U.S. Open 2020 Picks: The 13 best bets to win at Winged

You might remember some of the regulars of my bar, the New Saloon. This is actually about the crying lady who always orders whiskey here, Shauna. For a long time, I didn't know anything else about her.
Since I'm not retelling these stories in chronological order, I should probably mention that this happened before the incident with the little girl. It was not long after the whole Cole-ordeal though.
What you need to know is that sometimes, I have these little, sudden spurts of excitement and curiosity. One day, I experienced exactly that, and the object of my interest was the sobbing lady in the corner. I stood around watching her for a while, unsure of whether to go over there or not. I wanted to talk to her, but I was worried it would upset her. I asked Andrik what he thought and he said just to try so that's what I did.
I walked over to her, another glass of whiskey in hand. "Excuse me, Shauna? Hi…"
She looked up at me, her long, flowing gray hair framing a wrinkled, puffed face. "Hello? Are you… Giulia, right?"
"I am," I replied, placing the glass in front of her. "On the house. Can I sit with you?"
"Yes, sure," she whispered, her voice shaky and stifled with tears. I smiled and sat down across from her. Up close, her eyes looked even sadder. I cleared my throat. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but… why are you crying?"
Shauna stared at me for a few seconds before lowering her head again, giving way to more heavy sobs. Her shoulders were shaking and there was spittle running from her slack lower lip. "Little Brendan. It started with Brendan, he was the first one… the first one I cried for. That was so long ago; so, so long ago. Over a century, maybe even two."
I winced. I hadn't expected her to start talking this freely, much less about something that happened two centuries ago. Part of me wondered if she was simply confused or a little crazy, but at that point, the experience a certain patron had had with his doppelgänger was still fresh in my mind, so who was to say this was impossible?
"I'm from a hill… from a mound," she went on, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I ascended from it. I need to warn them, I need to warn everybody, but I need to mourn them too. I've given up on the warnings. It happens everywhere but I can't be everywhere, so they'll never hear my screams. So I have to cry for those that have been forgotten, the ones that disappeared or were replaced… the babies… and the poor souls whose lives were stolen."
"What do you mean?" I asked quietly. I wanted to understand, I wished to know more so desperately, yet none of what she said made any sense to me.
"My dear Lady," she uttered in a soft voice, looking up at me through hooded eyes. "You don't look like Mack at all. You're so different from him. It's strange he chose for you to take over."
I frowned. "How so?"
"Because…" She looked like she'd forgotten what she had been about to say. "I don't…" Her voice broke again and she lost herself in a fit of sobs. Suddenly, she sat up straight, her head jerked up and she looked me right in the eyes. I almost jumped at the unexpected movement. When she spoke up again, her voice was very stern and flat.
"Little Brendan was out playing with his friends when they ventured into a forest nearby. They were not supposed to go there and they knew, but they were children. They were careless. What they were unaware of was the beast that stalked these woods, the beast their parents had not warned them of, believing themselves progressive in their rejection of this local superstition. They figured it was a forest full of wild animals, nothing else. Dangerous, yet to be expected. The children began a game of hide and seek, and all were found, except for one. No one ever saw Brendan again. They found a torn piece of his clothing strung up somewhere in a tree. It was the only thing left of him."
Shauna paused, tilting her head like she was wondering if I'd been listening. "When Brendan died, I wept for the first time. I sat by the creek where his mother and sister would go to fetch water and there, I wept, waiting for them to come and see me. They knew he was dead even before the other children returned with the news of his disappearance."
I sat there staring at her, my head reeling. She was still staring at me, but her shoulders had slumped again. She slowly reached for her glass and brought it up to her lips, taking a small sip of whiskey before continuing. "Every one of my sisters has a family to warn or weep for. They follow them through the ages, they bring them news of a loved one's death or impending doom even if the person in question is far, far away. I don't have a family like that. I'm here for the rest of them."
My mind was spinning. Part of me was terrified, but the other part was simply overwhelmed. It was too much information to process. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Andrik standing above me. "I'm sorry, Shauna, I need to borrow her for a second."
With that, he helped me to my feet and led me through the bar's double door, out into the chilly, dark night. "It really looked like you needed a break… and some explaining, maybe. She's intense, huh?"
"You could say that," I muttered, reaching up to rub my temples. "So… you know more about her? Is she dangerous or anything?"
Andrik smiled and shook his head. "Not in the least. She's not human though."
"We really don't have a lot of those coming in, do we?"
"We don't have a lot of them working here, either," he replied with a shrug. "Shauna isn't like us though. Actually, I pity her a little. Shauna is a banshee. Or at least something of the sort. Legends and fairy tales aren't reliable, someone always gets something wrong." He paused. "Do you know anything about banshees?"
I sighed. "Of course not."
"Well, banshees are a type of spirit. The name means something to the tune of woman from the fairy mound, though they can hardly be called fairies. They're more like… something in between, I'd say. Anyways, they're harbingers of death or extreme misfortune. Sometimes, they'll even predict deaths. When you see a banshee–one that isn't Shauna–and she's crying or wailing, it means that either someone you're very close to has died or may be about to."
"Wait, she said something like that! Something about how her kind has to follow a family or something…"
"Some banshees have been said to be tied to one family in particular, that's true. Others appear randomly. Shauna on the other hand… she has an entire group to tend to. Namely everyone whose deaths are related to something unnatural. As in, she won't mourn someone who dies of old age for example, but she has to cry for everyone who's gotten killed by, say, an evil spirit." He sighed, looking up at the sky almost dreamily. "Imagine that. Chances are she'll never be able to stop crying. She can probably hardly keep up."
"So she'll just be sad forever? That sucks. Can we do anything to help her?"
Andrik shook his head no. "It's what she is. You can't stop her from being what she's supposed to be. You wouldn't be able to drag me away from this bar either. It's not exactly the same thing but… sort of. She won't stop, ever. That's why she sits around here all day. She's given up on running around trying to find the people she's crying for, so she just cries to herself I guess. I think she's trying to live a normal life. I don't know where she lives or where she gets the money to pay for her drinks from, but I never talked to her long enough to find out."
I hung my head. I felt sorry for her. She'd seemed rather nice, too. Suddenly, I had an idea. If she knew about the deaths she was mourning, then maybe she'd know about Cole. I rushed back inside and plopped down on the cushioned bench across from Shauna again. "Hey, um… I have this friend who I think might have had something really bad happen to him. There was this thing, this creature that could make itself look just like him, and it took his place. He said he wanted to go up against it. I haven't seen him ever since and I know the monster is still living his life, so…"
"You want to know if he survived," she said quietly. I nodded and the old woman let out a wheezing sob.
"I'm sorry for asking," I quickly added. "I didn't mean to bother you, I just thought–"
"I remember him. It's been a while, but I remember." Her voice was weak and faltering, as though she had to push herself, pressing each word out with laborious difficulty. "I screamed when I saw his doom was impending, but then I stopped. I know he was in great danger but I don't know for sure he died.
My chest suddenly felt lighter than ever. I suppose I had forgotten just how much Cole's disappearance had been weighing down on me. I wondered if he truly had survived, and if he would ever come back and tell me what exactly had happened, but for the time being, I was satisfied knowing there was at least a chance he could have made it through. It was all I could ask for and more than what I'd expected.
"Shauna, thank you so much for telling me. I hope I didn't bother you, I just had to know what happened to him."
"It's alright," she breathed. To my surprise, she reached for my hand, giving me the faintest of smiles. I took and squeezed it. Her skin was wrinkly and her fingers stiff, but there was a comforting warmth to her touch. And then, all of a sudden, she opened her mouth and began to scream. Her voice, now shrill and loud, cut through the stale air and put an abrupt end to the tranquil chatter of the other patrons. The old woman's other hand had jerked across the table, her bony fingers wrapping themselves around my wrist with a strength I would have never expected her to possess.
She yanked me towards her by my arm, pulling me onto the table, still shrieking like a wild animal. I was in shock–at first, I couldn't move at all, then I managed to crane my neck and look up at her. Her wrinkled face was contorted into an odd, twisted expression I couldn't read. Her eyes had rolled back into her head and spittle dripping from her open mouth.
"It's coming! It's coming for you! It'll eat you alive, it'll find its way in and tear you apart from the inside!" she roared, her voice deep and throaty. I couldn't help myself, I began to scream, begging her to let go of me. Her grip on my arm was relentless and sent tears of pain to my eyes. She's gonna break my wrist, I thought.
"It'll spread inside you! It's coming now!" Shauna's cries drowned out even my own voice. The words left her lips fast, some of her spit flew into my face, hitting my cheeks as I tried helplessly to recoil. "The spirit will bind you! He'll try to, he'll try…" Her voice trailed off and she began to gasp for air. Andrik had come up to us and kept pulling on her arm, trying to separate her from me.
Finally, she let go of me and I sank down onto the table. All this had happened in a matter of seconds, but it felt like she had held me in place for eternity. My arm was burning with pain and I was panting like crazy. Danika came running up to me first.
"Oh my God, are you okay?" the blonde girl asked, carefully picking me up by the shoulders and placing me back in my seat.
"I think something's broken," I whimpered.
"What the hell was that?" Andrik was towering over Shauna, looking down at her in both anger and disbelief. She wasn't responding though, she just sat still, her lips quivering as though she was still weeping, but not a single sound left her lips. Eventually, she slowly pushed herself up from her seat. Andrik, looking puzzled, stood to the side to allow her to walk past him. I watched her leave, her crooked, frail figure disappearing behind the red double doors.
"Are you just gonna let her go?" Danika asked Andrik, still looking aghast.
"Yeah, let's go catch the ghost, that'll work out well," he replied, shaking his head. "This has never happened before. She's usually really passive. I don't know what's gotten into her." Glancing down at me, he added, "Does it hurt a lot? How bad is it?"
"I literally can't move my hand," I told him, biting my lip to keep myself from crying. Not only was there this searing pain in my arm, I was also pretty shaken up. Shauna's words were still echoing in my mind. If she could predict people's deaths and warn them of it, what did that mean for me? I sincerely hoped she'd just had a confused fit, as cruel as that sounds, but I didn't actually believe it, to be honest. I was terrified.
"You should see a doctor," Andrik said. "Any idea on how to get to a hospital?"
He was right, I wasn't going to drive using just one hand. I ended up going outside to make a few phone calls. I thankfully got a friend of mine who lived just around the corner to pick me up and drive me. I don't remember the details but my wrist wasn't broken. It still took a little while for me to be able to move it again. Plus, my arm was severely bruised, especially where she'd dug her fingertips into my flesh. In the end, the worst thing about it was the shock I suppose. Shauna wouldn't come back around for a long time afterwards. She stayed away from The New Saloon for like five months straight, if memory serves me right. When she came back, it was like the whole thing never happened. We were wary of letting her back in at first but when we eventually did, she just sat down again and cried. Shauna and I never really spoke at length again.
I'll be honest, it felt really strange writing all of this out. Not just because it's been so long and I still feel sorry for the burden Shauna has to carry, but also because I know now what she told me that day really had been a warning. And now, years later, I also know what she'd been warning me about; this thing that was coming for me, "it". I can feel "it" inside me even as I'm typing this.
X
Part 1: The employees sleep in the backroom
Part 2: The regular who had a doppelgänger
Part 3: The little girl who beat me up.
Part 5: Appreciate good employees.

My uncle was an odd, lonely man. That one guy you try to avoid at family reunions, the one nobody knows too well but loves to talk about nonetheless.
I think he liked me best because I never really enjoyed badmouthing him. I wouldn't say we were close, but we tolerated one another. At least that's how it was when I was little, we never bothered to stay in contact. I forgot about him by the time I left home. That's why the news of his death caught me completely by surprise.
Uncle Mack was alone in his apartment when he had a heart attack causing cardiac arrest. He fell unconscious and died within minutes.
Then there was me at the time. I had just flunked out of college and the only thing I was actually good at was playing video games. When I was contacted by Mack's lawyer, I was even more shocked. Mack had left me three things: a box of sorted letters addressed to me, all the money he used to own, which to me was a lot, and his bar–the one he had inherited from his father and had worked at all his life.
I'll be frank, I had no idea what to do with the bar but I knew from the very start I'd take it over. I felt kind of honored–this had basically been Uncle Mack's entire life and he was giving it to me of all people. Sure, from what I knew there hadn't been many friends or loved ones in his life to choose from, but it was still flattering to me. Once I read the first letter, I was even more convinced.
"Hi Giulia,
If you're reading this, my bad eating habits have probably caught up to me. Or maybe someone killed me, who knows. As of me writing this, you're fifteen years old. You were the only one to talk to me at the family reunion today. Not for long, but more than just an awkward hello. I notice these things and I appreciate it. That's why I'm trusting you with the most important task anyone in this family is ever going to offer you. You are going to take over my bar. Besides, knowing you, you're not gonna have much of a career anyways, so you might as well.
Once you're done reading this, please go to the bar at your earliest convenience. Take the box of letters with you and stash it away somewhere there. It has some valuable advice you're gonna need down the line. In fact, you will need to read the second letter right after your arrival. You'll find my employees are a bit special.
Anyways, I hope you're doing alright, however this letter finds you. You're a good kid, Lia. Always have been. Besides, the only person you could possibly disappoint by screwing this up is dead so there's no pressure to impress.
Sincerely, Your Uncle Mack."
I wiped my eyes. They had actually gotten a bit watery while I was reading the letter. I folded the letter and tucked it back into the box before grabbing my coat and bag. Mack's bar was a train ride and a thirty-minute walk away from my parents' place, which is where I was residing at the moment. I figured I would probably have to look for a place close to the bar if I really would start working there full time.
When I finally arrived at the establishment, it looked almost exactly the way I had expected. It was just another wall in the row of buildings on the street off to the side from the inner city's market square. A large, bright red double door with a neon sign reading "The New Saloon" above it. It would probably glow if I'd find out how to switch it on. At least I hoped it would glow.
It felt weird, unlocking the door and opening it for the first time, all on my own. Entering and looking around inside felt even weirder. The New Saloon was your typical old-style dive bar. Even completely empty it looked overcrowded. The fabric of the cushion seats was stained and frayed, the walls behind and in front of the counter were plastered with neon beer signs and large framed photos of people I didn't know, some were even in black and white. The floors were dirty and my heels stuck to them when I walked further in. This place was small, shabby and smelly and I loved it.
It was so strange but I suddenly just felt like this bar was mine, and that I needed to take care of it and protect it. Remembering what Mack had told me in his first letter, I pulled the second one out from the box and unfolded it.
"Hi Giulia,
If you're reading this, you're probably at the bar for the very first time! How do you like it? Let me guess, it's ugly and gross but it instantly started growing on you?
Don't worry, it's about to get a lot weirder. You'll find the entrance to the backroom behind the counter. The lightswitch is on the inside of the wall, make sure to turn it on before you head inside because there's stairs leading down right behind the door. It's a death trap. Once you're in there, stand in the middle of the room. Stay away from the walls. You may then say out loud the following words:
Spirits of this house, by the power of the spell that has bound you I command you to serve.
You'll see what happens next. Whatever happens, keep in mind you can order them around. When all the work is done, simply tell them to go back into their room. You've got this.
Sincerely, Your Uncle Mack."
I frowned. That was odd. Was this the prelude to some kind of joke? I walked over to the door behind the counter and pressed down the handle. It swung open with a loud creaking noise and I began to grope around for the lightswitch. A single light bulb down in the backroom came flickering on and I proceeded down the rickety wooden stairs. No bannisters. Risky, especially with the shoes I was wearing. By the time I had reached the middle of the room, my heart was already beating faster than it should. Still, if this was a prank, Mack had been planning it for over five years, and I was not about to ruin it. Besides, no one was watching anyways.
I cleared my throat. "Spirits of this house…" I began, a giggle swinging along in my voice. "By the power of the spell that has bound you I command you to serve."
Nothing. Not a single sound for five whole seconds. I looked around the room. It was completely empty, except for a single door in the wall across from me. Maybe I had been supposed to say it in whatever room was behind that one? Just as I was about to walk over to it, a loud noise came from one of the walls to the side. I spun around to find that it had cracked open. Bits of it were beginning to crumble to the floor as the tear widened. I stared at it with my mouth agape, frozen in place and incapable of comprehending what I was seeing there.
From the crack, a set of long, bony pale fingers reached out into the room, gripping the inside of the wall. My throat was too dry to produce a proper scream, but I couldn't contain a gasp as I staggered backwards until my back met with the other wall behind me. It was then that I felt cold palms rubbing against my neck and hands closing around my shoulders from behind. This time, I shrieked. I whirled around again only to see that there was a hole there too, long, skinny arms slowly moving forward from it, grabbing at me, searching for me.
I glanced around the room frantically. Holes had opened in basically every spare spot. I counted four sets of arms pulling themselves out into the light, followed by similarly slender upper bodies. By the time I finally thought to run back up the stairs and save myself, the people from inside the walls were standing in the backroom, fully emerged from their dark hideouts. I didn't risk another look at them. When I finally reached the top stair, I dashed back into the bar and slammed the door shut behind me. I pressed myself up against it just to keep standing. My knees had grown weak beneath me and I was panting heavily, my mind racing.
Then I heard them; slow, light footsteps making their way up the staircase and stop on top of it. I heard calm, steady breathing coming from the other side of the door. I tensed up and shifted my weight on my feet, leaning up against it to keep whomever was in there from getting out. I was sure this person would start to try pushing it open, but to my surprise, nothing happened. Instead, a voice rang out from inside.
"Excuse me, who are you exactly?" It was a man's voice. I had expected something like a growl, or a hiss, or the groans of some decomposing zombie, but this was distinctly more articulate. It sounded almost polite.
I didn't know what to do other than respond. "Giulia," I stammered.
"Giulia?" The man sounded surprised. "What about Mack? Wait, if you're here…" He sounded quite sad now. "Mack's dead, isn't he?"
"Yes," I replied quietly. "His heart stopped."
"That's… good God." He fell silent and I heard him utter a shaky sigh, almost like a sob. "I'm sorry, would you give me a moment? I need to tell the others."
"Go ahead," I murmured.
"Nevermind, they heard us. So, will you let us out now or…?"
"Who are you? Why were you in there?"
"We work here, actually. My name is Andrik… I do most of the organizing here. I take care of the accounting, our profits, our spendings; I place the orders on most of what we need. Back here with me, I've got Bo, who is our bouncer, and Danika and May, both waitresses."
"You work here?" I repeated. "And you live in the walls? After your shift is over, do you just go down there and melt into the room or what?" I couldn't help but let out a nervous chuckle at the mental image. This was just too absurd. At least I was breathing normally now.
"Pretty much, yes."
I shook my head. "What are you?"
"Well, to explain that you would have to go exactly a hundred and twenty-two years back so it's a long story," Andrik replied. "All you need to know for now is that if you let us out, we'll get the bar up and running right away. We've been working under Mack ever since he took over this place though, so you'll have to excuse us if we're a bit gloomy."
"No, that's fine," I muttered, slowly turning away from the door and carefully pulling it open.
The man in front of me was of normal height, slender and looked to be in his thirties. Despite being dressed in jeans and a simple black t-shirt with the bar's name printed on it in white, swirly letters, he had a very official look to him. Maybe it was the way he stood, straight as a rod with a friendly yet matter-of-fact smile on his face.
"Thank you," he said. Turning back to the room, he raised his voice. "You heard it everyone, Mack might be gone and while that's a downer, our work isn't over; so get yourselves up here and let's get this going again!" His tone carried the flat motivation the coach of a youth sports team might have.
Three more people emerged from the backroom, all dressed exactly like Andrik, all of them that same content little grin on their lips. They walked by me offering polite greetings; the first one, a large, bulky guy giving me a curt nod and the two women that followed smiling brightly. The girls were a little younger than Andrik, maybe in their late twenties. Both had blond hair hanging down their shoulders in wavy pigtails.
That first night the bar was open, I merely watched the backroom people work, following them around while they ignored me. It was eerie. They looked almost like automated mannequins, going about their routine by sticking to preplanned paths; like there were set directions painted somewhere I couldn't see. I soon began to notice other distinctive attributes about them. None of the people from the walls had fingernails. I saw it on the waitresses when they reached for the cups handed to them, on Andrik when he scribbled down notes. However that was not the only thing off about them. All those little details in their faces, the kind of thing you'd normally never pay attention to–they didn't add up.
For example, their eyes didn't lign up. One was always slightly lower than the other, just enough for someone to notice. Their nostrils would differ in width and one of the girls' pinky fingers was the same length as her ring finger. Had I not known that they had just crawled out from the backroom walls, I would have chalked these harmless little oddities up to simple, inconspicuous deformities, but knowing what I knew, it made my skin crawl with uncomfort.
I soon found out that Andrik did most of the talking for them. Bo rarely ever said a word, and all the waitresses did was whisper amongst themselves, giggle and chat with the patrons. Eventually, Andrik waved me over to him behind the counter.
"Alright, to give you a rundown of the place, we have a cash-only system. We rely on our local clientele, but once in a while someone new comes by and then we try and keep them around, obviously. Here's some of our regulars." He pointed at a lady sitting in a corner, weeping over an empty glass of whiskey. "That's Shauna. Comes here whenever she can, only ever orders whiskey. Will not stop crying."
His finger wandered over to an old, short man with an almost disproportionately large head and short white hair. He was sitting at one of the tables as well, talking to two younger women who seemed very much out of place. "That's Tommy. He's likely to start fights but he drinks a lot and tips very generously. Bo throws him out a lot but he's very easy on him, so don't worry."
He finally nodded towards a tall glass of wine standing lonely on the counter right in front of us. "And this is Irene. She can't pay but she's always welcome. She's very nice and she's been here ever since Mack's family started this business."
"Andrik, there's nothing there."
The pale man threw me a confused glance. "What do you mean, she's right… oh! Of course. Don't worry, you'll start seeing her with time. Either way, for now there's actually not much for you to do except read up on barkeeping once you get the chance. However you should start getting acquainted with the regulars. After all, the owner of The New Saloon will always be part of the reason why people come here." He paused as his mouth started to twitch into an almost guileful grin. "I have a feeling they're going to love you."
I retreated into the ladies' room for a quick break. I sat down on one of the toilets and buried my face in my palms. I had no idea what was going on or what I was supposed to do. Andrik had made himself pretty clear when it came to the instructions he'd given me, but all of this was so surreal I seriously considered the possibility of me having suffered some kind of blow to the head and dreaming it. I spent the rest of the night standing behind the counter and observing their every move. Andrik kept to my side mostly, looking at me with the kind of suspicion I probably had in my eyes as well. I couldn't figure him out.
I accidentally-on-purpose walked by the waitresses who were talking to each other in hushed voices, picking up on small bits of their conversation.
"Her blood is weaker than his. Do you think she's–?"
"We shouldn't take any chances. Remember what Mack did when we tried to test him?"
"I do, but this could be our chance to have some fun."
Her words sent chills down my spine. Remembering Mack's letter however, I decided this was not the time to show I was frightened. "You're going to do no such thing," I chimed in from behind them. "I don't care what you are but I promise I'll find a way to make this whole thing very uncomfortable for you guys if you try to pull any kind of weird crap on me."
The looks they gave me were worth my initial doubt. They seemed shocked that I had listened in on them at all, let alone spoken up. I glared at them, holding their gaze and ignoring the trembling of my legs. Their heads lowered, they marched off. When the bar began to clear out and we got ready to close down for the night, I told the four of them to clean up. Of course I helped, but I made sure never to lose sight of a single one of them. I felt like they were wild, hungry animals, waiting for their chance to pounce on me. Whenever I looked up from the rag I was wiping the countertop with, I would find one of them staring at me.
By the time we were done, the place really did look a lot more welcoming. It certainly was cleaner, despite the four workers' angry faces spoiling the mood. We carried the cleaning supplies back into the small storage chamber next to the employee restroom before I went to open the backroom door for them. "Okay everyone, good job today! Thanks a lot, now back inside!" I called out, almost enjoying the feeling of authority as they came trodding towards me and made their way down into the dimly lit basement single-file. Andrik was the last one to cross the threshold. Right before descending the staircase, he turned to face me once more.
"You were keeping a close eye on us," he said quietly. "That's clever. But you're going to need to keep it up and… let's see how long you'll last. Who knows what might happen." He gave me a sly wink with the one eye that was a little lower on his face before following his co-workers. I watched from the top of the stairs as they leaned up against the walls. It was almost as I had expected; their bodies seemed to melt into the holes they had come from, sealing them shut and not leaving so much as a thin crack.
Lacking a better option, I stayed at a nearby inn that night. As bizarre and frightening as all of this had been, I got out of it unscathed. The bar workers and I would end up coming to blows in the future though, more than once. And I wouldn't always be that lucky.
X
Part 2: one of the regulars had a doppelgänger
Part 3: My bouncer and I got beaten up by a little girl.
Part 4: The regular who never stops crying.
Part 5: Appreciate good employees.

AN: I'm back from my seven day ban (Which was entirely justified).
To those that don't know, after I posted the story up on Amazon, I was informed that Kindle Unlimited requires that the story be posted nowhere else. I had assumed that applied only to selling via other publishers, not the free novel.
That was not the case. Hence my rapidly pulling down the story from everywhere in a panic, lest I get my amazon account banned, and my dream of authorhood killed in the cradle.
That was not why I recieved a ban from HFY for seven days. I recieved the ban, because as I pulled the story, I left the Amazon link up. That was a violation of rule seven of the subreddit, which says that any link must be accompanied by 350 words of OC content. A rule I broke nineteen times in ten minutes.
Either way, that is behind us now, and I've put my time to good use setting up a patreon and building up a backlog of chapters.
So without further ado, here's book two, which will be posted up until such time that the book is published, at which point it will be pulled like book one to conform with Amazon, and we will start again with book three.
I'm also sitting at number ten on Space Fleet Sci-Fi right now on the top one hundred list, so I just wanted to thank everyone that bought a copy or left a review.
You guys rock!
​
“Alright ladies, shut up and sit down,” Tisi called over the hubbub of conversation.
To be honest, it was kind of ridiculous that she needed to ask at all, given that she was the captain, and thus the crew should have been jumping up to salute her with obedient silence the moment she entered the ship’s small cafeteria/lounge area. Unfortunately for her, captaining a tiny picket ship like the Whisker didn’t carry that kind of prestige.
More to the point, it was difficult to maintain any kind of professional distance when you were in tight confines with the same group of seven people for weeks at a time.
Fortunately, the group of layabouts she was saddled with were still obedient enough. While they weren’t quite as prompt as she might have liked, the conversation did fall away, allowing her to speak.
“Glider, Rocket, you hearing me up there?” She asked.
“Loud and clear, captain.” The ship’s intercom squawked overhead.
“Good,” she nodded.
Between those two on the bridge and the five before her, the entire crew was present.
“As I’m sure you’ve all already heard, we’ll be getting a replacement for Batna when we next pull into port.”
All around her she saw people nod, though the one who did so most vigorously was Kernathu. Which wasn’t all that surprising given that the poor girl had been running double duty to compensate for the missing member of their complement. To be honest, it was kind of ridiculous that the Whisker had launched at all without a full crew, but then again, she supposed that was just a natural consequence of being posted to Gurathu. It was about as backwater a posting as one could get without literally manning a weather station on an ocean world.
“Please tell me it’s not another Rakiri,” Someone groused from the back. “It’s already bad enough that I’m picking Yaro’s hair out of the drain every other night.”
To her left, the crew’s sole Rakiri crewmate just chuffed in amusement, the furry bipedal woman more amused than offended by the insinuation.
“Forget a Rakiri, I’d kill for another Halkem,” Scales muttered, the aristocratic grey skinned woman running a hand over the eponymous black scales that ran run up and down her forearms. “A lower caste of course. It’s been forever since my scales received a proper buffing.”
“I offered to help,” her fellow marine offered.
Scales gave the muscular Shil’vati sitting next to her a cool-eyed glance. “Yes, and you nearly de-scaled me in the process.”
Assisse just shrugged, as if to say ‘at least I tried’. Tisi coughed, before Scales could respond and allow the crew’s odd couple to get into yet another argument.
“Well, before I have to listen to anymore suggestions as to what you do and don’t want in the latest member of our security contingent, how about I just tell you?”
The crew fell dutifully silent.
Sighing, Tisi continued. “They won’t be a Rakiri, Halkem or even a Shil’vati. We’re getting a Human.”
She’d been expecting it, but it was still kind of surprising how still everyone went. You could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. Even Cerilla looked a little interested. Then the questions came all at once. Tisi didn’t even try to decipher the deluge of blurted words from about half the crew. Instead, she slammed a fist onto a nearby table.
“Quiet,” she hissed, silencing them all instantly as she scowled.
Sighing, she collected herself. As her eyes roamed over the room, she noted with some contentment that most of the crew looked at least a little sheepish about their outburst.
As they should, she thought.
For all that their circumstances allowed for a little laxity in military protocol, this was still a military ship and she was still the captain. They were all well-behaved enough on-planet, but sometimes when they were out in space all of them needed a reminder of what she represented.
She was the captain. Her word was law, and all of them were expected to give her rank the respect it deserved. Content to let the matter lie now that they’d all been reminded of that fact, she continued.
“Yes, they are male.” She answered, figuring it was best to get it over with.
It was fortunate for her that she’d just reminded them all to behave with some decorum, because she had a feeling that if she hadn’t, she’d be listening to them all whooping and jeering right now. Kernathu in particular looked about to explode from joy, and even Cerilla looked interested despite her self-proclaimed disinterest in men.
Of course, there’s disinterest and then there’s disinterest, Tisi thought.
Lots of girls liked to get into relationships devoid of males, but few enough would pass up an opportunity to ‘try one’ if it came up. It was a rare one that abstained entirely.
Of course, from every indication she’d seen, Tisi was pretty sure that Cerilla was one of those rare women. Her gut instinct was that the chief medical officer’s current interest was entirely professional rather than romantic or sexual.
The same could not be said for the rest of her crew however.
“Alright, all of you get your heads out of the gutters,” the captain instructed, before the – thus far – silent excitement could reach a fever pitch.
Not that she could particularly blame them. Even out on a backwater like Gurathu, where weeks could pass between messenger ship circuits, they’d all heard about the Imperium’s latest acquisition.
Tisi was pretty sure that half of it was Turox shit, but then again, even if only a fraction of what she’d heard about the humans was true… well, she could understand what all the hype was about.
Not that she intended to do anything about it when their newest crewmate arrived. She knew some captains liked to play that part of the noble in the parlor, but Tisi was better than that. Her only relationship with the newcomer would be professional.
…well, unless he offered. She had standards, but she wasn’t dead after all.
Snapping her mind away from that line of thought, she fixed the motley crew in front of her with a stern eye.
“Now I don’t need to remind you – but I will anyway,” she began. “We’re an Imperial Naval Vessel. That means you are expected to treat our newest crewmate the same way you treat anyone else.”
She’d gotten a very sternly worded memo with pretty much those exact same words in addition to her newest crewmate’s dossier.
“The last thing the navy wants is another scandal like the Iron Tooth,” she said, which served to put a significant damper on the party-like atmosphere that had been developing.
Which it should. The Iron Tooth incident had been a black mark on the reputation of the navy as a whole, and while those women were now all in military prison, the effect of the scandal on male recruitment rates was still being felt two years later. Still, at least it had brought a number of new rules and regulations into being for active-duty ships.
She knew some members of the military chafed under them, but to her thinking they were just good sense.
“We aren’t a band of Periphery pirates,” Tisi said, echoing her own thoughts. “We’re here to do a job, not just indulge our own whims.”
The crew as a whole nodded, even Assisse, prompting Tisi to smile with pride. Her crew might not have been the most disciplined bunch in this part of the galaxy, but when push came to shove, they were all good people.
-----------------------
Shil’vati, as a race, were predisposed to high temperature conditions. Many of their earliest civilizations had cropped up around the tropical climates of Shil’s equator.
Unfortunately for Assisse, Gurathu was anything but warm.
It was a frigid ice ball of a world, filled with mountains so large it made the ones back home look like a kid’s sandcastle by comparison. Sure, the main-colony had been set up in a valley between two of those mountains, keeping it more or less sheltered from the frigid winds of world, but that didn’t make the freezing temperature any less oppressive to her senses as she and the Captain stepped out of their car and onto the busy streets just outside the space port.
“Ma’am, why am I here?” Asisse asked, as she locked the vehicle and the two started making their way toward the nearby building. A task made marginally harder by the crowds of furry Rakiri colonists that made up an overwhelming majority of Gurathu’s population.
Just last week the space port had been a ghost town. Today that wasn’t the case though. With a large cargo ship coming in, the place had filled up with natives hoping to load up or receive things.
“Upset that I’m taking you away from your away time with Scales, sergeant?” the Captain teased as they strode past two brown coated furry aliens arguing loudly with a tired looking Shil’vati customs officer.
If they were still in space Assisse would have rolled her eyes at her superior’s comment. They were on-planet though, so she refrained, keeping her features studiously neutral. That was part of the strange dichotomy the crew of the Whisker shared.
It was an old joke anyway. For all that the crew liked to joke that the pair of them bickered like two rival wives in a marriage unit, they weren’t together. They were just friends. Which ironically was less than a lot of girls in the services were.
While the reputation for girls ‘enjoying each other’s company’ while out on deployment was a pretty gross exaggeration, it was a stereotype that held some truth. Assisse and Scales had never done anything of the sort though. They were just friends who liked to bicker.
“Not at all, ma’am,” Assisse drawled dutifully.
Tisi hummed thoughtfully as they flashed their credentials at the Shil’vati militia guarding the terminal entrance to the new arrival.
“I assumed that as the leader of our little Marine contingent, you’d be interested in seeing our newest arrival first hand.”
Assisse shrugged. She wasn’t too bothered to be honest. Whether she saw him today or a week from now, when the Whisker set off for patrol again, didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like she could send him back if she didn’t like him for whatever reason. Ignoring the fact that she was pretty sure the crew would mutiny if they didn’t get the human, it would be weeks before the next message ship came through, and they would be out on patrol before that happened.
“Apparently our newest addition is some kind of tactical savant,” the Captain continued, ignorant of her thoughts. “Managed to take on an entire company of Interior elites with just two other recruits during a training exercise.”
“…How?” Assisse asked skeptically. On a purely practical level, she was pretty sure three recruits didn’t have enough ammo to gun down that many of the opposition.
Tisi shrugged. “That, my dossier didn’t say. Probably some kind of guerilla thing. You’ve heard how humans are.”
Assisse nodded warily. Everyone had heard the stories about the latest race to be added to the Imperial fold. Specifically, the fact that they had a fifty/fifty gender ratio and that the males were just as randy as women.
That wasn’t what Tisi was referring to. Earth wasn’t all that dangerous. Ignoring the myriad other advantages the Imperium held over the native population, the fact was that most of the native’s weapons couldn’t penetrate through Shil’vati armor. That made being out on patrol a whole lot less of a daunting prospect.
That didn’t mean it was totally without risk. What the aliens apparently lacked in weapons acumen, they surely made up for in tenacity and creativity. The number of homemade ‘rail-guns’ that had been popping up in recent weeks was proof enough of that.
Crude, sparse and slow to fire as those weapons were, they’d destroyed the assurance of many a patrolwoman that their armor was proof against anything the natives could throw at them.
The place was still considered a pretty sweet posting compared to the likes of the Periphery - practically a vacation, even - but it seemed that with each passing month the number of injuries and casualties amongst the occupation force grew rather than diminished. Which was the opposite of what was supposed to happen.
The numbers were beyond middling to the Imperium, but it was still a worrying trend.
“Here we are,” Tisi said as they passed through another checkpoint and back out onto the recently swept open tarmac of the landing pad.
Personally, Assisse would have preferred to stay in the heated building and watch through the viewing port, but she knew better than to voice that opinion. That they’d be standing outside waiting for the ship to arrive had been a foregone conclusion anyway. As her slightly blue snow-tanned complexion could attest, the captain liked to take every opportunity she could to be out in the open air while they were on planet. It was almost as if she was compensating for all the time they spent in the cramped confines of the ship.
Well, that wasn’t strictly fair. The Whisker was actually pretty spacious for a picket ship, with a fairly large number of amenities for its small size. Of course, all the amenities in the world couldn’t distract from the fact that it was a limited area, and that the crew spent weeks, and occasionally months, stuck there.
So, she supposed she could forgive the captain’s need to stand out in the freezing Gurathu air. Even if Assisse was pretty sure the tips of her ears were beginning to form icicles.
“Anything else I should know, ma’am?” she asked as they peered out into the great blue sky above.
“He’s a boot.”
Assisse glanced at the woman next to her. “I figured as much, ma’am. Being human and all.”
Tisi determinedly kept her eyes on the sky. “No sergeant, I meant basic boot.”
That made the marine pause.
“No vocational, ma’am?” She asked slowly.
“No.”
Now Assisse was fully staring at her superior. “With all due respect ma’am, what the hell?”
Basic training was called that for a reason. It instilled all the basics that any member of the military might need.
That was the key word in that statement: Basics.
Vocational training was where actual skills were developed. Engineers, chefs, medics, hell, even your average riflewoman needed more advanced training to truly be considered competent in their chosen role.
Advanced unit tactics, sweeping and clearing, how to call in orbital support, jump-pack operation…
The list went on and on. All skills that were needed for a team to be able to function correctly during an operation.
Empress, it only got worse on a small picket ship like the Whisker. The ship’s small complement meant most members had multiple roles. Assisse herself was entirely capable of filling in as a medical assistant should it be required, and Scales was an assistant chef.
“I was lead to understand – as was the rest of the crew – that our newest member would be filling in for Bant,” she gritted out, not needing to state that Kernathu would be devastated. The young mechanic was running herself ragged keeping the ship running without aid. The rest of the crew tried to pitch in where they could, but they just didn’t have the skills to be truly useful.
The captain frowned, no doubt thinking the same thing. “I don’t like it much either.” She allowed. “Orders are orders though. Between us, it’s obvious that something funny is going on here.”
Assisse scowled. She knew exactly what that meant.
Politics.
The word felt foul on her tongue. She’d thought having a posting on the ass end of nowhere would get her away from all the politicking of back home. She supposed it just went to show that wherever the Imperium went, politics followed. The nobility were pathologically incapable of keeping their noses out of anything.
The captain being the notable exception of course. She was a fine no-nonsense leader, but even she had her moments where that ingrained aristocratic instinct kicked in.
Though it was unfair, Assise couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of those occasions. If the captain was accepting this human as part of some plot back home.
“It’s not all bad,” the woman continued, completely ignorant to the Sergeant’s thoughts. “Apparently he was going to university on his homeworld. Part of the uplift program to familiarize the humans with our tech so that they can finally start contributing.”
She paused. “He was only part way through the course before he, uh, signed up, but that should give him enough of a foundation to be of use. I’m sure Kernathu will get some use out of him.”
Assisse privately doubted that. Still, it wasn’t her department. Her only concern was how decent he’d be in a firefight. Not that she expected to be in one, but that was neither here nor there. Searching merchant ships for contraband was already tedious enough without worrying if one of her underlings was going to shoot his foot off.
“There it is,” Tisi pointed.
Assisse glanced up, and sure enough there was a blot in the sky above. It started small at first, but as the minutes passed, it only grew in size. Soon enough she could make out individual details. The Grinshaw’s Maw was built in the style of most Shil’vati ships. Which was to say that it was essentially a brick with a set of oversize engines strapped to the back.
The cargo ship was even uglier than most. Where most warships would have at least had a sleek array of laser pods running across the ship, this one had but one, mounted to the front. Instead of holding weapons, the sides of the ship bulged out awkwardly to make room for the vessel’s expanded cargo holds.
As she watched it continue to grow as it got closer, she couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. Nothing that big and cumbersome looking should have been able to move through atmosphere. Nor should it have been so quiet while doing so. Nearly twice the size of the massive super-cargo ships that used to ply Shil’s southern oceans, the thing’s engines should have been blazing away in an attempt to just keep the massive construct in the air. Instead, they were all but silent, only occasionally releasing a small puff as the ship corrected its course.
“Anti-gravity tech can be a real mindfuck,” she murmured, ignoring the way the Captain looked away from the ship to send her an amused glance.
Kernathu had tried to explain it to her once, but it had all come out as gibberish to Assisse’s ears. Like, what the fuck was a ‘graviton’ and why was it only sometimes a wave? She had no clue, and she’d long since given up trying to understand.
Finally, the ship touched down with a clunk. Then a second clunk as the anti-grav field turned off and the full weight off the ship dropped onto the landing struts.
The cargo gates opened with a whirring noise, and massive heavy-duty ramps slid down. Almost immediately cargo vehicles and exo’s began striding out to the behemoth, to begin the gargantuan task of unloading its cargo, before reloading it with exports from Gurathu.
“Shall we go see the latest addition to our little ‘family’?” Tisi said, a hint of genuine excitement peeking through her expression.
Assisse once more resisted the urge to roll her eyes. For all that the captain played the role of the no-nonsense officer, sometimes it was easy to see the excitable young woman that lay beneath. As evidenced by the fact that they were boarding the ship, rather than heading back inside to wait in the passenger terminal.
Instead of doing that, Assisse did what all enlisted throughout history did when saddled with an excitable officer. She grunted and grudgingly followed after her superior.
​
​
First / Next
Another three chapters are also available on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/bluefishcake
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The ad was bizarre but straightforward enough.
Late fifties male seeks woman in twenties to manage large-scale dollhouse

• Candidate needs to maintain a household of eleven Real Dolls by tending to the daily wardrobe, grooming, and other needs of the dolls.
• Nothing inappropriate.
• $250 paid in cash at the end of every shift.

A lot of women would be put off by that ad, but not me. Let’s just say, I’ve seen some shit in my life. I was finally starting to dig myself out of a trash pile of childhood trauma by getting into a good college, when the reality of tuition fees set in. I needed a part-time job to stay afloat, and creepy sex doll man would have to be it.
I tried calling the number on the ad, but nobody picked up. A few minutes later I got a text asking my name, age, and times of availability. Another text later, I was asked to start at nine the following day. I was surprised at the ease of the interview, if you could even call it that, but I didn’t feel like questioning it. Whatever the guy’s deal was, that was his business, not mine. As long as he didn’t breach any boundaries and paid me on time, we’d get along just fine.
I wasn’t stupid, though. I called my cousin Ronnie and told him what was going on and where I’d be the next day. Ronnie sighed but didn’t question my decision. We grew up with the same shitty guardians, and he knew I could handle myself.
“Just be careful, Lu,” he said at the end of the call, “pack the bag, okay?”
“Of course, Ronnie,” I smiled into the phone, “I’ll be in touch if anything happens.”
‘The bag’ was a backpack of essentials for any kid that was unfortunate enough to grow up in a neighborhood like mine. My bag contained pepper spray, a swiss army knife, drinking water, a couple of protein bars, and a cheap disposable phone with Ronnie’s number saved in contacts. I hoped for the best but prepared for the worst. Always.
I was at the given address at exactly 9 o’clock the next morning.
The house was breathtaking. A tall, asymmetrical two-story with whitewash walls and a multifaceted roof. The windows were different sizes and shapes, the panes a charming baby blue with glass that sparkled like morning dew on grass. I walked up the cobblestone path, admiring the clean-cut lawn and tulip flower beds that lined the perimeter.
Maybe this won’t be so bad, I thought, climbing the porch steps.
I couldn’t find a doorbell, only a large bronze knocker designed to look like some sort of horned creature, possibly a bull. It was as though the sculptor had chosen to make the beast in man’s image, the result being a grotesque blend of the two. I banged the knocker three times and waited. Nothing happened. I tried again. No one came to the door. I pulled my phone from my back pocket just as it received a message from the Craigslist number.
Go inside. The girls are on the second floor.
Whatever you’re into, buddy, I thought as I pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The entrance hall was everything the exterior suggested. Polished hardwood floors shimmered like glaciers on a sunny day. A needlessly large chandelier descended from somewhere far above my head. Quaint antique hall cupboards and paintings of flower pots tied the look together. It was all meant to be quite lovely but something felt off. The interior seemed almost too precise, as though crafted after the idea of an old Victorian home. The passing of time generally implied a dash of ruggedness, and this place had none.
A large-scale dollhouse, I thought, remembering the ad with a slight shudder.
I clutched at the straps of my backpack, straining to hear any hint of life within the house. There was only the slight echo of my sneakers scraping across the floor as I crossed the hall on my way to the grand staircase.
I lingered before taking the first step. It wasn’t too late to turn around and find something less creepy to do. Sure, the pay was excellent, but my gut was telling me there was something very wrong with the house. Determination and a hint of curiosity argued with my better instincts and won.
I walked up the carpeted steps.
“Hello?” I called upon reaching the second floor. No answer.
To my left, a door stood open, revealing an old-school parlor room. I stalled before entering, realizing that the distant concept of eleven life-sized dolls had been far more agreeable than the actual sight of them.
What can I say? The dolls were exquisite in a vacant, detached sort of way. Someone had dressed them in a variety of colorful nightgowns and bathrobes. Some faced windows, others were seated around a coffee table. All were positioned in poses that were meant to look natural. Their size was that of your basic, petite woman, with some evident variation in the hip and breast departments. There were blondes with blue eyes, sultry brunettes, a redhead, African Americans, Asians, you name it. One even had rainbow-colored hair and blue lips.
“Louisa,” a soft voice interrupted my doll-induced trance.
My right hand instantly went for the pepper spray as I whirled around in one swift, jumpy motion.
“Jesus,” I muttered, slipping the spray back in place, “You scared me, lady.”
The owner of the voice was a tall, thin woman well into her fifties. She wore a long, red cardigan that she buttoned over a lilac turtleneck and a full-length, plaid skirt. The entire outfit was so hideous that I barely even registered the fact that the woman herself was attractive for her age. She had a very dignified sort of face, with a dainty nose and knowledgeable eyes. A good amount of thick, greying hair was tied back in a low ponytail.
“My apologies, Lousia,” the woman smiled politely, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s Lu actually,” I mumbled, trying to compose myself.
“Nice to meet you, Lu,” the woman’s smile held, though her gaze sharpened, “My name is Mrs. Claymore and I am the mistress of Vanderley House.”
“First time I’ve been in a house with a name,” I replied, watching her face. Much like my surroundings, the woman carried herself in a manner of welcome, but it all felt a bit scripted.
“I believe my husband has given you the general gist of your duties here at Vanderley?”
“Well,” I surveyed the kinky mannequins lounging around the room, “The text messages mentioned I would have to watch the dolls.”
“Yes,” she spoke slowly as though addressing a small child, “You will be acting as the part-time manager of the household. In essence, you will be filling my shoes while I’m away.”
“I see,” I nodded, feeling uneasy.
For the next hour or so Mrs. Claymore took me around the house, showing me the different rooms and explaining my increasingly bizarre work tasks. Every morning, I was to change ‘the girls’ into their daytime outfits and carry them around the house, setting them up at their respective activities. I would learn the dolls’ names and activities from a chart. My shift would end around the time the so-called hygienist showed up to perform cleaning procedures on the dolls.
“If all that is clear,” Mrs. Claymore concluded, “I will leave you to your job.”
“Alright,” I nodded, struggling with my apprehensive feelings.
I let out a long breath as soon as Mrs. Claymore retreated downstairs. If ever there was a master at not asking questions, it was me. And yet, I had so many. Everything about Mrs. Claymore indicated that she was an intelligent, proper sort of woman, and I just couldn’t reconcile that image with the things she was saying. Was she unhinged? I half wished the husband had met me instead. A creepy old man with a sex doll fetish, while super gross, was something that I could understand and even turn a blind eye to. For the right amount of money, of course. But this? What the hell was this?
Walking back to the parlor room, I felt my resolve strengthen. Late morning sunshine spilled in through the sheer curtains, illuminating the dolls in a cool, gray light. Not a single speck of dust could be seen in the rays. The dead eyes of the dolls reflected my mood.
I studied the clipboard Mrs. Claymore had given me. It contained the aforementioned doll chart printed on a crisp, expensive-looking sheet of paper. Cynthia was the first doll on the list. With a flicker of dread, I stared at the tiny picture printed on the page. The photograph, while small and a little blurry, was clearly of a real person, not a doll. It showed a pretty redhead somewhere outside, with locks of hair lifted by a gust of wind.
I scanned the room, quickly locating Cynthia in a nearby armchair. The resemblance to the person in the picture was uncanny. I walked up to the doll and stared at her face, reaching out a hand to graze a cheek with my fingers. She was definitely a doll, not a person. Even so, the fact that her image was molded after a human being felt all sorts of wrong. I turned my attention back to the chart:

• Cynthia - 21 y.o. - 5′7″/122lbs. - Biochemistry student - Plays violin - 11:00 AM violin lesson in drawing room - 12:30 quiet reading time in study;

What an oddly specific type of girl. Hardly your average boner inducer. Scanning the other five entries on the page disturbed me more than I could say.

• Valeria - 20 y.o. - 5′7″ / 107 lbs - Athlete - Ballroom dancer - 11:00 AM dance lesson in drawing room - 12:30 yoga in downstairs hallway;
• Gina - 22 y.o. - 5′6″ / 121 lbs - Barista - Cat lover - 11:00 disciplinary session in entrance hall - 12:30 quiet reading time in study;
• Katryn - 25 y.o. - 5′5″ / 115 lbs - Nurse - Enjoys video games - 11:00 AM - dance lesson in drawing room - 12:30 yoga in downstairs hallway;
• Angelique - 21 y.o. - 5′7″ / 135 lbs - Unemployed - Recreational drug user - 11:00 AM - double disciplinary session;
• Madison - 28 y.o. - 5′6″ / 118lbs - Daycare teacher - Enjoys reading - 11:00 AM - dance lesson in drawing room - 12:30 quiet reading time in study;

​
My hands trembled as I finished reading the last entry on the page. There have been so many times in my life where I have felt helpless and afraid. While horrible, each instance had an identifiable source of danger. A drunken uncle, an abusive social worker, a school bully. It was easy to work through fear when you knew what to expect.
The place had me stumped. There was something very wrong about it, about Mrs. Claymore and her yet-to-be-seen husband. About the dolls that were meant to look like real people. I knew then that I should leave, but there was a part of me that didn’t want to. Call me the collector of evils, but I just had to know what sort of fucked up darkness lurked the serene halls of Vanderley House.
I left the parlor and located the closet, a room on the second floor which was dedicated to all eleven doll wardrobes. I’d caught a glimpse of it during the walkthrough, but didn’t get a chance to take it all in.
It was the size of a bedroom, with shelves of shoes, folded clothes, and hanging garments lining the walls to my left and right. The other end of the room consisted of a mirror wall. I stared at my small frame reflected in four distinct angles. A couple of jet-black curls fell loose from my ponytail and I tucked them behind an ear. I looked very pale, not unlike a doll myself. That thought sent a visible shiver through my reflection.
The shelves of the closet were an obsessive-compulsive dream come to life. Everything was sorted by clothing type and color. The chart hadn’t specified what the dolls should wear, so I trusted my better judgment in picking the outfits. There were few modern garments available, but there was a large variety of basics that would look decent on most people. I pulled some items from the shelves and went to pick out the shoes. Not many options there either, mostly pumps. I was about to head back to the parlor when another glance at the mirrors revealed a detail I had very nearly missed.
Though three of the full-length mirrors were visibly nailed to the wall, the one on the far right had no bolts in the corners of the frame. I tried wedging my fingers in the small crack between mirrors and pulling it, but that yielded nothing. After a second’s thought, I tried pushing instead and the hidden door popped open.
Inside was the first hint of the real Vanderley.
The mirror concealed a small, dusty room. A bare lightbulb dangled from a wire, revealing unfinished concrete walls and stacks of moving boxes. I approached the nearest box and looked inside. It was filled with clothes, but they were nothing like the garments in the outer closet. These were trendy crop tops, boy shorts, cocktail dresses.
A lump formed in my throat.
I opened more, finding high heels, hoodies, sunglasses, watches, trinkets. I had to stop myself then. There were a lot of boxes and I didn’t have time to ransack the place. Mrs. Claymore could find me at any moment, and I needed more proof of my growing suspicions.
I walked out to the front closet, closing the mirror door behind me. I did my best to wipe away the fingerprints that revealed my intrusion. I reached for the phone in my back pocket so I could call Ronnie, and found that it was missing.
Of course, I thought, reaching for the hidden zipper on the inner side of my backpack. I powered on the flip phone and auto dialed Ronnie. He picked up on the first ring.
“Code red,” I whispered into the passé gadget.
“I fucking knew it, Lu,” Ronnie reprimanded, “I’ll be there in forty, an hour tops. Keep safe.”
“Will do,” I promised, replacing the cell before picking up the pile of clothes I’d selected for the dolls.
Mrs. Claymore must have fished my phone out of my back jean pocket at some point during the walkthrough, but why? Was it to snoop on me, mess with me, potentially cause me harm? None of the answers quite fit the bill, but I had a feeling I would learn the truth soon enough.
I made sure to keep calm as I walked back to the parlor room. There was no use for panic, I needed to keep my thoughts clear. I set down the pile of clothes on the coffee table and approached Cynthia. I lifted her arms and pulled her nightgown off. Putting her arms back at her side, I took a step back and surveyed the dolls’ body.
There was no doubt in my mind that Cynthia was molded after a living, breathing young woman. While her body held true to the beauty standards of today, it was not perfect. Her large breasts hung low without the support of a push-up bra and there was a birthmark to the right of her bellybutton. Again, I felt the need to reach out and feel her, to make sure that she wasn’t alive. I placed my hand on her lean stomach. She felt plastic as ever. Room temperature, high-grade silicone, and yet.
There was an energy.
I’d had that feeling before in museums, on school trips where I snuck away from the crowd and stared at some old army general’s chair, or an early telephone set. I thought it was common, getting vibes from items, but Ronnie told me it wasn’t. I didn’t dwell on it much. To me, objects carried stories, just like people did.
So what was Cynthia’s?
I placed my other hand in her palm and an overwhelming sense of sorrow erupted inside me. The force of it made me fall to the floor, laying my head on Cynthia’s knees. I didn’t let go of her, I couldn’t. The doll was telling me her truth. One so awful that my limited imagination could only produce it in dull aches that ran through my body. The grief was insurmountable, and I let it flow through the both of us.
“What did they do to you?” I asked, choking back tears.
There was no reply as the immense darkness receded into heavy but manageable despair. It was then that I noticed the small tattoo on Cynthia’s inner left wrist. It was a black stencil of the bull-man I had seen on the entrance door of the Vanderley House.
I couldn’t waste time. I had to gather as much information as possible before Ronnie showed up.
I got up and started checking all the other dolls. Every one of them had the same tattoo. I picked up the doll chart, now fully convinced it was a list of victims. I needed to learn as much about them in the short amount of time I had left.
Cynthia. Valeria. Gina. Katryn. Angelique. Madison. They were all here. Each headshot contained a girl outside, not a doll. They were REAL, but were they alive?
I felt my breath falter as nausea threatened the scant contents of my breakfast. There were only six girls on this page. The truth hit me like a punch to the face as eleven sets of dead eyes stared at me. The link I always suspected, but couldn’t prove.
Until now.
With shaky hands, I unclipped the piece of paper and flipped it over. There were six more entries on the back, but my eyes instantly went to the last one on the page. Right there, beside a tiny, pixelated photograph of me standing outside Vanderley House that very morning, I read the following:
​

• Louisa - 20 y.o. - 5′4″/115 lbs - ex tenebris lux - ex malo bonum - 11:00 AM - The Hygienist

​
A door slammed downstairs, and though I wished with all my being that it was Ronnie arriving early to get me out of this mess, the large Roman numeral clock on the wall of the parlor told me that it was far too soon to get my hopes up.
Heavy footfall ascended the stairs in a slow, confident stride. Echoes of the intruder carried through the house and into the parlor. I picked up the pepper spray and rummaged around my backpack for the swiss army knife. I slipped the spray in my back pocket and held the knife on the inside of my palm so it was out of view.
It was time for my appointment with the hygienist.
READ PART 2 HERE
^{This is part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4}

“So... this is it then? The end of planet Earth?”
The old man sighs and said, “Looks like it doesn’t it?”
They made an odd couple. One elderly male, his face wrinkled and worn, his hair white and untidy, his clothes stained and creased.
Besides him, the young woman, aged in her mid twenties, her head shaved like a Buddhist monk, yet the dark circles about her eyes and frail body hidden In thick, oversized clothing, revealed her head was manifestation of some illness that was destroying her.
They sat upon the hill besides the old Greenwich Observatory. All was in darkness.
They had spotted each other earlier, when the sun had shone and people had come to Greenwich Park to enjoy the last day. Gaze at the grandeur of the old Royal Naval College. Walk their dog. Relish other’s company. Enjoy a perfect June afternoon, for one final time.
But the sun had started to set and in twos and three everyone had left. Except the girl and the old man. Awkwardly she had invited him to join her on her blanket, and awkwardly he had accepted and now both rested upon the deep green grass and gazed up at the night sky.
“So, what do we do now?”
Her voice trembles a little even as she tries to keep her tone light. It’s dark. Still warm but no lights were lit around the observatory or in the park at all. The only illumination came from London itself. The city blazed defiant still.
The old man ponders for a little and says, “I suppose we wait.”
“What for?”
He shrugs and says, “Boom.”
“You think there will be a boom?”
He smiles to himself, “Honestly? I hope so.”
“Why?”
“Means it’s over quick. I’d hate for it to be slow,” he says. He glances over at her. She was pretty. Still very pretty he felt. You could see whatever was ravaging her body had taken its toll but her eyes seemed to twinkle in the distant lights of the Docklands.
“I know what you mean,” she says, her eyes glazing over sadly, before she adds, “It’s been slow for me.”
“How long you been sick?”
“Nine years. I’ve fought. I’ve done that whole brave soldier routine,” she says and turns to look at him, a tight smile on her lips; “But this body of mine just really isn’t as tough as I needed it to be”
He sighs and looks away awkwardly, “I’m so sorry. That’s just awful.”
“No, that’s just genetics. Can’t do a damn thing about it.”
She continues to smile and he smiles back. Another awkward moment settles on them. But they want to talk. The intimacy of strangers. She glances down at her knees for a moment, her voice very quiet.
“What about you?”
“Renal failure. Well, that’s the excuse. The renal failure is simply a symptom. The cause is just being old.”
She nods and they say nothing. In the distance they hear a few cars drive by very quickly. But it’s just them in the park. Moments pass and he takes a breath.
“I’m actually glad it’s all happening now,” he grins, “I’ve not bothered with my treatment today. If the Earth isn’t destroyed this evening I’ll be in a terrible state in the morning.”
She finds herself laughing, almost in spite of herself. It’s a gentle laugh. The old man gazed at her for a moment.
“If you don’t mind me asking Miss... How long until...”
His nervousness allowed her know exactly what he was asking about. She takes a breath.
“Maybe a week. A month at most. Organ failure has kicked in. Nacrosis. My body is actually dying,” she shrugs.
She gazed up at the stars and shrugs, “At least that was the plan. Recent events have forced me to cancel that.”
“Damned inconvenient if you ask me,” he smirks and she smirks back at him.
A siren, a police car maybe, echoes off the buildings to their left, somewhere in Greenwich itself. They glance over but see nothing. The orange glow of street lights beyond the nearby trees. She inhaled deeply.
“I always liked it here. My favourite park.”
“Me too. It has deer you know?”
“I did. Never seen one. You?”
“A few times. It’s rare though.”
The siren fades and the odd couple sit on the hill on a warm summers evening. She bites her lip for a second and glances over at him.
“Were you bothered? When they asked?”
“About staying? No. I wasn’t. Although to be honest I didn’t have much choice.”
He raises his bushy white eyebrows and tries to force a smile; “But I didn’t mind too much. It all made sense I suppose. You?”
She nods, “I was a little upset. I mean, they asked nicely, but as you said, they worded it in a way that...”
“Made you realise that ‘no’ was unacceptable?”
She bites back a smile, “Something like that. And yeah, if I’m honest? It pissed me off for a bit. But... Like you said... it makes sense.”
They stare at each other for a second before they are distracted as, suddenly, the sky is filled with explosions. The couple look. The hill they sit on has a commanding view of Docklands, her gigantic skyscrapers, huge towers of light. To their left the gigantic Shard can be seen, towering over the south side of the river.
And beyond that, high above the skies of central London, they can seen the flashes of fireworks. So many fireworks.
She smiled broadly.
“That’s pretty.”
“Agreed. Very.”
As they watch fireworks explode along the Thames. Someone went to a lot of time and effort to do this. Huge firework barges along the river now erupted into light as all over the London sky the last firework display in Earth’s history plays out.
For a few minutes they sit and watch in silence. Him, not quite cross legged, her, with her face resting on her knees.
“I should have thought of that. Fireworks on Earth’s last day,” she says wistfully.
“Smart a well,” he says, nodding.
“Smart?”
“Shows we are still down here. In case they are looking?”
“Oh yes. I see. Your right that’s very smart.”
The fireworks leave a gentle fog of smoke in the air. Along the river they fade out but the ones in the centre of the city continue, endless explosions. A gesture of defiance.
Around them however, the park is silent and dark and warm. She shivers briefly and rests her cheek on her knee, gazing at him. The old man notices and smiles, “What?”
“Does the idea of dying bother you?”
“No. I’m old.”
“Really?”
He sighs and leans back onto his hands, his eyes focusing on the few stars above them.
“Maybe a little. To be honest? Death bothers everyone I suppose. Troubles our thoughts. You do end up thinking about it a lot more as you get older. Get a bit more use to the idea.”
He blinks and glanced over at her. “What about you?”
“It’s weird. It scared me when I was younger. Especially after my first relapse. Before then I thought I’d overcome this. You know- mind over matter? But when I was told it was back? I became afraid. Really afraid.”
The distant fireworks cascade in oranges and greens and reds, and her voice is very quiet.
“And then a few years later? I felt I found peace you know? Got all reconciled to it. Nothing to be afraid off I convinced myself. But that was a few years ago. Now? Here and now? I don’t know how I feel. It’s weird.”
He nods, but is unsure how to respond. Inhaling deeply and savouring the scent of the grass he gazes down the hill at the white shapes of distant grand buildings.
“I suppose,” he says after a few seconds, “the good news is, that when I’m dead? I won’t worry about being dead. Won’t worry about anything really.”
She frowns and her nose wrinkles. “That’s really hard for me to grasp. Like not worrying about stuff after I go. Like I can’t get my head around it.”
“Well then, let me ask you something. What did you think, before you were born, about events in the 1920’s?”
She blinks and raises her head. “I... I didn’t think anything. I wasn’t around in the 1920’s.”
“Well, that’s how it’s going to be tomorrow. We won’t be around to think about events the day after Earth is destroyed and it will bother us the same way not being around in the 1600’s bothered us. Not even a little bit. Make sense?”
Her face, he can tell, seems quite serious for a moment, and she sighs.
“I suppose. Do... do you believe in... you know? An after life”
“I want to. I’d hate to think the universe went to all this trouble to make me and then NOT have something afterwards.”
She smiles, gently, at that.
“I do. I really do. Not like heaven or stuff, but I just believe that consciousness is really complicated and we don’t understand it and that it exists. In another form. Somewhere. After we go.”
He nods in response to her and gazes up at the stars again. “That sounds nice,” he says, “I like that. Everyone and everything who has ever lived has their consciousness carry on. So beyond our bodies we can all meet up and have a chat.”
She smiles back at him, “I wonder what it would be like?”
“Probably very crowded...”
She laughs. It’s a lovely sound. Like something that had sat within her suddenly erupting. She laughs honestly and he finds himself smiling alongside her.
Her laughter, however, lasts only a few seconds and then catches. Her eyes gaze upwards into the sky and go wide. The old man follows her gaze and sees it also.
There, high above London, sits the Moon, her cold white face gazing down at them all from her usual place in the sky; but across the south west facet of its familiar visage they both can see a shadow.
Its faintly triangular shaped. Something vast and leviathan flying between Earth and its moon. Something menacing. Something alien.
As they watch, spellbound, he hears the fireworks begin to trail off, leaving a cloud of smoke that hangs in the neon lit air over London.
“Is that them?”
“Afraid so,” he replies.
In the silence they can hear, far far away, a noise from where the fireworks came from. They can’t be too sure but it sounds like the distant roar of people screaming.
“It looks intimidating,” she says and he nods.
“I think it’s meant to.”
As they watch the shadow crawls over the face of the Moon; the shadow of some vast thing that floats between the Earth and her companion. And as they watch the tip of this dark triangle begins to emit a bright, white, light.
“What’s that?”
“I think they are powering up their main weapon.”
“Oh. Now?”
“Looks like.”
“Oh,” she says as if taken-aback. And no sooner has she said it then the triangle acts. From the dark shadow a solid beam of white light races through the night sky. It flies directly over them, beyond the horizon, aiming towards somewhere far far away.
They, along with everyone else on Earth at the moment, just gaze at it opened mouthed.
“Wow,” she says.
“Yeah,” comes his reply.
The distant sound of shouting ends. The city is remarkably quiet. She blinks.
“Now what happens?”
The old man takes a breath and steals his eyes away from the beam of white light that dissects the sky above him.
“Well that beam they are shooting? According to what I read, that’s going to fly towards the sun and when it hits it? Boom.”
She nods and looks at him. “How long until it hits then?”
Even though he didn’t need to he glances down at his old watch. “Well it’s moving at the speed of light, so 8 minutes.”
She frowns at that and asks, “So, 8 minutes until boom?”
“No. Think about it. Going to take 8 minutes to get there. Take a while for the sun to react and go boom. And then when it does? 8 minutes for the boom to reach us. So I’d say twenty minutes. Give or take.”
“The last twenty minutes of Earth?”
“Yes. Looks like,” he says sadly. Before she can respond they both hear someone scream. A woman. She’s nearby. In the streets next to the park. Its a scream of pure terror. A scream of imminent morality. It lasts a few seconds. And then becomes still.
The girl stares over at where it came from, hidden, behind the trees.
“I wish they didn’t scream. It doesn’t help.”
“People become afraid. They can’t help it.”
Suddenly their eyes are drawn to something new. Not the terrifying light that crosses the sky, nor the ominous shadow of the alien craft that fires it.
Back across central London, where the fog of thousands of fireworks slowly dissipates in a windless summer night, someone has activated a laser projector.
Against the smoke appears words illuminated in intense red lettering: 90 feet high script begins taking shape above London, aiming upwards, sending a message out to the stars...
FUCK OFF AND DIE YOU UTTER WANKERS
The odd couple on Greenwich hill respond like all who saw those words responded and burst out laughing. Genuine laughter, from that heart.
“Oh that’s brilliant,” the girl says, “Well done.”
He grins back at her, “Humans. Can’t help ourselves can we?”
They enjoy the message but then, suddenly, the beam of white light that laid across the sky, ceases. The night sky is returned to darkness.
“Its stopped!”
At her words, the old man glances down at his watch. “Two minutes. So the first part of the beam will hit the sun in about six minutes time. Assume the beam takes two minutes to churn stuff up. It’s coming I suppose.”
Over the skies of London a new message appears in bright red lettering.
WE WILL NEVER SURRENDER!
The old man glances at it and under his breath says “Here here...” quietly.
“It’s leaving,” she says pointing at the shadow upon the face of the Moon. He nods.
“Yes. Probably looking to get far, far away. When the sun blows she’s going to make a hell of a mess.”
The girl turns to him.
“That means... it worked? The plan?”
The old man blinks, like someone remembering something and he smiles.
“Yes. Yes you’re right. They fell for it. It worked.”
“Good,” she says, her voice resolute, “That makes me happy.”
“Me too. Good to know it was worth it eh? All of this.”
She nods and looks at him, her eyes showing resolve.
“Yes,” says the girl, “It makes me happy. You know I was thinking the other day; I’ve spent so much time needing the help of others. Doctors, nurses, carers. The human race has spent a fortune on me to keep me alive this long.”
She gazes at her frail hand for a moment.
“I feel good I get to do something back for the human race.”
“That’s a lovely way to see it,” he nods, “And I have to agree. I mean, I’ve had a good life. But I suppose I’ve benefitted. From electricity. And medicine. And society. I liked society. I mean it wasn’t perfect. But it allowed me live for a long time. It was nice.”
“Yes. Society was nice. I hope we make a better one.”
“Me too,”
In the firework smog above London, new words appear...
GO ON THEN! FUCK THE FUCK OFF!
He smiles at the very, VERY British statements of resentment.
“That’s them gone,” he says, watching the last of the shadow leave the surface of the Moon, “Flying away. Idiots.”
She nods, “They are going to be so mad when they discover what we did to them.”
“Well, here’s hoping they never find out eh?”
She stares at the darkness of space besides the Moon for a moment before asking, “Who started it?”
“Who started what?”
“The war?”
“Oh, it was Them. They are miles ahead of us technologically wise. I mean they can destroy suns with a single beam. We can’t even come close. We’d never have picked a fight with them.”
“True. What did they want?”
He sighs and shrugs.
“The usual. The human race to surrender to them. Become slaves. Or food. I think both.”
“And that is what caused their ultimatum?”
“Think so. And you know our reaction.”
She looks over at the laser created letters above the ancient city of London and smiles sadly.
“Yeah,” she says and is still for a moment.
“How long now?”
He glances down at his watch.
“About 13 minutes or so.”
“Soon then?”
“Yes. But it does seem to be slowing. Time that is.”
“I suppose.”
She sounds sad and he wishes to distract her. A sudden thought comes to him. “Very ironic us worrying about time here of all places don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Observatory,” he indicates the large brick building about 50 feet from them on the top of the hill.
“See, that was where we calculated all the time zones from. The GMT line. Greenwich Mean Time. It actually runs right through the middle of the building. This is the centre of time on Earth. Literally go that way...”
He points down river towards the sea, “And you have to put your clocks forward, and if you go that way...”
He gestures down towards the town itself, hidden behind the trees, “And you have to put your clocks back. This is the centre of time.”
She nods slowly, “I never knew that.”
“This has been the place where the whole world has kept time. That was why I came here to be honest. That building. What it represented. Time.”
He is silent for a moment. She stares at this old man, his disheveled clothes, but sees a spark of intelligence in his face. She wonders about his life. His life before.
For his part the old man sighs and continues, “I don’t know. I suppose we all retained some mad dream that somehow we’d all escape this. Somehow find a way out. Mine? It involved being here. Maybe here where we fixed time we could do something like freeze time, hold the last perfect day so it could last forever.”
He catches himself and winces.
“Sorry, must sound silly.”
“That’s lovely,” she says and then takes a breath. And then turns to him again.
“How long? Tsk! Sorry. I shouldn’t keep asking...”
“It’s fine. It’s not like we can ignore the circumstances,” replies. He glances down at his watch.
“About ten minutes,” he says quietly. The girl is staring at the night sky.
“Where are they do you think?”
“The enemy? Probably running as fast as he can away from here.”
“No. Us. The rest of us?”
“Oh. Well, given it’s been a week or so, I’d say they are nearly there by now. They said Eden was three and a half thousand light years away. So I think that means it will take them nine days on the arks. Give or take.”
He shrugs at her and continues, “Obviously I wasn’t paying too much attention to the evacuation procedures.”
This makes her smiles again.
“Me neither,” she says quietly, “Didn’t see the point.”
She takes a deep breath and straightened out her back. She turns to him.
“I’m pleased it worked.”
“Me too,” he nods back and looks up at the darkness of the cosmos, “Fuck you assholes, we fooled you. We’ve won.”
“When will they know?”
“Who?”
“Us,” she says, “The rest of us. When will they know Earth was destroyed?”
His eyes never leave the stars and his frail voice is distant and quiet.
“I suppose one night humanity will look up into the night sky above Eden and they will see a bright flash far distant as our sun blows up. In three and a half thousand years.”
“And the enemy doesn’t know about Eden?” Her voice is almost pleading, hoping for this validation. He nods.
“No. It’s why nothing was broadcast. Why we turned off all radio and TV communications. We couldn’t even allow an accidental slip. We printed everything. They don’t know about Eden.”
She shivers quietly, and blinks. Wondering what the cause was. She can see nothing but the park in darkness and the old man staring up into space.
“We outsmarted them,” she says and he blinks and turns to her.
“Yes. We did. Final proof that there is nothing we humans can’t do if we out our minds to it. An all powerful alien species threatens to destroy our world? And we? Manage to sneak off nearly every human being right under their noses and settle on another world. Quite brilliant.”
He seems happy and for reasons she didn’t quite understand, his happiness gave her joy. She leaned forward and asks, “Did you see the descriptions of Eden? I didn’t really feel like paying much attention to it?”
“Oh yes,” he says getting excited, “Exoplanet almost identical to Earth. Slightly larger. Gravity a tad more but also a tad warmer. And two moons which means it’s tides are much more stable. Sounds ideal. And we know we can live there. Had people on it for thirty years before the crisis.”
She sighs gently, “Eden. The Bible says we came from the Garden of Eden.”
“We came from Eden and we go back to Eden. Nice symmetry.”
He sighs and glances down at his watch. He sees her questioning look and says flatly, “Not long now. About seven minutes.”
She nods and looks sad. Hit with a moments insecurity he asks, “Do you... do you need to be anywhere?”
“I’ve got nowhere else to go. Everyone I know has...”
“Me too,” he says. He looks around and remembering turns to her, “You know what I did yesterday? Spent a day walking around a primary school. It was filled with the remains of what had just been. Books and pens and art on the walls. In one classroom the children had drawn a big picture of Earth and above it the words ‘Goodbye Earth- thank you. We won’t forget you’. It was very sweet.”
She smiles.
“I’m pleased they took the children. All the children.”
“Me also. And hey, they took 9 billion and change out of 10 billion humans. That’s bloody remarkable when you think about. All creeds, all colours, rich and poor. Didn’t care about religion or caste. They took everyone.”
“Except us,” she says quietly.
“Except the very old,” he replies.
“And the very sick.”
Her voice is small and vulnerable and he glances over, a look of concern upon his face. She sees it and holds her head up.
“It’s alright. It made sense. A lot of sense. I mean they HAD to leave some right?”
“Indeed. If we ALL went, when the enemy showed up they would have known, especially as we had stopped using tv and radio for the last month. They had to look down and see humans still on the planet. Be convinced we were still here. That way they would do what they threatened to do and move on. Not aware most of us had escaped.”
“And it’s worked,” the girl beams.
“It has worked. Well done humanity,” he smiles back.
“Fuck you aliens!” She looks up at the night sky, her face defiant and strong. Her defiance infects him, and he nods.
“Indeed. Fuck them.”
The trees come alive, as hundreds of birds suddenly start flying. No birdsong. But hundred and hundreds of avian creatures all come to life. Briefly they are distracted by their sudden movement.
“That’s odd,” she says but then just gasps as all the lights in the city go out. A few emergency lights in tower blocks automatically come to life, but it was as if someone had turned off all the power to everywhere with the flick of a single switch.
Utter darkness envelops them both. They sit for a few seconds, their eyes adjusting to the complete darkness (where the Moon is the only illumination), but all they can hear are the flap of thousands of birds wings in the trees and air around them.
“Do you think?”
Her voice is raised slightly to be heard over the noise of the animals.
“I don’t know,” he replies.
“Oh. The sky?”
He hears her and looks up. The sky has changed. Where there was at most twenty or thirty stars that could be seen above, now there were millions of them. It was if the entire sky had come alive with a myriad of stars of every size and hue.
“Yes. Light pollution. We can see the sky without the orange glow.”
“It’s so pretty,” she says dreamily, gazing up at the sky as if it was new to her.
“Yes. Perfect. Normally you have to go deep in the countryside to get that.”
The girl gazes upwards and narrows her eyes.
“Where is Eden? Which one of these stars is Eden?”
The old man has no idea, but senses that the actual answer didn’t matter right now.
“That one,” he says pointing at a nice looking twinkling star.
“Really?”
“Yes. Its that one.”
She smiles broadly and whispers up at the star, “We did it humanity. We fooled them.”
And as quickly as it starts the beating of wings suddenly ends. A sudden, terrifying silence falls upon the world.
“I’m getting scared,” she whispers.
“Oh don’t my dear. Don’t be scared. Its just something that was going to happen fairly soon to us all just happening a little bit sooner eh?”
She turns to him, “Can you hold my hand?”
“I’d be honoured,” he says and takes hers in his. It feels thin and fragile; his feel calloused and wrinkled. It doesn’t matter. As much as they dare, without words, they squeeze each other’s hand.
“I’m pleased to have met you,” she says, quietly.
“So am I. I’m glad I’m not alone.”
“Me too. I’m sorry. I never asked your name,” says the girl. The old man smiles.
“William. My friends call me Billy.”
“I’m Abigail.”
“I’m really pleased to have met you Abigail.”
“I’m really pleased to have met you too Billy.”
The darkness suddenly diminishes. Nearby a herd of deer race out of some trees and spring across the grass before them. Twenty, thirty, more. Majestic even in their panic. Racing from somewhere to anywhere.
The darkness lightens. As if, far away, the luminosity the sun has just been turned way up. They can see the red deer race down towards the river and watch them sadly...
“I feel sorry for it,” she says.
“What?”
“The Earth. And the Sun. They didn’t ask for this,” comes her voice.
“No, I suppose they didn’t.”
“Poor old Earth.”
Billy pats the grass besides him...
“Yes indeed. She was a good planet. Thank you Earth. For everything.”
Abigail smiles at that and Billy is suddenly aware he can see her clearly. It’s getting quite light...
A ROAR. The air is rent by a roar unlike any heard upon this world. Superheated air catches fire high above them, igniting the atmosphere far above, as the opening salvo of the death of the sun hits the other side of the planet.
The odd couple are illuminated as if it were day light, but it is a harsh white daylight, unforgiving and uncaring.
It’s over for the other side at least thinks Billy.
But the roar increases, and he notices it is getting much hotter.
“Billy. I’m scared.”
“Don’t be Abigail. I’m here.”
Instinctively the old man brings her close, into a hug and she allows it. She can smell the stale scent of old dried sweat on unwashed clothing and tobacco and grime but for some reason she cannot explain it fills her with comfort. Relief. To be held by another human.
He holds her close and desperately seeks to talk about something, anything...
“Did... did you have any family?”
His voice is loud now. The roar above is deafening.
“My parents. My brother. We said goodbye last week. They didn’t want to go. I insisted. You?”
“I have a daughter. I assume she has gone. Haven’t spoken to her in years. She’s safe. Like the rest of them. They are all safe Abigail.”
“All safe,” she says and smiles and tears form, hard tears. The light gets brighter and the temperature higher. Sweat forms on her neck.
The roar continues and he has to shout.
“Jolly well taking it’s time eh?”
Abigail finds this the funniest joke she has ever heard in all her life and laughs through her tears.
“Yes. I wish to complain in the strongest terms about the slow service at the end of the world...”
And Billy finds it the funniest joke he has ever heard in all his life.
He glances up and sees a white burning sky, flames only a few hundred feet above them. Coming lower. He feels absolute terror and curls himself up around the young woman, protecting her, burying his face into her neck while she curls up inside his arms.
The ground beneath them starts to shake.
“Billy?”
“Its alright Abigail. I’m here. Be over soon.”
The hill begins to shake far more violently, vibrating back and forth and forces beyond any in the planets history smash into it. They cling to each other tighter in a final embrace.
Here.
At the end of all things.
Her thoughts race with lightning speed, a history of broken memories of a life spent in hospitals and sick beds and of snatched glimpses of health. She begins to cry properly. Shuddering tears, all defences broken, all pretences gone. She sobs and curls into a little ball, and says ‘Daddy..’
And around her the old man begins to hum a tune he knew from his own childhood, cradling her and rocking her, he wants desperately to tell her it will all be alright, wants desperately to tell this young girl that he can make it better...
And with this Billy’s mind finds itself at some kind of mental singularity; a point of no return. And he’s sees all his life, his two wives, his daughter laughing as a child, his mistakes, his regrets... all his life flashes before his minds eye.
And yet to his surprise he sees something else.
He sees before him an image of giant craft, its vast engines cooling, from huge gates in its side, disgorging people, so many people...sees their faces filled with hope and fears... he sees them smile at the sounds of children laughing
He sees them build and stumble; sees them punishing criminals, making laws, sees they making countries. He seems them making mistakes, so many mistakes, and he sees their wars and their horrors; and they do inflict wars and horrors upon each other.
But in that mental singularity he sees more. Children growing, living, loving, having children of their own. He sees ten thousand thousand generations yet to be born, building in a new place. On a new planet. Safe and wonderful and beautiful and perfect and they gaze up in the night sky of an alien word at a star that flares briefly...
And like a singularity this last thought is all; forever trapped between the now and the was; forever would Billy feel that sense of pride and of joy and of love...
And this young woman’s words and his own combine and in that endless moment of time he thinks
We did it humanity; we fooled them; remember us...
And that was all he knew.
The nova was spectacular, the suns core tearing itself apart and it deaths throes obliterating Mercury and Venus and Earth and Mars; it’s vast forces slammed into Jupiter and Saturn. The Giant Planets died also.
The sun flared briefly in its death and then exploded. And all trace of the planet Earth and of all the life upon it was gone forever.
And across the endless cosmos a single thought of a single mind repeated as it held to the last sliver of its time, filled with hope and love and a defiance eternal.
Remember us...
It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known
-Charles Dickens.