《Tales of Terror by E. A. P. Duffy》 The Pit of A Thousand Hands By E. A. P. Duffy I used to make a point of avoiding the woods behind my house. A small cottage that bordered a main road, in clear view of passersby, not at all disconcerting to look at. Cozy but for the towering trees that beckoned to the unknown - a forest that stretched for miles beyond my little home. It was dangerous enough to live alone, being a woman, though not a young one. Even more dangerous if I ever ventured out into the woods, but I knew better. I stayed firmly planted in my little cottage, and if I heard of a bear attack, or a cougar, or some other foul creature, I counted myself not lucky, but wise. There was never any indication that there could be something more dangerous than wild animals in the woods behind my house. In midwinter, I very nearly felt brave enough to venture out. I had company coming the next evening, a dear old friend of mine who I wanted to welcome with my coziest, warmest greetings. However, I had almost run out of firewood. That day, with the impending approach of a guest, and the cold weather, and the promise that any wild animal would be deep in hibernation, I stepped out into the woods behind my house. In one hand I held an axe. In the other, a lantern. My coat was tied tight around my waist as I trodd on frozen ground into the woods. I didn''t go far, mind you. There was really no need. I only needed to sever a few branches, some tinder. Not far, no. But far enough to stumble upon some trouble. A rocky cliff sat a few yards behind my house, into the woods. Covered with spiky barren brush and the remains of fall, frost covered dead leaves like a carpet. I walked past it, around a corner. My little cottage was just out of sight. That is where the trouble began. What caught my eye was not the cave itself but the scent that came from it. Like mold, rotting things, and death. Not a sharp scent, nor a sweet one, but wet. Musty. My nose wrinkled in spite of me, and my eyes followed my nose towards the scent. The biting cold air bid me not to look closer. I was tired, but my curiosity grew stronger as the scent did. Slowly, I wandered towards it, my grip tightening on my axe as I lifted the lantern higher. Around a rocky outcropping, on the side of the cliff facing away from my house, I found the source. Not quite a cave, but more of a hole. I lifted my lantern - strange, I remarked, that though it lit the woods around me quite well, I could see no further than a few inches into the hole in front of me. It was as if it was consuming the light as quickly as my lantern could give it off. I almost wondered if I could see the fire leaning towards the hole, being sucked in a steady stream. Fancy that. A hole that ate flame. Like starlight it danced towards the darkness, changing colors and twisting and dancing. It seemed to sing. There was almost a beckoning. I set the axe down at my feet, and reached up, towards the stream of flame that was trailing into the hole, disappearing into an almost misty void. As I did, I immediately regretted the action. The moment my fingers brushed the flames, I felt not heat, but a strong, irresistible tug at my fingertips. Too late, i tried to pull back, violently, but the pull only became stronger with my struggling. My hand was dragged to the mouth of the hole, and my torso with it. My entire body was being sucked in. Numbness swept over my fingertips, then my palm, and began to creep up my arm as I dug my heels into the frozen earth. A shatter of the lantern as it fell from my fingertips was the only sound, I hadn''t even thought to cry out, though my mouth hung agape. Mind racing, I flailed wildly, and then, a saving grace occured to me. The axe The axe, the axe! I grabbed it with my free hand and gave one more attempt to pull away, stretching out my arm until I could see where my arm gave way to darkness right at the mouth of the hole. With adrenaline racing through my veins more parts than blood, I swung the blade down towards my wrist. The cut was not clean. But immediately, I was released. I flew backwards, free of the pull. Upon my harsh landing, I looked down at my wrist, the only thought to stop whatever bleeding might have been caused by my hacking my hand off with an axe. I never thought there could be a worse sight than a bloodied stump where my hand ought to be. Indeed, I will put those thoughts forward now, though. The sight worse than a bloodied stump was the sight that greeted me then - a clean, smooth, bloodless and rounded nub. Not as though I had severed my hand with an axe. Rather, it was as though I''d never had my hand at all. My blood ran ice cold. The smell was stronger now, intoxicating. The only thing that kept me from going back to that dreaded cavern, strangely, was the sudden thought of my guest. What would they think, I wondered, as I blankly stared at the stump of a wrist. I tried to get to my feet, and stumbled. By the time that I had found the wherewithal to use the axe to prop myself up, I had all but forgotten the hole, and the smell. My eyes were focused on the woods around me, on the path home. My mind was focused on nothing much at all, in a haze. Around the cliff I staggered, and into my cottage. With my one hand, I closed the door. With one hand, I propped my axe against the wall. With one hand, I pulled back the covers on my little bed. With one hand, and only a quarter of my mind, I fell asleep. * * * * * * * * * * * * Peterson was with me when I woke up. A hearty, friendly man with a thick beard and smiling eyes, Peterson was a family friend who had always been a little too warm for me. I needed his warmth, though, and his bluntness as he immediately questioned the obvious.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. "What in the blazes happened to you, my girl?" I sat up in my bed, hazily. Everything came back to me quite quickly. "Oh god, I didn''t get firewood." "Nevermind the bloody firewood!" Peterson cried, "You''re missing your hand!" Oh, yes. Indeed I was. "It''s nothing." Peterson was deeply unamused. "Ester." he said, his warm eyes filled with concern. "Something''s happened to you, hasn''t it?" I shook my head, rubbing the end of my arm with a no real feeling of shock, or of anything, really. Numbness permeated my soul, and robbed me of any common sense. If it hadn''t, perhaps I wouldn''t have done what I did next, and perhaps I wouldn''t be telling you this story now. Perhaps. There is no use, however, in wondering what would have happened if I''d been in my right mind. What actually happened was this: I took Peterson around the back of my house, into the woods. Over frozen ground, around the back side of the little cliff. There was no hole in the back of the cliff. There was a pit. The hole appeared to have eaten through the cliff and created a cave about the width of a rich man''s bathtub, with a low roof, and no bottom in sight. The pit stretched down, and as we stopped at the edge, my stomach turned. Branching from the walls of the pit like mushrooms on a rotting log were hands. Hundreds of hands, swaying as though in some unseen breeze. The smell was back, strong as ever, like acid. Like vinegar. I retched, and tripped over my own feet as I backed away from the edge. Whatever curiosity had gripped me the night before had left me. Unfortunately, it appeared to have infected Peterson. He didn''t join me where I now stood, a good ten feet away from the edge of the pit. Rather, he stood two feet back, and rubbed his beard as he looked down. "Hands." He said, in a sort of shocked observational tone. It was clear that what he was seeing had robbed him of the ability to say anything more than the obvious. "Hands!" I repeated, equally lacking in tact. "Pale pale hands." Peterson added, kneeling by the edge of the pit. "Don''t - " I stepped forward, but as the hands crested my view again, nausea hit me again, and I gagged. My stump wrist was tingling wildly as my eyes flicked back and forth. "Are they growing out of the walls?" Peterson wondered aloud. "Did some madman nail them there? They seem to be swaying, but I feel no wind. Only sort of a pull -" "Peterson!" I shouted, "Stay back from the edge!" "I''m being careful, Ester." He assured me, and backed up a foot. He picked up a stick, and slowly reached towards the pit, poking softly at one of the hands. It didn''t react, didn''t move, didn''t grab. This bolstered his confidence. "Hmm." He said, poking it harder. Still, no reaction. I should have stopped him. But he reached down, with his left hand, towards the pit. Carefully, he stroked the palm of one of the outermost appendages, and immediately pulled away in shock. "It''swarm!" he said, disgusted. It was then that the smell grew stronger again. The soft sunlight that had been streaming into the cave, barely lighting it, seemed to swell. I could see, even from where I was standing, that the pit was indeed lined with hands, spiralling down, all shifting and swaying as though in a current, or a breeze. The wrists were limp, like the hands of a woman who has fainted. But they did not seem dead. And, more worryingly to me, they seemed familiar. I recognized them instantly as the hand I had seen for every day of my life until now. I felt, instantly and urgently, that we must move away. Immediately. "Peterson - " I said, but he seemed in a trance. The smell was suffocating. I had to step back again, feeling that if I didn''t, I wouldn''t be able to breath. It hovered around the pit like a cloud, and Peterson seemed lost to it. "Peterson!" I called, as loudly as I could. He didn''t seem to hear me, reaching once more towards the pit. I watched, helpless and in horror, as his fingers brushed the darkness. And rather than some sort of nameless suction that had grabbed me, he was immediately seized by hundreds and hundreds of hands. I saw the ones nearest the edge wrap around his forearm, clenching with stoney strength. He said they were warm to the touch, but they looked dead and mechanical as they grabbed him. At first, he didn''t react at all. Then, suddenly, the air cleared. The intoxicating, sickening scent vanished. And Peterson screamed. He screamed my name, guttural and horrified, as he disappeared over the edge of the pit. There was a horrible, visceral sucking noise, a slurping almost, and I ran towards him - just slow enough to see his eyes staring up at me as the hands pulled him down, his own arm outstretched towards me. He was too far down. I couldn''t do anything - nothing but listen as he continued to scream my name, fading out of view, as I stood at the edge of the pit. And watched. * * * * * * * * * * * * For nearly a day I didn''t move from the edge of the pit. Well, not quite the edge. I didn''t dare sit near the edge. No, I sat ten feet back, on my knees. Without a hand. Without Peterson. Until I heard his voice again. "Ester..." The word he had said with his dying breath - or, I had assumed he was dead. Foolishly, I felt a spark of hope upon hearing his voice. I stood quickly, and rushed to the edge of the pit. I was greeted with exactly what I should have expected. From the wall of the pit, I saw the hands i had seen before. My own hands, still branching out, still swaying in the breeze, no longer clenched but relaxed once more. And then, from amongst the hands, I saw full arms. Brawnier than my own, harrier. I saw legs, feet. I saw... eyes. A face. Peterson. Several Petersons, more than a dozen, were growing out of the walls, much like the hands. Attached at the spine, it seemed, with the arms and legs hanging loose and free, still swaying in that unseen breeze. Eyes wide, rolled back into skulls, and soulless. Tongues lolling out of mouths, spittle dripping down chins. "Peterson..." I whispered, choking on my voice. "Ester..." Dozens of voices, barely whispers, echoed my name. "Come down, Ester." I jolted back at the idea. Too fast. The ground beneath me seemed to give way and suddenly, I was slipping. I reached out to grab something, anything, to steady myself. A hand grabbed me, first. Then another, then more, as I fell. Hands, hands, passing me down deeper. It was far from a freefall,I struggled to free myself, to climb using the hands as footholds, but they simply grabbed onto my feet as I tried. The stronger, calloused hands of Peterson joined in. The sunlight started to fade out of my view and I felt the hands prodding at every part of my body. Unnervingly warm, unsettlingly mechanical. They pulled at my legs, wrapped around my throat, and my waist. Stretching my lips apart, their fingers forced between my teeth. I choked. I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder and a tearing. Then another, and another. My eyes, which had been closed to avoid the prying fingers, snapped open to try and find the source, but i could see nothing in the muddle of body parts. The pain came again - I realized I was being bitten. Eaten alive. Peterson''s teeth tearing into my flesh, followed by my own hands ripping apart the exposed wounds. Whatever they were, they were consuming me. This was too much for me. Unceremoniously, I passed out. * * * * * * * * * * * * A hand shot up over the edge of the pit. My hand. Followed by my shoulders. My head. My body. I pulled myself up, and stood on the edge, surveying the void I left behind. The hands were gone. The Petersons were gone. Left behind were circular impressions where they had once been attached to the stone, bigger ones where the Petersons had grown. There was nothing now. No scent, no voices, no suction. No allure. Not from the pit, anyhow. My gaze left the pit and examined my hands. Two hands, pale but stoney strong. I ran one of them through my hair, down my cold face, to my neck, and down my other arm. A body, indeed. My body? Ester? .... I stumbled back around the bend towards the cottage. Behind me, there was the soft sound of something sealing. The pit, certainly, sealing into a cliffside that would look as if it had never changed. But something else had sealed, too. A gate, perhaps. A cell door, maybe. Sealing, but too late. For I had already escaped. The Cafe at The Park By E. A. P. Duffy It wasn''t as if there was no sign that something was going to go wrong that day. Firstly, the weather turned sour almost immediately after I left my house, and I was forced to turn back and fetch an umbrella. This made me almost ten minutes late to my engagement, and if I hadn''t been ten minutes behind, I likely wouldn''t have witnessed the automobile accident a few blocks into my walk. Three automobiles, piled up in the center of an intersection, steam pouring from their bonnets. Blood spattered on the ground - a nasty sight. If I hadn''t witnessed that, I likely wouldn''t have diverted my path through the park. And then, I wouldn''t have witnessed a strange scattering of feathers on the path - as though a crow had been attacked, the feathers were spread in a circle. I''ve always been somewhat fond of crows and ravens, jays and jackdaws, so this occurrence was where I started to be concerned. The immediate conclusion to reach was that there had been something of a corvid massacre in the area. I picked a feather up off the ground, and scanned the trees as my walking slowed. Nothing in the trees. Not a single crow in sight, nor bird of prey. Just feathers, enough to make up half a bird at least. No blood here, either. My brow furrowed, but I stuck the feather in the band of my hat, and continued on. I seemed intent to ignore any signs the universe may be putting forth. I continued through the park, past couples having a romantic walk, past old men watching as the city workers repaved a path, with umbrellas propped on their shoulders. One of these old men made a comment about how he would have lain the brick in a different pattern. I rolled my eyes. Old men seemed to know how to do everything better than the professionals who were currently doing it. So deep in scornful thought towards this man was I that I simply didn''t register the soft thud as I passed by, and the cries of alarm - calls for a medic. One of the old men - the one who had spoken or not, I am not sure - had just suffered a heart attack. The universe seemed to scream to me to turn back. I did not hear. Rather, perhaps I didn''t listen. I was too focused on my objective, and my destination - a cafe, which presently came into view as I left the park behind me. It was fairly new. I had never visited it before, not that that made a difference, as I was still fairly new to the city. One thing I greatly appreciated about the city, however, was it''s cafes. Nothing quite helped my mood like sitting alone in the back corner of a room, with my notebook in front of me. Surrounded by people, yet protected from interaction by the rules of polite society. Yes, how I loved cafes. So, when a rather charming stranger approached me at a bar, asked to set up a date, and inquired as to where I''d like to meet, I suggested my home cafe. It was he who had changed the plan. He who had suggested this new cafe, saying it was fairly near his apartment, and he''d never tried it before. What a time to try new things, he''d said, with new people. Well, ever since I''d left the countryside, every experience had been a fairly new one. I''d discovered that I actually liked trying new things, quite a bit even. So, I''d said yes. And here I was, opening the crisply painted red door with it''s gold bar handle and sparkling clean windows. The interior of the place was equally as clean, and quite busy. Not noisy at all, the ambient noise was soft and pleasant. Soft music played from a stage in the back where a single young man played clarinet. The counter was manned by one woman, who noticed me when I came in, and gave me a polite smile with closed lips. I smiled back equally politely, and scanned the room for my date. It didn''t take long to find him. Part of why I had agreed to this meeting was because of his appearance. Tall, with a long and gaunt face, dark eyes and dark hair. He looked slightly ghostly, but not inhuman - his eyes sparkled when he smiled, which he did now, when he spotted me. He waved me over to a little table in the middle of the cafe. Not my preferred location in a cafe, I always preferred a back corner facing the door. But, he let me take the seat that still allowed me to at least see the entryway, so I was content. He pulled the chair out for me like a proper gentleman. "Ester, so good to see you." He said, and offered a gentile kiss on my hand. I was flattered, to say the least. "And you, Henry. What a lovely little cafe this has turned out to be!" "Indeed!" Henry agreed, taking his own seat across from me. "Strange that I''d heard nothing about it before now." "Not so strange." I said, "It''s very new." "Ah, that''s true. But I''ve lived not far from here for quite some time, and my neighbor is a very opinionated older woman - she has given me her thoughts on every new business for the past ten years." I laughed, imagining him listening with patience to this woman as she let out her many opinions - especially since a few months ago, a new speakeasy had opened right next door to the shop Henry said he lived above. I could only imagine the noise was exquisite, and that his neighbor did not appreciate it. "So she said nothing about this cafe, then?" I inquired, removing my hat and setting it next to the little saucer and silverware set at my place on the table. "Not a thing." Said Henry, "Come to think, though, I haven''t seen her in some time. I wonder if she''s all right." "I certainly hope so too, how else will you know what to think of this place?" I gestured to the cafe around us. Henry laughed, and whatever nerves he had seemed to display a moment ago regarding his neighbor vanished. The lady who had just been occupying a station behind the counter presently came up to us with a notepad in hand. She gave us both the same polite smile she had given me when I entered, then said, "What can I get for the two of you?" Henry looked down at the menu he had laid across his place setting, and pursed his lips. "Gosh, I hadn''t even decided yet." "And I haven''t even looked at the menu!" I added, but then turned to the woman anyway. Her name tag read "Ruby", and her lips were a bright shade of red to match the name. Her uniform was pure white, but the trim was almost exactly the same shade of red. She was pretty, I added internally, but put that thought aside. I was on a date, after all. "Do you serve espresso drinks here, Miss Ruby?" "We do indeed!" She replied cheerfully. "Do you have a favorite?" "I''m partial to a cappuccino myself." I said, "Dry as you can." "One dry-dry cappuccino, got it." She scribbled something on her notepad. "And for you, sir? Anything to drink?" "I''ll have a hot tea, please. Earl grey. And a danish, if you please." "What flavor of danish?" "Cherry, thank you." He handed her the menu. As Ruby made her way back behind the counter, I smiled at Henry. "Ooh, good choice." I said. "I must confess, I''m not entirely familiar with espresso terminology. I don''t even know what a cappuccino is." He blushed as he made his confession. I was immediately charmed. "It''s a shot of coffee mixed with steamed milk." I said, "do you hear that noise?" We both paused in our conversation as a hissing, bubbling noise broke through the ambience. Henry looked in the direction it came from - behind the counter was a gloriously complicated machine of black and gold metal, where Ruby stood with a tin pitcher in her hand, moving it up and down. "Ah, is that how she steams the milk?" He asked, returning his gaze to me. "Yes, fascinating contraption, isn''t it?" "I thought you said you were from the countryside." Henry raised an eyebrow. "How is it you''re so up on all the most recent coffee gadgets?" "True, I''m from the countryside." I admitted, "I used to live alone in a little cabin, in fact. But, that life was quite the opposite of comfortable for me. I''m a big fan of all the most recent technology, and since I''ve moved I''ve discovered I was basically torturing myself by fixing a pot of black coffee every morning. It was fine, sure, but espresso? That''s nectar of the gods, right there." "With how you''re making it sound, I''m beginning to regret my order." I laughed. "You may have a sip of mine." I offered, then paused. Behind the strong scent of fresh coffee, and the baked goods, I was beginning to detect a new odor. Sweet, but unpleasant. Rotten. Strange, I thought, but ignored it. Perhaps it was a smell from the vents, or the back alley, or off the streets. Not a thing to be worried about. Henry looked a tad concerned by my distractedness. "Everything alright, Ester?" "Not a problem." I said with a reassuring smile. "So! You know I moved from the countryside, and you know I''m a writer. But I don''t know much at all about you - apart from that you have a talkative elderly neighbor." "Ah, well I don''t what Mrs. Little to be the most memorable thing about me." Henry laughed again. I liked the sound of his laugh - warm, and deep, and contagious. "I''m a banker, I''m sure you can guess that by everything about the way I look and act." "I had narrowed it down to banker, lawyer, or mortician." I teased and he laughed again. "My cousin''s a mortician, so that''s a good guess!" He said. "But no, just a banker." "Doesn''t sound like you enjoy it too much." "It certainly isn''t the most exciting profession, no." Henry admitted, "I''ve more of a passion for working with people, but people aren''t really interested in working with me." "Perhaps it''s how tall you are." "Perhaps it''s that I look like a mortician." Henry countered. "But the point is, my work isn''t really how I define myself, unlike yourself. Being an author is something to take pride in. Being a banker... not as much." "What do you take pride in, then?" I asked, leaning on my elbow. "Before I get into that, will you excuse me for a moment?" He looked apologetic as he pushed his chair out from the table. "I need to use the facilities." "Oh, of course. Take your time." As he left, I took the opportunity to take a second look at the cafe surrounding me. It was as busy as it had been when I first entered - the clarinet music still soothing, the chatter still light and fairly quiet. I took out my notebook and began to observe the people around me. A man in the corner was reading a newspaper, with a dog laying at the side of his booth. The dog seemed to notice my gaze on him - a fine shepherd dog, his tail thumped a little when we made eye contact.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. For a moment, I thought I saw that he had three heads. In that same instance, it seemed the man in the booth took notice of me as well. The two of them, dog and master, stared at me for a moment. The smell of rot overtook me once again, this time it was impossible to ignore. I held my napkin over my nose, eyes watering, but I couldn''t look away. The gentleman held eye contact with me, and slowly, the skin on his forehead began to ripple, warp, and shiver. It split in five places, and opened - eyes, black as night, stared at me, and I felt a chill run down my back. Before I could rip my gaze away, it seemed that I had imagined it all, and everything was back to normal. I looked down at my notebook, completely unsure what to write. I was still staring at it with empty eyes when Henry returned. "Are you alright?" was the first thing he asked, no doubt sensing my discomfort at the harrowing scene I had just... witnessed? Imagined? I knew not. "I''m fine." I said, closing my notebook and smiling. "Just lost in thought." "A new story concept, perhaps?" Henry lit up. "Won''t you tell me a little bit about it? I''m very curious about your work." "Now now - you said you would tell me about you, and your passions. We''re not turning this into a conversation about me again." "Ah, but you''re so much more interesting than me! Nevertheless, I''ll humor you." As he said this, Ruby returned with a mug in each hand. She placed one, filled to the bring with a fine foam, in front of me. The other she placed in front of Henry. "I''ll be back with your danish in just a moment, dear." She said to Henry. I looked up to thank her, and stopped short. She had blood on her face. It had to be, didn''t it? What had appeared to be lipstick before looks like blood now, wet and shiny. Could it just be that her lipstick was darker than I had previously thought? That it was smudged a little at the corners of her mouth? But when she smiled at me, I saw that her teeth were covered in the stuff, and a single drop spilled out from her lips and ran down her chin, leaving an obvious trail on its way. My eyes went wide. She seemed to be ignorant to my horror - or, was she relishing it? I couldn''t quite tell, for just as I opened my mouth to ask her about it, she turned and walked away. I turned back to Henry, who seemed unfazed. Had he not seen...? I looked back to the man in the booth. He seemed as unremarkable as ever. Between him and I was another table, where a mother and child sat. the mother faced me, but the child twisted in her seat to stare at me. Children often stare, so that in of itself was also unremarkable. But it was the fact that blood dripped from her mouth as well that stood out to me. "Henry -" I said, but as I did, the mother sternly demanded the child turn around. She wiped her daughter''s face with a napkin, and when the child looked at me again, her face was clean. She grinned at me with that little face, as though she knew - that I couldn''t say anything at all. "Ester, is something wrong? Really, you seem as though you''ve seen a ghost." I shook my head. "I''m fine." I lied. How could he believe me if I said anything, anyways? Perhaps, even, it wasn''t real at all. I had an active imagination, after all, my friends back home had always told me that they wondered if one day I wouldn''t lose my mind. I would take something for the nerves when I got home again. For now, I should just enjoy my date. Ruby returned again now. She, too, appeared to have no blood on her face at all. Only blood-red lipstick, neatly applied. Not a smudge or drip in sight. She placed a dish with a danish in front of Henry. "Anything else I can get for you two?" She said, smiling at us. "I think that''s all for now, thank you." Ruby gave us a little nod before she left us alone again. "I like to dance." Henry blurted out, seemingly unprompted before I remembered that I had been asking him about his personal interests just moments ago. "Oh!" I said, "That''s lovely. Are you any good?" "Well, that depends on what you say ''good'' is. I''m average, I''d say." "Where do you dance?" I asked, "I''ve been looking for something to do on the weekends that doesn''t involve being holed up at home working." "Ah, there''s a delightful little ballroom just down the street from here - the Emerald. Maybe you can join me there sometime?" He made the offer bashfully. I would have been charmed once again, were I not now on edge. "I''d like that." I said, maintaining a level of composure. I was now mostly certain that anything I was seeing was a result of nerves - perhaps a sense of stress looming over me from the things I''d experienced on my walk over. Perhaps as I had thought before, the product of an overactive imagination born of sitting in the back of cafes and making up stories about people in my free time most days. I determined to ignore the situation until I had further proof towards any of these theories. "Then it''s a date!" Henry was still enjoying himself, at least, as he picked up his danish and took a big bite out of it. As he did, some of the filling was squeezed out the back, and a white-red glob landed on the plate with a splat. At first, I thought it was simply a drop of creamed cheese and cherry - but, as I looked closer, my stomach turned. That was an eyeball! Unmistakably, an eyeball had slid out of his danish! It had to be, this time there was no mistaking it as I stared at it intently, making sure to mentally note every blood vein, the dead hollowness in it, and the way it rolled about for a second before settling. I felt sick to my stomach, bile rising in my throat - And then I blinked A cherry sat on the plate, not rolling about even a little bit. Some cream cheese dripped down the sides. But, it was simply a cherry. Nothing more, nothing less. I could feel my heart pounding. The sour taste in my mouth was still there, the smell of rot was beginning to creep over me again. I took a shuddering breath, trying to calm myself, Henry was still focused primarily on eating the danish, remarking offhandedly that it was perhaps the best he had ever tasted. Nothing apparently seemed off to him at all. And why should it? It was only a cherry danish. Then why... why did I feel so certain...? The smell didn''t dissipate. Neither did the turning of my stomach. I had to do something to distract myself, I thought. Perhaps my coffee... I picked up the sugar dish, and heaped a spoonful, dumping it into my coffee. As I stirred, I noticed something had caught in the foam. A lump of sugar, perhaps? But it was moving. Goddammit. Against my better judgement, I turned my attention to the sugar bowl, lifting the lid again and peering inside. Not a single grain of sugar awaited me. It was full of squirming. Slimy. Maggots. I screamed, and jumped up from the table. My coffee and the dish of maggots both flipped, spilling out onto the ground. Ruby looked up from behind the counter, immediately rushing around towards me, her features writ over with not anger or annoyance, but concern. I felt silly immediately, as Henry jumped back to avoid the dripping. "I''m so sorry." I said, and grabbed my napkin from off the table, bending down to clean up my mess. "Don''t worry, I''ll take care of it." Said Ruby, and she ducked under the table as well. "No, no, I won''t let you get it alone, I -" I froze. As I looked up to apologize further, I saw that Ruby wasn''t concerned with the mess at all. She was concerned with me. And she... She wasn''t human. That much was finally completely clear. Where her lips had dripped blood delicately before, now her entire chin was coated, as if she had buried her face in the stuff. Her eyes glittered with some sort of emotion - glee? - and I felt my heart stop. "Don''t react." She said softly. Her voice was the same as before, polite and cheerful. "You''ll bring them down upon you both if you do. They''ve already been watching you - noticing that you are watching them. You have their attention, but if you move too quickly, you''ll have more than that." I struggled to find any words. "What are they? What are you?" "Never mind that. You have more pressing matters to worry about." More blood gushed from between her lips as her smile grew. "You have a choice to make." "What do you mean?" "We need one of you. Just one, mind you, but one nonetheless." She gestured towards Henry''s feet, which were just peeking under the table. "One of you can leave. Tell him to go. Or leave yourself. The choice is entirely yours - he can''t see us. He can''t hear us. It''s up to you whether he lives or dies." "Wait a moment -" "No, they''re getting restless. If you don''t choose now, it''ll be both of you." Ruby finished mopping up the coffee spill, "Be quick about it, all right?" She stood up, and I did the same. As I did, I noticed that whatever had kept me from seeing things as they were had dissipated. The sweet rotten smell was prevalent. I saw the man with many eyes, and his dog, which certainly had three heads. I saw the child, who had her own hand stuffed in her mouth, both hand and mouth coated in blood and drool. I turned and saw the clarinet player, whose fingers moved nimbly - so nimbly and fluidly, I wondered that they had any joints at all, before I noticed that indeed they didn''t. More like the limbs of a squid were they, wobbling about. I daren''t look at his face, though I felt his eyes on me. I felt all their eyes on me. Every single one - the man, the dog, the child, the mother, the musician, every other patron - was watching me. I had to make a decision, and I had to make it fast. "Henry," I said, slowly, "I''m sorry, but I have to go home." Henry looked concerned, though not nearly as concerned as I felt. "Is everything alright?" "I''m just coming down with something, I think." I assured him, opening my purse and setting down the money for my tab. "It''s not you, I promise, I just think I need to go lay down." "That''s alright, then." He said, still worried for me. Poor thing. "Can I walk you home?" "That won''t be necessary." I almost snapped at him, "I''ll be fine." "Then... Friday, will you meet me at the Emerald? For a dance?" "Sure, sure, fine." I said, grabbing my hat off the table. All eyes followed me as I shuffled past Henry towards the door. "That''ll be great. Look, I''ll see you later, ok?" The last I saw of him was his hand, outstretched to stop me, as I quickly made my way out the door. It swung shut behind me, and I had barely made it a couple steps before I heard it - The most awful, awful scream. It was like I was hearing a soul leave a body, the most desperate sound I had ever heard. It went on far too long. As it trailed off, against my better instincts, I spun around to look the way I had come. The pristine red door was shut again. The windows were still sparkling clean, and behind them was an almost picturesque scene - a man sitting with his back to the door, his dog loyally at his side. A mother and child sharing breakfast. A man playing the clarinet. The only thing that caught my eye was the waitress with bright red lipstick, ducking into the kitchen behind the counter. She was dragging something with her - something I swear about a head taller just a few seconds ago, before the scream. Ah, I saw it now - the head was, in fact, completely missing. My stomach turned again, and I quickly turned away. I made my way home, without another thought. I didn''t *let* myself have another thought. ************ Two weeks later, I made my way towards that familiar cafe. In the weeks that had passed, I had wondered many times about everything that had happened on that date. I had wondered if I had imagined everything. But, when I had gone to the Emerald three days later, I had gone alone. Though I had gone through with my intention to enjoy my time there, enjoy the music, enjoy the dancing - the absence of my formal date had weighed on my mind the entire evening. It had weighed heavily enough that the next day I had gone back to the cafe. And a few days later, I had gone again. And then again a few days after that. None of these visits had yielded any answers. In fact, none of them had yielded anything more than a nice cup of coffee and a friendly interaction with a waitress. I don''t know what else I expected. As I entered today, things were no different. Ruby was behind the counter, and as she saw me walking in, she preemptively jumped to the espresso machine. The man and the dog whose name I had learned was Sebastian also looked up when I walked in. The dog stood, stretched, and trotted over to me, nudging my hand. "Hello there, old boy." I said. The man watched me as I gave Sebastian a pet, but he made no move to talk to me. I had learned he wasn''t much for conversation. The mother and her child ignored my presence completely, and the clarinet player only inclined his head slightly. Everyone seemed content to go about their business, and let me go about mine. The only person that acknowledged me was Ruby herself. "The usual, Ester?" She said with a smile. "Yes please." I took a seat at the bar. "Working on anything new?" She said, raising her voice to make polite conversation over the noise of the milk-steaming. "I have a couple things going, yes." "Well, I can''t wait to see them in the papers." She poured my coffee into a paper cup with a flourish, grabbed a napkin from under the counter, and handed both to me with a smile that barely flashed pointed teeth. For a moment, I thought I could smell that sickeningly sweet smell again. But it passed in a flash. "You''ll have to tell me how you like it." I said, and got off the bar-stool, moving to leave. Ruby stopped me. "Won''t you stay sometime?" She said, "I think you''d like it here. I think you''d really fit in." The insinuation gripped me like a vice. I looked around the cafe - still, nobody paid me any mind, but I couldn''t help but remember what they were all hiding from me. To say that I was anything like... that... "Ruby, with all due respect, I couldn''t disagree more." I said, "I enjoy your coffee, and a bit of polite conversation. But to stay would mean..." "To stay would mean accepting something about yourself I don''t think you''re ready for yet." Ruby leaned in. "Didn''t you wonder? Didn''t you wonder why you could see us, and he couldn''t? Didn''t that seem strange to you for even a second?" "Miss Ruby, I don''t like what you''re implying." I said sharply, "I like your coffee, and I like you just fine too." I reiterated my points again, "But I''m not like you. And I''m not staying." I took my coffee and started to leave. I heard Ruby behind me. "Suit yourself, dear." And I shut the door behind me. As I made my way down the street, I unfolded the napkin she had handed me. I was startled to see it was covered in drawings - over and over, a pattern made out of detailed, well-drawn hands. My shocked expression settled into an annoyed frown. So, that was it, was it? That''s why she felt she could talk to me like that. I was going to have to seriously reconsider patronizing that cafe. In my hand I crushed the napkin to a ball, and tossed it into the gutter. And as I made my way home through the park, it started to rain... The Courtesy Call I did appreciate a few things about flat life, even if in the end, I missed the privacy of a quiet cabin in the country. My neighbor wasn¡¯t bothersome for the most part. They had very few people over, and in fact, I had never encountered them myself. That was how I preferred it. I¡¯d rather live with complete strangers. Tonight I sat in what I had turned into a parlor, with a few high-backed chairs and a table on one end of the room, while my desk sat at the other end. It functioned as my office as well, which I didn¡¯t mind. It wasn¡¯t at all crowded, which was all that mattered. My typewriter sat by a dimmed lamp while I drank some tea on the other side of the room, my notebook in hand. I was going over notes - and it wasn¡¯t going well. I had only gathered a few details from people i¡¯d seen recently. This was largely in part to the fact that I was now regularly attending one specific cafe and also walking through the same park on my way there every morning. It seemed I had fallen into routine. Curses. I snapped my notebook shut. If something interesting were to happen, I would miss it unless it were to fall directly into my lap. Of course, it was as I thought this that I heard a knock at the door. I ignored it, remaining in my place. It was quite late at night and I had no reason to think that I knew whoever was knocking. And, as a lady, I had learned that opening the door late at night when it couldn¡¯t possibly be anyone I knew was¡­ unwise, to say the least. Either for them or for me. Depending on my mood. Another knock followed, still as timid as the first. Whoever it was seemed¡­ hesitant. There were long pauses between each attempted knocking, but they didn¡¯t stop. Finally, curiosity overtook me. Wasn¡¯t this exactly what I had just been wishing for? And didn¡¯t fate always find ways to tease me? I should at least look through the peephole, I wagered, and made my way to the door. Through the peephole I saw nothing surprising. Just a young man, thin and unassuming, with sad-looking eyes. He looked through the peephole at me, noticing that I was there, no doubt. If the fates had sent him to me, he was a dull gift indeed - or so I thought, until he spoke. "Help," he said, raising his voice just enough that I could hear him through my door. "I was murdered and just want to call my sister." I blinked. Murdered? "I promised I''d call if I''d be late." He said. "Please?" My eyes wandered to my phone box, at the wall not far down the hallway from me. Murdered? The word bounced around my skull like a moth against a streetlamp. I couldn¡¯t just turn him away, I decided, but as a young lady I couldn¡¯t exactly let him in, either. ¡°What is your sister¡¯s name and address?¡± I asked, softening my voice as he was clearly nervous. He seemed immediately appreciative. ¡°Oh dear, thank you so much.¡± He said. He didn¡¯t seem at all bothered by the fact that I hadn¡¯t let him in, which struck off the suspicion i¡¯d had that he was lying. This, of course, intrigued me even further. ¡°Her name is Amelia LeBlanque, at 104 Western Street.¡± ¡°All right, hold on a moment.¡± I grabbed the phone off the wall, spoke briefly to the operator. As I was connected to my destination, I stretched the ear and mouthpiece towards the door. ¡°I¡¯m being connected. It¡¯s ringing.¡± I told the young man through the door. He nodded gratefully. ¡°Would you mind repeating for me,¡± I added, ¡°What you said earlier?¡± ¡°Oh, right.¡± his face fell again. ¡°I, ah, have been murdered. So I shan¡¯t be home tonight.¡± ¡°So you did say ¡®murdered¡¯. What¡¯s all that about?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t really want to get into it.¡± He said mournfully, ¡°I just need to make sure she isn¡¯t worried.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t she have sort of a right to be worried, seeing as you¡¯ve been murdered and all?¡± He scowled a little, considering my words. ¡°Well, I suppose so, but knowing is better than sitting up all night wondering. Don¡¯t you think?¡± I thought about it. ¡°Perhaps?¡± ¡°Well, she could likely imagine that far worse things have happened to me than murder.¡± ¡°Worse things than murder?¡± ¡°There are such things.¡± He seemed wisened as he said it. I felt a resonation in my soul, a memory that I would rather not surface. ¡°There are indeed such things.¡± I agreed, ¡°That aren¡¯t appropriate to discuss in polite company.¡± He glanced up at the peephole. I know he couldn¡¯t see more than my eye, but he still seemed to be trying to size me up. Before either of us could venture further into the conversation, the phone was picked up. ¡°Hello?¡± said a soft voice. ¡°Amelia?¡± ¡°This is she. Who¡¯s speaking?¡± ¡°I, er¡­¡± I glanced at the young man again. ¡°This is Ester Duffy. Your brother asked me to call.¡± ¡°Oh, Everett! I was wondering when i¡¯d hear from him, it¡¯s beginning to get dreadfully late!¡± ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it? Well, he just wanted me to tell you that¡­¡± I paused, unsure what exactly the dead man outside wanted me to say. I heard his voice, muffled, from the other side. ¡°Tell her I won¡¯t be home tonight.¡± ¡°He won¡¯t be home tonight.¡± I said, concisely. ¡°Oh, dear, has something happened?¡± Amelia said. ¡°Has something happened? Oh, er -¡± ¡°No! Nothing¡¯s happened, I simply got held up and thought I''d spend the night with a friend.¡± Everett said hurriedly. ¡°He¡¯s simply got held up and thought he¡¯d spend the night with a friend. I¡¯m the friend¡¯s neighbor, they don¡¯t have a phone, you see.¡± I rallied the message, doing my best to add credibility, while internally remarking to myself how much more interesting my night had gotten. ¡°Ah, I see.¡± ¡°And as it¡¯s late he said he understood that I couldn¡¯t quite let a strange man into my house.¡± ¡°No, of course not.¡± Amelia sounded disappointed but understanding. ¡°Well, tell him I¡¯ll take care of Mother until he gets home. Ask him to pick up her medicine on the way back, if it isn¡¯t too much trouble.¡± I cringed at the request. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll let him know.¡± I said. ¡°Thank you for letting me know.¡± she said, and before I could reply, she had hung up. After i¡¯d hung up, I moved to the window by my door, and opened the curtains. Everett was standing there, his eyes full of tears as he looked away from the door and through the window at me. Me, the fool bystander in a night robe and cap, and nothing to add. ¡°Thank you.¡± He said. ¡°Think nothing of it!¡± I replied, sitting on the sil. ¡°Are you quite alright, dear fellow?¡± ¡°Beyond being murdered? No, not really.¡± I laughed at that before I realized it wasn¡¯t appropriate to do so, quickly turning the chuckle into a cough. ¡°Would you like to talk about it?¡± I said once I had recovered. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Take my porch chair! Sit! Let¡¯s talk about it.¡± I tried to make myself seem friendly, even forcing a smile. If he left now, I would have a few lines to write, an interesting premise. I couldn¡¯t let the promise of a good story slip through my fingers. My good deed was done, now was the time for a reward! Luckily, he conceded quickly. He sighed, and pulled the chair across the porch, setting it outside my window. When he sat, he seemed to have existence - matter, the like. I had been watching for that since he knocked on my door. Surely, if he were a ghost, he wouldn¡¯t affect things like that? Then again, I hadn¡¯t met a ghost before. What did I know? ¡°So, how did you get here? Did you walk from the scene of the crime?¡± I started with my questioning. He furrowed his brow. ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡± ¡°Oh, pity.¡± I muttered the frustration to myself. If he didn¡¯t remember details, this was going to be very unhelpful for my art. ¡°What I do remember,¡± He said, ¡°Is that i¡¯ve been here before.¡± I blinked. ¡°Here? My house?¡± ¡°Not quite.¡± He replied, and shook his head. ¡°No, not quite it was¡­. This building.¡± He seemed to be deliberately keeping from making eye contact now, and I started to wonder if he didn¡¯t remember a little more than that. ¡°Mr. Leblanque.¡± I said, slowly, ¡°Were you murdered in this house?¡± He winced. ¡°I¡­ well, yes.¡± I pointed at the ceiling. He cringed. ¡°Yes.¡± Well! How about it! My neighbor was a murderer. That was a little more than i¡¯d bargained for. ¡°My neighbor¡¯s a killer! How about that! Perhaps it¡¯s time to start hunting for a new flat!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Now, as if it¡¯s your fault!¡± I scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re the victim here, my dear sir. No need to feel bad.¡± ¡°I simply mean¡­ what if you¡¯re in danger?¡± ¡°Well, I hope they¡¯re not that stupid.¡± I said. ¡°The dumbest thing to do would be to mix their personal life with his business life. They¡¯ve been very good at keeping them separate until now, i¡¯ve never met them before.¡± ¡°As long as you feel safe, then, I can¡¯t argue with you.¡± ¡°Say,¡± I said, leaning forward, in deep thought, ¡°Speaking of things you can¡¯t do¡­ can¡¯t you just go home and ghost-tell your sister what happened to you? You¡¯re speaking to me right now, so, why not just tell them?¡± ¡°Well.¡± He began to wring his hands. ¡°There¡¯s a few problems with that theory.¡± ¡°Do tell.¡± ¡°Firstly, I can¡¯t seem to go further than the street curb.¡± He said, gesturing to the sidewalk just beyond my porch. ¡°I tried, but the further I walk the more I seem to lose myself. My mind and my body seem to dissolve and then, as suddenly as it started, it stops, and i¡¯m back where I started.¡± I nodded sagely, hoping I would remember all of this later. ¡°And secondly?¡± ¡°Secondly,¡± And here, he turned his attention to me, his gaze through the glass growing strangely steely, quietly suspicious, ¡°You¡­ are the first person who could hear me.¡± I cocked my head at that, and he continued. ¡°I tried to stop men on the streets, asked them for help, but they brushed me off - or even worse, walked right through me.¡± He shuddered, ¡°What a terrible feeling.¡± I was the only one that could see him? But why? I wondered, but I was only wondering for just a moment before it struck me. Visions of hands, of cafes filled with cannibals, of crow feathers drifting downward without a bird in sight. Hands, hands, grabbing at my flesh, teeth tearing at me, pulling me down and down and further until - I was staring at him, mouth agape, and shook myself, adjusting my nightcap. ¡°The first person to hear you, am I?¡± I said, doing my best not to appear shaken. ¡°You are.¡± He repeated, obviously having noticed. ¡°Odd.¡± I said. ¡°Is it? Am I really the first ghost you¡¯ve seen, then?¡± ¡°Perhaps not, but I certainly didn¡¯t know anybody else was a ghost, if they were.¡± I turned my head aside, and muttered to myself, ¡°Have to be careful of THAT in public, if they see me speaking with nobody around, i¡¯ll be committed for sure.¡± ¡°I just thought you knew. You barely seemed put off when I said I was murdered.¡± ¡°Just because I haven¡¯t met a ghost before doesn¡¯t mean I thought they were impossible. Nevermind me, though. You¡¯re stuck to where you died, is that it?¡± ¡°Why are you so worried about me? What about the murderer up there?¡± He pointed upwards now as well. ¡°I¡¯ll worry about them later. Nothing to do tonight, they¡¯re probably quite busy taking care of your body.¡± ¡°Not really, last I checked she was in bed.¡± ¡°Really! With your corpse still lying about?¡± ¡°Right on the floor next to her.¡± We both shuddered, almost in unison. No, that wasn¡¯t a pleasant thought at all. I would have to deal with that quickly. ¡°You¡¯re avoiding the question.¡± I said, ¡°Are you stuck here?¡± ¡°Ah¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡± I thought about it for a moment. ¡°We¡¯ll have to figure that out later.¡± I said finally, ¡°Do you want to stay here tonight?¡± This was the first thing I had said that fully caught him off guard. ¡°I¡¯m a ghost.¡± He said, after a moment of trying to figure out how to answer. ¡°I believe we¡¯ve firmly established that, yes.¡± ¡°You¡¯d let me stay here for the night?¡± ¡°Certainly. I can¡¯t expect you to stay the night out there in the cold - even if you can¡¯t feel it. And it would be terribly rude to make you stay in the flat you got killed in.¡± ¡°C¡­ certainly.¡± ¡°Then it¡¯s settled.¡± I stood up and reached to open the door, but as I did, he simply passed through the window - like it was nothing - and stood next to me on the inside. ¡°You could do that all along, could you?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t want to be rude.¡± I examined him up and down. ¡°Indeed.¡± Apart from the passing-through-walls bit, he appeared mostly human. Nothing looked slightly off, though he did have a faint odor - the way the air smells during an electrical storm. He seemed well-put together, wearing only a shirt and trousers, but trousers nonetheless. And his shoes, as well. He had been in the process of undressing when things ended, it seemed, but not far along. I wondered where the death-wound was, but only for a moment. When he turned around to look at the rest of the house, I saw it. A gash in the back of his head, like that an axe would make. It was wide open, peaking into his skull, showing bloody brain. Blood leaked out slowly, though it didn¡¯t fall - instead, it dissipated as it rolled down his skin, never reaching his hairline. I felt my stomach turn - he had never seen it coming. I wondered how long it had taken him to realize he was dead. ¡°How do you like the place?¡± I said, once more in an effort to seem unfazed. ¡°It¡¯s nice enough. A mirror image of Victoria''s place.¡± ¡°Victoria. Is that¡­?¡± ¡°My killer, yes.¡± ¡°She was¡­ what, a friend? A lover?¡± ¡°A friend of a friend¡¯s. About to be a lover, if things hadn¡¯t gone the way they did.¡± I had thought as much. ¡°I have a spare room.¡± I said, changing subjects as politely as I could, ¡°if you want to stay there. I¡¯ve been looking for a flatmate but i¡¯m rather¡­unpersonable. Nobody¡¯s wanted to live with me yet.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem unpersonable.¡± Me, who had laughed at his death. Me, who could see him in the first place. Me, who had interrogated him for nearly an hour now before letting him in. Perhaps this man was just the type who could put up with living with me. Turning a haunting into a housemate¡­ the concept was quite in line with how my life in the city had been shaping up. He wouldn¡¯t be able to pay rent, of course. But he could move things well enough that he could tidy up as his part of things. Yes¡­ perhaps this could work out. I thought all this to myself as I showed him to the spare room, which held a small cot and a few boxes I had yet to unpack. I¡¯d have to discuss this with him in the morning but for now¡­and then there was the matter of his mother, and his sister, and all of that mess, but¡­ that would to wait til tomorrow For now, I needed to sleep. * * * * * * * * * * * * That night, I dreamed I met Victoria. And in my dream, I strangled her to death.