lead hunks that were my legs were beginning to loosen. I began walking in a stumbling fashion, navigating shelves and tripping over chair legs. My ears rang with the aftershots, hearing them over and over in my head until I couldn’t discern the real from the echoes. 

Now I was running, and my head swung from side to side, looking for a good place to hide. There weren’t any. 

A pounding noise came from the direction of the door. 

I sprinted towards the back of the room, not even feeling the scrapes on my elbows as I thundered through. In a split second, I noticed another scared face peeking out from under the computer tables. An unfamiliar one, but welcome. I guess he noticed how lost and scared I looked too,  because he gestured for me to hide with him. 

The pounding turned into a series of sickening screeches. Metal twisting in agony.

It was so strange. 

In the midst of the chaos, time came to a standstill. The boy pulled a chair aside for me, and as I crouched down, I got a chance to look at his eyes. My mouth fell open a little. They were this incredible shade of brown, so bright and warm, and all around the edges, there were tiny filigrees of gold. Small drops of the sun. He gave me a timid smile. 

The moment was abruptly shattered by the sound of bullets spraying through the glass in the door. Shouts and the twist of a lock. The boy grabbed my hand, and our eyes met. Mine and his. Those breathtaking hazel eyes. 

“We’re going to be okay,” he said, “everything is going to be okay.” And for a moment, I believed him. Fully and truly. But then the doors burst open, and my eyes slammed shut. I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t want to feel. Yet the voices of the gunmen made their way to me, sliding needles deep into my arms, my legs, my throat. 

My primal instincts urged me to scream. I couldn’t. 

I shut my eyes tighter and hoped. 

Hoped against hope that everything would just go away and it would all be a nightmare. 

A shot shattered my thoughts. It tore through the room. 

Screams. 

Not mine. 

Wake up

wake up

wake up

It’s a dream.

It’s just a dream. 

I must wake up

I must wake up 

I must—

Crack. 

I must— Bang!

…

Someone was screaming. I’m not entirely sure who it was now. Maybe it was the mascara girl. Maybe it was the boy. Maybe it was me. 

I felt a sharp burning spreading through my thigh. Lashing and surging through my veins like boiling water. I reached down to grip the source of the pain. I couldn’t see. I could only feel. The world was spinning. My hand was warm… and wet.

My world was slowing. I blinked through the red agony to see the boy with the hazel eyes still right beside me. He had let go of my hand: he was gripping his stomach instead. His shirt was drenched crimson. 

He was pleading with the shooter… begging for his life. 

Through the subdued cacophony I heard the words “spare me…” and “please.” 

So many times the word “please” was beginning to accompany the tinny ringing in my skull. 

I racked my mind for something to say, as if choosing the right words would save his life, but I could barely form a sentence when–

no.

no.

no.

it happened.

I let out a strangled cry and looked away. 

Too late. 

Eyes closed or not, I could still see it. There was… so, so much blood.

I wanted to die. I wanted to die more than anything. It needed to be quick. It needed to be painless. I wanted to disappear. Leave this terrible nightmare for once and for all. But no such luck. The shooters had moved on now, terrorizing more people. The gunshots still rang out, but they were muted now, muffled and dissonant. 

Just like the chatter in the halls.

At some point, I mustered the strength to open my eyes again; he was still there.

I remember grabbing his hand again. It was still warm. 

But his eyes—those radiant golden eyes of his—were different now. Empty. Blank. Unseeing. The special kindness in them had disappeared.

The room spun, and I gripped the pain in my thigh, once again wishing to escape. The burning had radiated upwards, and the prickling was akin to someone blowing a spray of scalding water on that leg. 

Ironically enough, somehow I knew that I wasn’t going to die. I would survive this day—my wish would be granted. But not his.

Silent tears and black spots began to cloud my vision. Somewhere in the deep reaches of the enveloping darkness, my last thought floated to me.

Why must I live while he had to die? 

It wasn’t fair… 

---

Poetry

• Upon a Mad Moonlit Night
• Sinking, sinking, sinking
• First Dawn
• The First Snowfall

Upon a Mad Moonlit Night

First Dawn

There was a time when the world was a heavenly bower
One could run in the streets, laugh and yell
It was golden with happiness and free from restricting power
Singing ran clear in my ears, in tune with the chimes of a bell.

When the silver rain fell down in cascading torrents,
I leapt for joy, waiting for the flowers to blossom
Instead of weeping by the window, trying to make it unapparent.
Where were all those problems?

When I was left to wallow in the wayward waters of fate, 
Where the grey waves rushed, ebbed and flowed, yet never touched me,
How was I to know that I would be abandoned with hate?
I simply waited out the storm, without a beg or a plea.

Where did the golden city go?
Those weeping willows with their leafy skirts waving in the wind,
Those icy hills adorned with blankets of snow,
The sunrise with its glorious colours, all had now dimmed.

But one day, it came slowly, just like it used to;
A gentle bloom of gold before the thunderous blaze of crimson
It flooded the wreckage of my mind, the sharp edges and the blue
It washed away the debris, and broke the bars of my prison.

It was the first dawn I had seen in years. 

---

The First Snowfall

The sky turns light, swelling into pale grey,
The air is cold; a very frigid day.
When the clouds’ fingertips touch the ground, 
Not making a single sound,
They fall swiftly, unnoticed at first,
Until they envelop all, in their white, wintry burst.

Airy as marshmallows and light as a feather,
The snowflakes are so tiny, yet multitudinous in number.
The wind howls in despair, rattling the window shutters,
While the bare trees listen to its unearthly mutters.
The pines are slowly shrouded in glittering white shawls,
While night comes around, ever closer it crawls.

The silver moon and stars are reflected on the frozen lake,
As still as the water, which has now become opaque.
And the waxwing crows in the distance,
Carolling with the wolves, that howl with consistence.
I shiver in bed, glad for the fire’s smoking embers,
Winter has always been like this, for as long as I can remember.

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