Title: "The Enigma of Saki Sanobashi"
INT. HIGH SCHOOL BATHROOM - DAY
The episode opens with a dimly lit, abandoned bathroom in an old high school. The atmosphere is eerie and unsettling. Four girls, YUMI, AKARI, MIKI, and HANA, find themselves trapped inside. They are confused and disoriented, unable to recall why they are there or how they got there.
Yumi, with a white hime-cut, appears to be the most level-headed among them. She tries to keep everyone calm and searches for a way out. The girls attempt to remember their pasts, but their memories are vague and fragmented.
INT. FLASHBACK - HIGH SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY
A brief flashback shows the girls interacting with one another in the hallway. They seem happy and carefree, but something feels off. The memory quickly fades, leaving them even more bewildered.
INT. HIGH SCHOOL BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS
As time passes, the girls grow desperate. Yumi's character development shines through as she reveals her own vulnerabilities and fears. She becomes the emotional anchor, providing comfort and support to her friends.
Despite their efforts, they cannot find an exit or a way to communicate with the outside world. The bathroom walls seem to close in on them, increasing their sense of hopelessness.
INT. HIGH SCHOOL BATHROOM - LATER
Days have passed, and hunger and thirst torment the girls. They're weak and on the verge of giving up. Emotions run high as they struggle with their despair. Miki, unable to bear the pain any longer, bashes her head against the floor, ending her suffering.
Hana, consumed by anguish, claws at her own neck in a fit of desperation. Akari, driven to the brink, attempts to drown herself in the bathroom sink but fails. She turns to Yumi, tears streaming down her face.
AKARI Please, Yumi. Help me end it. I can't bear this anymore.
Yumi hesitates, conflicted by the request. She understands the depths of their suffering but doesn't want to give up hope.
YUMI (whispering, tearfully) Akari, we can't lose hope. There must be another way.
But Akari's pain is too intense, and she insists. Yumi reluctantly agrees, understanding that her friend's torment has become unbearable.
INT. HIGH SCHOOL BATHROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Yumi gently assists Akari in ending her life. It's a heartbreaking moment that demonstrates the despair they've endured. Yumi, devastated by her decision, cradles Akari's lifeless body, mourning their shared fate.
With heavy hearts, Yumi continues to struggle for survival. Days blend into each other, and the lines between reality and hallucination blur. Yumi's character development reaches its peak as she faces her darkest fears and memories.
INT. HIGH SCHOOL BATHROOM - FINAL SCENE
The bathroom's walls seem to breathe and pulsate, trapping Yumi in an eternal nightmare. We are left with a haunting image of her, alone and defeated. The sadness and tragedy of their plight weigh heavily upon us as the episode comes to a close.
FADE OUT.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMFUVx0vMDM&t=17s 0:17 is when the melody starts (timestamped)
​
Short of writing out the song and playing what I remember myself, I can't recall much other than it somber-ish tone, sort of down-tempo in genre. Instead of the main melody being syncopated notes like in the linked track, the main melodic notes are played more straight with some being long (half note), while the "B" part of the song has syncopation, I believe.
For lyrics, I can't remember anything other maybe some nah nahs. There is a drum track in the song if I recall correctly. I don't know where I would have heard this - at a bar? On YouTube? For its title, the word that comes to mind is "return" (or 'back' or something). I could be wrong though.
I've shown this to other people and while more than half of them do not recognize it, a few of them dd recognize the tune, but none of us can remember where it's from. It's almost like a mandela effect at this point.
I've checked bands like Ratatat and El Ten Eleven, I've looked into Demo Projects in FL Studio (a digital audio computer tool) because the tune I remember in my head is more or less short clip so I thought it might be a loop, but I have not used a song-identifying service past the reddit bots (I'm looking for the sound-alike song, not the actual song. I know what the actual song is).
Here is a detail about the game's soundtrack if it helps at all. The game is an extension of its space-themed predecessor which came out two years ago, and its soundtrack has a late-90s-early-2000s trance vibe and influence. The song I'm looking for shouldn't be that genre, though.
I can't place the song for the life of me, but I know I've heard it somewhere.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

The Marble Slab Part 1
By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you
thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up. I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me. “I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

The Marble Slab Part 1

By John Westrick
The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window, set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my suddenly exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.
I must've dosed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt as if I was staring into the abyss itself, a black hole pulling me into its inky embrace. That peculiar dream held me captive for God only knows how long.
The fear was overwhelming. It held me fast, like quicksand I found myself descending into the blackness. It was the first rays of light that finally broke my standstill, as if my body was frozen solid and the warmth of the sun was slowly dethawing my bones. I remained sitting in my armchair for a moment, letting the effects of the queer dream wash over me.
Finally, my mind began to return to a semblance of normality. I glanced outside to see the sun dancing happily in the orange and yellow of the fall leaves. My heart leapt at this sight. Shortly with the resilience of youth, I found myself forgetting entirely about the uncanny daydream. With a shout of glee, I found myself barreling down the staircase three at a time. No longer a care in the world, rushing towards blind adventure.
In school we had been reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Treasure Island, and I had been convinced there was buried treasure somewhere in my backyard. My first hole was a five-foot deep pit. Buried treasure wasn't found, but I did succeed in severing our sprinkler system. The hole was shortly filled with water, and my parents put a stop to my digging efforts. At least it put a stop to my digging in the yard. I was too stubborn to give up on my dreams of finding pirate treasure to entirely stop. I just became more selective of the location of my digs.
I went into my dad’s shop, pilfered a flat head shovel and trekked down the trail where I could resume my search without my parents' oversight. Looking for the tell-tale signs of pirate interference, I found myself wandering off the beaten path. That is when I saw it. It was the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. Massive, barren branches loomed over me like the hands of a twisted god. For some odd reason, that daydream came back to the forefront of my mind.
With the clarity of scared eyes, I saw a rickety cross held together by ancient twine fraying at the ends. A spark of excitement burned away all my concerns. Quickly, I clambered down the hill to the base of that giant oak to get a better look at the marker. At closer inspection, I saw one name carved into the base of the cross. It said, “Victor P. Alexandre.” It didn’t sound like a pirate's name, but still it was worth investigating. After all, one place was as good as another.
That first day, I shoveled loose dirt and clay for nearly 8 hours. The hole was larger and deeper than I had ever managed in the past. Even still, I found nothing. No buried treasure. No time capsule. Nothing of interest whatsoever. I was reaching my breaking point, when my shovel suddenly hit with a clink. Uncaring, I threw my shovel aside and slowly began to sift through the loose dirt. To my utter shock, my hands felt a smooth surface.
Using the water from my water bottle I washed the dirt away scrubbing it clean with my hands. The surface was white as bone, yet it was flat. At closer glance, I realized it was smooth marble. My heart was beating fast. If this wasn't hidden treasure, God only knew what else it could be. That second day, I dug like my life depended on it. The marble slab was bigger than I had expected, already I had exposed nearly four feet of it. The day was growing short and the shadows had been growing longer, yet even still, I found myself scouring that slab.
Right before the day turned to night, my hand ran across a large padlock. One of those old-fashioned, cast-iron locks. The heavy ones. It was rusted and the metal was beginning to flake, but still, I couldn't break it. I tried to smash it off with the pointed end of the shovel, yet it resisted my attempts. I heard my mother's voice calling to me.
I went scurrying towards the sound of her voice, doing my best to brush clean the dirt off my arms and legs. I mustn't have done a good job, because as her suspicious eyes fell upon me, I saw disappointment flash in them.
She looked me up in down and said, “You cut anymore sprinkler lines this time?”
With a sheepish grin I responded, “No ma’am.”
She gestured towards the bathroom and said, “wash up before your father sees.”
Immediately I obeyed, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the night was uneventful. I slept like a babe. It was the last full night’s sleep I’ve had since. The last night not invaded by the nightmares.
I woke at first daylight. The excitement of my find, robbing me of my ability to sleep in. It was a Saturday morning and not a cloud was in sight. The wind was blowing in playful gusts tugging at my hair and the folds of my clothes. It was the sort of morning I'd dedicate to the flying of kites, yet today something else had my full attention. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour, fantasizing of all the possibilities. What lies under the marble floor? It must be something of great value to be buried so deep and guarded by such a lock. I thought that perhaps it was a treasure cove, hidden by conquistadors. Maybe it was secret entrance to a hidden civilization. The possibilities were endless.
My idea was simple If I couldn't break it off with brute force, then I'd cut it off with a grinder in my dad’s shed. To my great amusement I had seen him cut off the heavy lock I used for my bike when I lost the key a year prior. Luck was on my side that day, or perhaps it was misfortune. With a hollow thump, I leapt carelessly down into the hole. Those eyes flashed feverishly bright into my mind. The sudden feeling of fear almost made me clamber back the way I came. As suddenly as it came, it passed.
The curiosity of a ten-year-old was too great for any reservations I might have had. With in moments, I found myself cutting away. The grinder cut through the metal as if it was butter, showering the pearly white marble with orange sparks. A thunder clap brought me back to my senses. With a start, I nearly dropped the still spinning grinder. I looked up to see thick, black clouds beginning to roll its’ way towards me. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Yet, the inky blackness barreled towards me blocking the sun’s brilliant rays.
The light all around me seemed to dim. It felt as if time itself fast forwarded, stranding me in dusk. It was eerie, and a little shiver erupted all over my body. The storm seemed to be triggered by the cutting of the lock. But that's not possible; it can't be possible. Yet even so, I couldn't dissever my mind from this line of thought. It was preposterous, however, there was no storm before and now there was.
I heard a grinding, crunching noise and felt the slab beneath my feet begin to slide open. To my horror, I felt the ground give way, and then I was sliding into pitch darkness. I rolled a couple of feet and ended up sprawled on my back. The darkness down there was almost complete, except a single ray of light that peeked through the opening of the marble slab. I saw nothing down there, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I was being watched. It felt as if the darkness had eyes peering at me from all sides.
I didn’t remain down there long. I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I kept imagining Dracula staring at me from the comfort of the shadows, his heart remaining eternally still. No need, when one is already dead. I clambered up the steep incline as if my life depended on it, for all I know it did. I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my room under my bed. I know it was silly, but I couldn't shake the feeling as if I narrowly escaped death.
I determined that tomorrow morning I would refill the whole and never look at that marble slab again. Now with a plan of action set into place, my fear began to lessen. When my parents finally made it back home to fix supper, I had forgotten about my near-death experience. I ate my meatloaf and broccoli and had a large bowl of ice cream, while I watched SpongeBob on the tv.
When bedtime came, I didn’t even argue with my parents to stay up later. I did something that night that I had never done before. I grabbed my mom's hand pulling her down to me and kissed her directly on the forehead, then I walked to my dad and repeated the sentiment. Then I looked each of them in their eyes and said, “You guys are the best parents a child could ask for. I love y’all very much.” Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes and even my dad looked close to waterworks. Something happened in the silence that preceded. Our relationship matured. I had seen them and accepted them as the individuals they were, not as the parents who exist for my wellbeing. We had looked into each other's eyes and acknowledged one another.
I think fondly of this memory and I thank God that I had this one final moment to make known all that my childish mind thought, but didn't have the ability to put into words. It was a tender moment, and it was the last time I saw my parents breathing.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow. It was a deep sleep, the kind in which there are no dreams. The kind that leaves you well rested and excited for the next day. But it wasn't the morning when I woke. This watch of the night goes by many names; the dead of night, the witching hour, midnight, the time the moon goes to rest. They all mean the same thing; it's the period in which the night is darkest, and the hope of morning is nearly nonexistent. This is the time owned by the nightmares, where the boogey man walks freely.
It was a gentle tapping on my window that awoke me. My body became stiff and I couldn't move. Fear paralyzed me and I laid in my bed, senses hyper alert. I remained there hoping it was a branch against the window, but knowing better. The window in my room was directly above my head. With very little effort I could be certain of the cause of the sound. I didn’t want to be certain. I'd rather lay trying my best to convince myself it was caused by some ordinary means, than look and see the glowing red eyes of Dracula.
And in one way or another, I knew it was him. I was certain I’d look up and see his pale face shining as pristine as the marble slab that must be his resting place. As the night crawled along, the scratching only got louder until it was nearly deafening. It was then that my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. It was like a scratch your mom told you not to itch; the more you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore. My eyes flung wide and I looked up.
I could hardly believe my eyes. There on the other side of the glass was my old kite, the red and blue one that came loose and flew away a few weeks ago. I thought my fear would ease learning the source of the awful sound, but there I remained unable to get those red eyes out of my mind. The kite didn’t help persuade me of the silliness of my fears, in fact, it solidified them, as if it gave some sort of credence.
My alarm clock on my nightstand ticked slowly, and I watched as the digital numbers changed. Each minute seemed to take hours. Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow casted by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.
I had made a decision while I was warring with my fear. I was going to tell my parents about the marble slab and what I had done. They would know what to do. In fact, they would probably tease me for letting it get me so scared, but at that point I didn’t care. I would've welcomed the lighthearted jokes made at my expense. It would mean my fears weren't reasonable ones. All would go back to normal and I’d be another kid who had a silly nightmare.
The nightmare began in my parents' bedroom. I barged into their room hoping to receive the comfort I so needed. I found everything but comfort there. The room was entirely normal, except it lacked the presence of my sleeping parents. They were gone. I went into their bathroom thinking they might’ve gotten up early. It was empty. As I made my way back into the room, I noticed the window nearest their bed was open. Lying on the windowsill was an enormous droplet of blood.
My heart dropped and I knew exactly where they’d be. Dracula hadn’t intended to get me; he wanted my parents. The kite was a distraction, a way to settle my rational mind. I was right to fear, if only I had feared enough to run straight to my parents' room. Would things be different now? I think they might. In my book, belief was the only way to combat the vampires, and children have a knack for it. He must've known I'd never let him in my room. But tonight, he can come freely for me.
My parents. I failed them. No, I killed them. I never should've opened that door. I should've buried the hatch closed the moment I saw it. Of course, it was a grave. It had the marker above it and all. I’m an idiot, a God’s damned fool. The marker. What did it say on it? “Victor P. Alexandre.” So, this isn't Dracula after all, but in a way he still is. He can be killed the same way. Yes, that is what I must do.
It took me the remainder of the day to gather the required materials. I found garlic cloves in the spice cabinet, my family are catholic so it was not difficult to find a cross, the thing that took me the longest was making the wooden stakes. In the end, I used the legs of one of our kitchen tables filed down to a nasty point. As an afterthought, I grabbed the massive padlock my dad used on his shed sometimes. It never hurts to have a backup.
I followed the blood droplets of my parents to the hole I dug. I remained staring down at the marble slab, now drenched in my family’s life blood, unable to move from the spot. I watched in horror as the sun slowly began to make its descent, knowing that my chance was slipping between my fingers. A thought occurred to me. What if my parents are down there? Will I be able to look them in the face while I slide a stake through their heart?
Call it what you want, but a few minutes before the sun sank behind the horizon, a metallic glint caught my eyes. At closer examination, it was the little silver cross necklace my mom always wore. This spurred me into action, as if someone poked me with a red-hot brand. It burned my fears away, and left me with a numb sense of responsibility.
Without a second thought I launched myself down into the hole scooping up my mom’s pendant and ignited the flashlight. I didn’t have much time; the sun was falling. The shadows were lengthening. My heart beat a steady staccato against the inner walls of my chest. I was scared my damn heartbeat would wake the creatures giving me away. But I didn't have time to worry, so I didn’t. In a clarity unlike anything I've experienced before or since, I made my way through the opening of the sepulcher.
As I moved forward, I couldn’t help but think that I had been swallowed alive by some mythic monster. The darkness closed in on me and the faint glow casted by my flashlight only went about 4 feet in front of me. It looked as if I was in a catacomb. Urns and vases lined the walls on each side of me. Every few feet or so was a nook that held an empty casket. I began to panic after my first turn and the door was no longer in sight. What if he’s behind me or hiding in one of those alcoves? I was afraid to breathe or make any sudden noises. Thoughts of waking him and having to face him upright nearly stopped me in my tracks.
It was the sound of my parents' voices that pushed me forward. They gave me the resolve to see this thing through. I heard my mom tell me, “If not you, then who?” and the strong voice of my father admonishing me, “Do the right thing, even if it’s hard.” And so, I kept moving one step at a time, my footsteps being muffled by the suffocating blackness. Before I knew it, I was there looking at three closed caskets.
There was a grand coffin against the back wall, the others were near the two side walls. I knew immediately which one would contain Viktor. I walked straight to it, then hesitated and opened the one against the right wall. My mom was in it. She looked to be sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary besides two small puncture marks on the side of her throat. Against the left one was my dad. Tears filled my eyes, and I knew they had been turned. I stood there a stake in my hand, not quite able to plunge it deep into the heart of the woman who gave birth to me.
I closed the casket, making my way to the coffin of the monster who took my parents. I looked forward to shoving a stake through his heart and as I opened the casket a wicked smile was plastered on my face. The smile died away, when I looked down and saw that it was empty. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I heard rich laughter coming from directly behind me.
“I must admit, you've surprised me. I’ve had fools rush in here before to try to kill me, but usually they are glory seekers. This is a first for me. I’ve never come across a child brave enough to face me,” purred Viktor in smooth, slightly European accent.
Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was my body being unable to process the fear; regardless, my voice came out strong and confident, when I said, “And that’s why I ‘ll succeed, where others failed.”
Viktor began laughing and wiping at the tears in his eyes, “I’ll tell you what because you've made me laugh harder than I have in centuries, I’ll let you go if you leave right now.”
“Oh, sounds like someone is scared. You’ve been hiding in this tomb so long; I’m surprised you haven’t staked yourself out of pure boredom,” I replied.
“I wasn’t hiding you fool; I was locked in here by foes much cleverer than yourself. They weren’t stupid enough to think they could take me on their own. They locked the entrance and buried my whole sepulcher, until you haphazardly released me,” said the vampire.
I gulped knowing that he was at least partially correct. I had released him and my parents are the ones who paid the price. Without warning I lobbed a whole clove of garlic directly at his face. The creature ungodly fast swatted it away with one hand, hissing as it made direct contact with his skin. I saw a nasty burn appear suddenly on the flesh of that hand. I had time for a moment of triumphant, before the creature blurred towards me.
He struck me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling into the coffin that held my mom. I heard a bone crack in my ribs when I made contact. Pain filled my body and I cried out. This seemed to please the vampire as he slowly stalked towards me, my backpack filled with supplies held in his left hand. The stake I had been holding flew out of my hand when he hit me and I was left with nothing to stop his advance.
He knew this too; I saw it in the smug smile he wore across his face. It was done, my parents died because of me. I couldn’t even get revenge on their killer. I had failed them. And now, this creature was going to rip me apart slowly, enjoying every moment of it.
My mom’s voice cut through all my fears, and I heard her say, “I gave you my necklace, now kill this motherfucker.”
My hand reached to my neck and I felt the comfort of the cold silver against my skin. With one smooth motion I pulled it off, concealing it in my left hand. I knew I’d have to time it right. I would get only one chance at this, I had to make it count. The element of surprise was working in my favor, but even still the creature was fast as hell. I’d have to let him get close, painfully close before I struck.
I gave him what he desired most, I plead for my life. “Please, I didn’t mean it. Have mercy on me. I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you need me to. I let you out, didn’t I?”
Viktor smiled a smile filled with pointed teeth. I shuttered; it wasn’t hard to act. I truly was terrified. This seemed to please him. He laid his well-manicured hands on my shoulder, holding me like a father holds his son.
“You have been very helpful to me; I can think of one way you can be even more useful,” said Viktor.
He leaned in almost as if he was going to kiss me, then at the last minute he bent his head back as if he was a snake preparing to strike. I expected him to do this, and with one fluid motion I shoved the crucifix directly down the throat of the creature. His sharp teeth cut my hand into ribbons, but the moment the silver touched his throat it erupted in blue flames. I watched in fascination as the vampire's head began to melt, then disintegrate. Within about thirty seconds the entire body of the vampire was reduced to ashes.
My mom’s necklace remained sitting on top of the pile of ash. I reached down and pocketed it. I breathed a sigh of relief, then I looked at the other two caskets. Tears made my vision swim. This is impossible. How am I supposed to kill the people who raised me?
I opened my mom’s casket again; she looked so beautiful laying in perfect peace. They looked happier than they had in years. The wrinkles beginning to form under her eyes were gone, smooth skin replaced it. Bottle that formula and sell it. For one low price of drinking a vampire's blood, you too can have skin that shines bright in the moonlight.
Something caught my eye. I looked down to the now torn backpack and saw the massive padlock I had taken from my dad’s shed. An idea sprung into my mind. Maybe I don’t have to kill them. I can lock them up and re-bury them. The night was nearly here and a decision needed to be made. In a moment of weakness, I chose.
It was well past midnight when I finished packing the rest of the loose dirt back into the hole. Shortly after I started, I could hear a clawing noise coming from within. I didn’t so much as stop for a water break. When the hole was half filled, I couldn’t hear the cries of my parents anymore. Although I do hear them in my dreams sometimes.
The moon was hidden behind rain clouds, making it difficult to see. In my mad scramble out of the catacombs, I had dropped my flashlight. I began my long trek back home, no longer fearing what lies in the dark.

Hi all,
I'm 27F, 5'4", about 155lbs (recent loss of about 20lbs in the past month or so due to incredible loss of appetite).
History of anorexia and bulimia (in teens and early 20s), PTSD, depression and anxiety. Also diagnosed with potential POTS and/or SVT as my heart rate ranges from ~40 anywhere to ~210 bpm. Gluten intolerant, if that matters at all.
Current meds: Lamictal (200mg bid), Adderall (20mg bid), Abilify (5mg), clonidine (0.1mg), Vitamin D (mega dose 1x per week). No recreational drug use, no smoking, occasional alcohol consumption.
I have no idea what is happening to me and it feels like all of these symptoms have been getting progressively worse in the last year or so (sorry if some of these are not related):
- Bad headaches - Discolored (sometimes bright red, sometimes blue/purple), extremely hot then cold, and swollen hands (pain, burning, itching, tingling/stinging) - Numb hands and feet (on and off) - Leg numbness, tingling, and pain - Face numbness (on and off) - Joint pain and heaviness - Unbearable fatigue - Low blood pressure then high blood pressure - Low/normal systolic with high diastolic blood pressure (ex. 93/80) - Dizziness and sometimes fainting - Sleep paralysis on and off - Eye floaters and blurry-ish vision (this is more recent I think?) - Insane sweating while feeling cold - Inappropriate temperature reactions (sweating in cold temperatures, shivering in hot temperatures, etc.) - Low body temp when feeling hot - Shortness of breath randomly - Frequent urination !!! (like 15+ times per day) - Neck pain (sides) - Sometimes feeling like I imagine it would feel to have a pinched nerve (right elbow, then other areas) - Recent blisters on hands, fingertips, and face - Severe diarrhea then constipation, nausea, and stomach aches accompanied by mucus discharge - Very visible veins on right thigh (looks like blue and purple webs maybe?)
-heart rate ranges anywhere from 39-211bpm
​
Mayo Clinic appointment in a few weeks but really struggling mentally and physically and I have no idea what to expect. I'm horrified of what all of this could be. I have a recent fear that some of this sounds like MS but I could be WAY off (I am really hoping this is incorrect). I know I am driving myself nuts, but this feels like SO much more than POTS and it's honestly feeling unbearable to live because I just can't function normally (yes, I'm in therapy thank God). I of course will explain everything to the doctors, but I also don't know what to expect and what questions to ask. Does this sound like anything in particular? Any suggestions as to what this could be or what I should ask at the Mayo Clinic would be so greatly appreciated.

Sealinies
Surrounded by Kazari, Finn, Iyexi and Archer, Maila faced her mom, the majestic Mermista. Exhaustion veiled Mermista's features. Being a mom was a hard job, especially when one of your kids was a manchild named Seahawk.
"So, like, what's up, mom?" Maila blurted, hands on her hips.
With a hand massaging her temples, Mermista began, "Okay, so, my spies tell me there's this weird cache box thingy floating around in the open sea. It's, like, radiating some strange vibes."
"So, I guess you want us to go play detective, huh?" Maila's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Mermista let out a long, tired sigh. "Maila, you're gonna be queen one day. Your dad and I thought this would be good for you. You know, learning on the job?" Mermista fetched a pair of keys and lobbed them towards Maila.
"Take the Dragon's Daughter 7. Try to forget that you’re half-Seahawk and don’t fuck this up, okay?"
Maila caught the keys mid-air, stuck her tongue out at her mom. "Well, mom, that snarkiness is why dad scores higher on my favorite parent scale!"
Mermista retaliated by launching her trident at her, missing by miles.
"Haha, missed, bitch!"
"Just scram before I break your neck!"
The Open Sea
Maila was in her element on the Dragon’s Daughter 7, feeling like she ruled the world. "Yay!" she screamed, her voice swallowed by the ocean breeze. Kazari leaned lazily against the railing, idly swirling sparks of havok magic between her fingers. “So,” she began, “has your mother been a moody bitch-canou?”
Maila chuckled lightly, “Yeah, but she’s still pretty cool. She once made sure Finn’s trauma isn’t worse than it is…” she droned.
Kazari furrowed her brow, the magicat’s head tilted slightly.
“Trauma? Maila, what the fuck are you-?”
Maila pointed to the other magicat, Finn, curled up in the fetal position, while Archer and Iyexi were doing their best to confront them. “Finn, just relax, okay?” said Archer.
“We got you, buddy!” Iyexi held Finn’s hand.
“Finn?” Kazari approached her fellow magicat. “Are you okay?” she asked, her aussie accent softened over the years.
Finn looked up at Kazari, saying, “Y-yeah, I will be once we finish this damn mission!”
"Don't sweat it, Finn! You can have a good sob with your moms once we're done!" Kazari jested, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
"Actually, I can't really be around my moms at the moment…"
"Wow, way to rain on the fun parade..." Kazari responded, her teasing tone deflating a bit.
Maila was busy fiddling with a radar when a blip appeared on the screen. "Hey, guys, I think we've got a hit!"
Everyone rose from their spots and huddled around the mermaid-pirate princess. There it was, the cache box, several feet beneath them.
"Alright, looks like this box is tucked away in a sea cave! Kazari, I could use your help hauling this thing, it seems pretty hefty. Your havoc magic should do the trick," she explained, handing out wetsuits to the team.
Kazari merely nodded, stripping down to her underwear, leaving Finn blushing like a ripe tomato. Kazari didn't miss a beat, she winked at the flustered magicat, taunting, “Guess you've hit the jackpot, tiger. Snap a picture, it'll last longer,” before wriggling into her wetsuit, and the others followed her lead.
One by one, everyone dived into the azure depths with the only expectation being Finn who said, “You guys go ahead, I’ll…stay back and watch the boat…”
Maila shot them an empathetic look as she dived in. Maila's seafoam green jacket melted around her legs, which fused into an aquamarine fish tail.
"Alright, stay close," Maila directed, speeding off into the depths with the rest of the team in her wake.
Kazari lagged slightly, swimming alongside Archer and Iyexi. She asked, "What's up with Finn? They seem off-kilter."
"Finn has a thing about water, but it's their story to share, not ours," Iyexi replied, a serious undertone in her voice. Kazari simply nodded in response, understanding the sentiment.
As they neared the cave entrance, Maila called out, "We're here. Kazari, you're up with me."
“Got it,” Kazari replied, swimming up to join Maila at the cave's entrance. The other two hung back slightly, providing cover and watching out for any surprises.
The underwater cave was darker than the surrounding sea, its entrance guarded by a mess of coral and sea plants swaying lazily in the current. Maila and Kazari had to maneuver carefully to avoid disturbing the fragile underwater life. Once past the entrance, they turned on the small lights attached to their suits, illuminating the gloomy interior.
The water inside the cave was cooler and eerily still, reflecting the beams of their lights in strange, distorted patterns on the rough cave walls. They advanced slowly, the silence broken only by the sound of their own breathing and the occasional crackle from their comms devices.
There it was, nestled among an outcropping of rocks, the cache box. Its metallic surface was half-buried in the sand and encrusted with layers of marine life, making it seem more like a part of the cave than an alien object.
Maila signaled to Kazari, pointing towards the box. With a determined nod, Kazari conjured her havoc magic. The sparks danced around her arms and core before reaching out towards the box, lifting it gently from its bed of sand and rocks.
Just when they thought everything was going smoothly, Kazari's eyes widened at a pattern she spotted. It was unmistakably similar to those cursed spiders they had encountered before.
"What the hell?" Kazari blurted out.
"Kazari, what's up?!" Archer and Iyexi's voices crackled through the comms, their concern palpable.
Maila followed Kazari's gaze just in time to see the sand beneath them begin to swirl and shift. "Guys, we need to move, now! We're not alone down here!"
Before they could react, the ocean floor erupted in a cloud of sand and debris. As the dust cleared, a massive, monstrous squid revealed itself.
"HOLY SHIT!!!" Iyexi's exclamation was barely audible over the chaos.
"We have to secure the box!" Maila commanded, doing her best to keep her cool in the face of the terrifying creature. As the squid lunged at them, they swam as fast as they could, the cache box in tow. Their hearts pounded in their chests, the adrenaline fueling their swift escape.
Through gritted teeth, Kazari shouted, "Alright, I'll keep the squid busy, you guys secure the box!"
"On it!"
Without wasting any more time, they all lunged forward, each grabbing a corner of the cache box. Maila, thanks to her mermaid physiology, found the task easier. A mermaid's strength is volumetric - directly proportional to the amount of water in contact with her body. In the vastness of the open sea, Maila was easily the strongest among them.
As they struggled with the box, Kazari swam headfirst into the fray. Her aim was to distract the gigantic squid long enough for the others to make their escape. It was a dangerous plan, but it was all they had. With a deep breath, she charged towards the monstrous creature, ready to face it head-on.
With a determined look, Kazari summoned her havok magic. Electricity crackled around her, creating an impressive, almost mesmerizing display. It felt like pins and needles pricking her scalp, but she had to ignore it. And just as she hoped, the squid turned its focus to her, tentacles lunging in her direction.
Seizing her moment, Kazari pushed off the cave wall, dodging the squirming tentacles with agile precision. She swam underneath the box and latched onto Maila’s tail, swimming swiftly to join the group.
"Archer, teleport us out of here, now!" Kazari's voice was firm, carrying the urgency of their predicament. They needed to get out, and they needed to do it fast. Archer did just that, warping the four, and the box onto the boat, in front of a perplexed Finn.
"Are you serious?!" Finn's voice echoed through the communication devices as the crew scampered back onto the Dragon's Daughter 7. Maila made a beeline for the console, revving up the ship's engines and steering them away from the underwater chaos.
Minutes later, when they were safely away from the giant squid and the adrenaline had started to wane, Finn repeated their earlier question, this time more slowly, "Can somebody please tell me what the FUCK just happened?"
Maila, steadying her breath, managed to give them a succinct answer: "Giant squid. But we did get the cache box!" She hoped that her words carried some reassurance. Despite the unexpected challenges, they'd succeeded in their mission.
“Welp, in any case, let’s crack this fucker open,” said Kazari.
Wanting to contribute, Finn popped out their claws and broke off the lock. Inside the box, were all aging weapons: an armcannon, a trident, a set of power boosting gloves, bow and arrows and a short sword and sheath.
At first, their faces reflected nothing but underwhelmed surprise. This was what they had risked their lives for? A bunch of old, worn-out weapons? But then, the realization dawned on them. These pieces were more than just weapons…
"Guys! If I'm not totally off-base here, these weapons... they look like they were crafted by the First Ones," Maila announced, her eyes wide with realization.
"The First Ones, you say?" Iyexi mused, carefully picking up the armcannon. "Well, in that case, they might actually be of use to us."
Archer nodded, his hands running over the bow and arrows. He sensed the age and craftsmanship in the simple tools. Meanwhile, Finn took hold of the gloves, inspecting them with a quiet curiosity.
As for Maila, she found herself gravitating towards the trident, a sense of familiarity washing over her. Kazari, on the other hand, chose the tanto and its sheath, a certain fondness evident in her gaze.
"Well, regardless of where they came from, they're definitely going to give us a boost for shop class," Finn commented, breaking the momentary silence. "So, at least there's that, right? Right, Kazari? Uh, Kazari?"
They all turned to look at Kazari, who seemed to be in a sort of trance. Her gaze was fixated on a rock outside the ship's window, where an unusual, smoky blob was swirling around…
Later that night…
Alone in the quiet of her dorm room, Kazari found herself captivated by the aged sword she had claimed earlier. It had an undeniable charm, a feeling of history that was too intriguing to ignore. With the sword resting in her lap, Kazari leaned back in her chair, her sketchbook splayed open on her desk.
Her pencil danced across the page, guided by her hand as she poured her thoughts into a flurry of lines and shapes. But there was one shape, one image, that kept resurfacing in her mind. The smoky blob she had seen swirling around the rock.
"What is that thing I keep seeing?" she wondered aloud, her gaze flicking back and forth between her sword and her sketchbook. "What is it trying to show me?" As the night deepened, Kazari found herself lost in her thoughts, her curiosity piqued by the mystery of the swirling smoke and the sword.
ALSO AVAILBLE ON AO3

I have been friends with this couple for a few years. In fact, we are the closest within the friend group, but recently I realized I have overlooked their behaviors. We share the same group of friends in college, and he constantly roasts our other friends and puts them in their place (not in a jokingly manner) like ha ha... We all used to laugh it off, but now that we are all 28 and this is still a thing, I don't think this is a normal behavior. They even asked me to have a 3some with them, despite me being the most conservative person in the friend group. It made me really uncomfortable to be objectified. I'm not from the states, and one time, we were singing along to songs on youtube with just music videos. They played songs that I didn't know, so I wasn't singing, but I was still having a good time. The girlfriend loudly announced to the group, 'Let's put on lyrics because someone doesn't speak English.' There was also a time when the boyfriend said that my brain is not fully developed because I was irresponsible in college. Essentially, he called me stupid. Since then, I have been evaluating their past behaviors, and I'm just not okay with who they are as people. I have confided in my other friends because I was thinking of cutting them off. The feedback I got was that I can't cut them off just because they are our friends, and they told me to talk to them. My thing is, I don't really want to tell someone how I want to be treated. I just feel like their characters are not aligning with mine. Another friend told me that I'm being overdramatic. I just don't understand why I have to force myself into friendships I don't want to be in just because we are in the same friend group and have been friends for a long time. Is it normal to outgrow a friendship?
I have been feeling like shit about distancing myself without clear communication, but honestly, I just don't feel inclined to communicate. Yes, I could talk to them and set boundaries, but do I really want to be friends with people who exhibit such behavior?

My friend is a DD and is looking for comfortable ways to bind but so far has had little luck, he's tried tape (trans tape) and binders/sports bras but has found he was getting allergic reactions to the chemicals in the tape and the binders/sports bras made no difference and hurt his ribs and made it hard to breathe, he's been really down about this. So I've taken to you guys on this since I can't help him since how I bind didn't work for him since I am a A cup and use tape. Anything helps. Thank you
(Side note I'm not sure if this may be important but he has chronic pain)

To start, me and my FIL have had our ups and downs through the years. From what I have heard he use to be a great father when my husband and sister in law where younger. But the man I know, IV drugs, no job - living off the survivors checks from his wife who passed away from IV drug use, giving away every cent of that to "girlfriends" on the internet that promised him the world only to never show up, and so much more. He did all of this and expected me and my husband to take care of his every need, cook him food, shelter, cigarettes, our internet where he could talk to the "girlfriends", rides anywhere he wanted to go, and to come and go as he pleased.
You can skip this next part to get to my dilemma or read for a little context this is a summary not everything he put us through
《A little of his story: He had a fully functioning house, water, electricity, gas, heating and ac. Started really getting into drugs, and the "girlfriends" well there went the money for the bills and food. Around this time we decided to put a trailer on some property he owned and in return keep up and maintain the 3 acres (because he wasn't and the city was on him). When signing the land rental agreement he unbeknownst to us put we had to pay him $400 to stay on the property. So we paid that to him but he also wasn't paying the property tax on the land, we paid that too. All the while every summer and winter when it got to hot/cold he stayed with us rent free ate our food and made himself at home. Coming and going as he pleased sometimes with our vehicles...gone for days. We decided we had enough of living by his terms since we were on his land and he felt like he could access our home anytime he felt like... so we got a house. While the trailer was in selling limbo he broke into it, rented it out falsified our names to have utilities cut on. ~ fast forward a bit he sells his house and gave the money to a "girlfriend" and started drawing early retirement. Still giving every penny to different "girlfriends" and dumpster diving for food. With the trailer finally off his land he made essentially a homeless camp and invited his druggy friend to slum it up with him. Still coming to our house during the summer and the winter to survive and mooch off of us. We'll his druggy friends kick him off "his" property (it got sold at auction). He started living with other druggy friends but they had no running water food, anything really but a house and electricity. He starts taking the bus to our house and randomly showing up for food. Somehow my husband convinced me to let him live here instead of like a homless man. I agree.》 ☆I'd like to add while all of this was happening we found out our son was level 3 autistic needing significant supports, speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical therapy, ABA therapy, so we had our hands full☆
Back to the main point... he came to live with us, I expected withdrawals from the drugs, well after a few months I noticed he wasn't getting better, 3 months of begging him to go to the doctor even me putting him on medicaid where he could go... refused right until 2 weeks ago when he could barely breathe. I bring him to a quick care they take and x ray and tell us to immediately go to the hospital. Hospital 3 blood clots, and what they suspect to be level 3 or 4 lung cancer (won't know until they do an out patient biopsy). They do a few surgeries 1 to remove the 2 blood clots in his lungs 2 to put a filter in his heart. He is currently in rehab to build the strength to come home.
■ Problem ■ During the hospital stay my sister in law swoops in after having nothing to do with her dad for years, doctor told her her dad would have a year to live, doctor told my husband 4 to 9 months to live. Sister in law knows someone who has stage 4 lung cancer and has been alive for 3-4 years with it thinks the doctor doesn't know what he's talking about. I asked if we should put him in a home after rehab, i have a lot to juggle with my son. Sister in law shoots down that idea with a bit of an attitude, and says he WIL stay at home as long as possible. ○keep this in mind○ I explained to her I'm putting our son back in speech therapy and occupational therapy during the summer (school provides it during the year) and we have had a disney trip planned for over a year now, my sister in laws wife is a teacher and says she'll help. We find out he is getting out this Friday (tomorrow), we leave for Disney Sunday and don't get back till Saturday night. I explain he cant stay at my house unattended especially just coming out of rehab. He is now on oxygen and has to use a walker, I just know in my bones my father in law is going to fall. I say he can go to your house for a week and come back or you can come stay at our house for a week till we come back and then I'll take over care. NOPE my sister in law says, he can't come to her house ... I put my foot down ... he isn't staying here unattended. She responded with well I guess he's just going to have to go into a home.
FIRST OFF I NEVER WANTED TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR DYING FATHER, I am disabled and have my appointments to attend as well as my son's therapy appointments to attend but you just expected me to take care of him till he died. I got over it and accepted that I was going to be his caretaker, even though this shouldn't have been my responsibility.
It all boils down to it was okay when I was going to take full care of him, but when you need to take care of him for 1 week (7 days) he has got to go into a home.
I am livid, am I in the wrong?

I know what you're thinking: no way; there's no chance Tim Duncan is the GOAT. He's not even the best player of his generation you might say. You're thinking there's no way Tim Duncan belongs in the same category as MJ or LeBron. If you believe this, there are three things that you'll probably bring up as I make this argument.

1. The Second Act: If you're the kind of person who rates players through spreadsheets, his career in the 2010s is statistically underwhelming.
2. The Peak: You might say that Duncan never had a real peak where he was the most dominant player in the league on a daily basis, like Shaq.
3. Greg Popovich: Duncan has always had Pop, arguably the greatest coach of all time in his corner.

I hear you, and I will address these later on in this post. First, let me address Duncan's stats and accolades.
Duncan's notable accolades from his NBA career are as follows:

• 5 Championships
• 15 All-Defensive Teams (8x First Team, 7x Second Team)
• 15 All Star selections
• 2 Regular Season MVP's
• 3 Finals MVP's

Duncan's 5 championships are more than Larry Bird or Wilt Chamberlain, his 15 All-Defensive selections are the most of anybody ever, his 15 All Star appearances are tied for 3rd all time, he has as many regular season MVP's as Kobe and Shaq combined and only MJ has more Finals MVP's.
Don't forget about his college accomplishments though, because remember: Duncan came out of Wake Forest after four years despite people like Jerry West who said he could have been the number one overall pick had he left after his sophomore year.
Duncan's accolades form his collegiate years:

• 3x NABC Defensive Player of the Year
• 2x ACC Player of the Year
• 2x consensus All-American
• 1997 Naismith Player of the Year
• Most rebounds in NCAA history.

These NBA and collegiate snapshots of his basketball career, should be enough to have him at the table of the GOAT conversation. You're not convinced yet, let's dig into some more numbers.
Here's where Duncan ranks all-time on some of the major statistical categories across his NBA career:

• Points: 16th
• Rebounds: 6th
• Blocks: 5th
• Steals: 158th
• Assists: 100th

These career totals, admittedly, are substantially less impressive than other players at his position, like Kevin Garnett (19th in points, 9th in rebounds, 18th in blocks, 18th in steals, 55th in assists), Karl Malone (3rd in points, 7th in rebounds, 70th in blocks, 12th in steals, 61st in assists) or Dirk Nowitzki (6th in points, 26th in rebounds, 53rd in blocks, 94th in steals, 155th in assists). And that's because you can't judge Tim Duncan's numbers like you can with most players. Imagine in 15 years if somebody said to you that Russell Westbrook was better than Steph Curry, citing how many PTS, AST, and REB Westbrook had. You'd laugh right? Because you know that numbers do not always tell the full story. It is impossible and irresponsible to discuss a player's ranking without mentioning the stats that exists, but by measuring players purely by their basketball reference page, you're leaving out context and the story in which those numbers were achieved. That context is what makes those numbers meaningful.
Such is the case with Tim Duncan, whose success and greatness transcends a box score. You can't judge Tim Duncan with numbers alone. The fact of the matter is, that if you ran a team and if you could pick from any NBA player that ever played the game, and your goal is to win, you would pick Tim Duncan.
Offensively, Duncan was dominant for his first ten years in the NBA. From '98 to '08, he averaged 21.6/11.8/3.1 while playing on one of the slowest teams in the league. In that span, the Spurs never ranked in the top half of the league for PACE. Adjusting his stats for PACE and looking at his stats per 100 possessions (31.2/17.1/4.5 with 3.5 BLK at 50.8 FG%), you're looking at a big man who was every bit as productive as any other offensive player in the league at the time.
You already know about his skillset. He was, after all, The Big Fundamental. He could pass out of double teams, face up and break down the defense with surprising agility, consistently knock down shots from the elbows, and torch any big man in the league with his array of moves in the post and suddenly imposing physicality. He could masterfully run a PnR with any guard with working limbs. And, of course, he had his signature bank shot, one of the most consistent and reliable shots of all time along with Kareem's Sky Hook and Dirk's fadeaway. Those skills never deteriorated throughout his career, except perhaps his last year.
This is where I want to attack the 2nd idea that his second act was unexceptional. His scoring numbers dipped in last 8 years, where he never averaged over 20 PPG. But, as the Spurs offense became more collaborative and free-flowing, Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili shouldered more of that scoring burden as Duncan aged. Duncan's shot attempts fell, though he remained efficient. His skills hadn't waned; the Spurs just didn't need him to score 28 points every night. He retained his role as alpha dog during this stretch and contributed in other facets of the game. He could pick his spots, put his teammates in position to succeed, and save himself undue punishment and wear until is was needed. That's why in 2013, at the age of 36, he became the oldest player ever named to First Team All-NBA.
Duncan was never a prolific scorer, even in his prime. His game was never predicated on gawdy point totals like Malone or Dirk. With a different offense, he took fewer shots, and with fewer shots, he scored fewer points. In his last eight years, he remained a tremendous rebounder, was the go-to guy in crunch time, and the best defender, maybe ever. And this is what hurt his stats: the lack of flashy numbers for defense outside of blocks and steals. It's so hard to measure how much a drive was cut off because of his presence or a shot that was altered because of his contention. There are some metrics that attempt to measure this, like DRTG, Defensive Win Shares, and Defensive +/- , and while it is an inexact science, these measures do a fairly good job at assessing a player's impact on defense. Duncan's ranking in those metrics is unmatched:

• 95.6 DRT (3rd all time)
• 106.3 Defensive Win Shares (2nd all time)
• Defensive +/- (5th all time)
  These metrics along with his All-Defensive selections serve as a testament to how Duncan thrived when the opponent had the ball. Legendary basketball writer, Jack McCalllum wrote this for SI in 2016 after Duncan retired:
  

"Duncan guarded centers and power forwards (sometimes even small forwards) with equal success. And as the NBA became more and more of a high pick-and-roll game, Duncan accepted the extra responsibility of getting involved at the perimeter, while never abandoning basket responsibility. Nobody was better than Duncan at being both an advance guard and the final fortress."
FiveThirtyEight published this article in 2016, where analyst Neil Paine calculated career WAR values that took into consideration defense and offense, and Tim Duncan led the WAR rankings, by a mile:

1. Tim Duncan: 109.2
2. KG: 96.2
3. Karl Malone: 95.4
4. David Robinson: 89.3
5. Hakeem: 85.9
6. LeBron: 82.8
7. Kareem: 78
8. Larry Bird: 74.2
9. Shaq: 73
10. Pippen: 72.7

What does all of this mean? It means that Duncan was a tremendous offensive player, despite the lack of volume, and one of if not the greatest defenders of all time. In short, his value as a two-way player is virtually unmatched in the last 50 years of NBA basketball.
Enough with the numbers. I want to talk about Duncan when it mattered the most: the playoffs. You can look at any numbers, read any article, or talk to any fan who paid attention to the game at the time, and you'll come to the same conclusion: Tim Duncan was a killer in the playoffs. All of his most memorable performances came in the postseason, and more often than not, came in crucial games when his team needed him most. From his near quadruple double in 2003 to close out the Nets and earn his 2nd championship to his 25 point first half against the Heat in Game 6 of the 2013 Finals ten years later, there was never a moment too big for Duncan. Here are his playoff numbers, significantly higher in almost every category than he his in the regular season:

• Points: 6th
• Rebounds: 3rd
• Blocks: 1st
• Steals: 46th
• Assists: 33rd

His '99 championship run was phenomenal, where he tore through a young Kevin Garnett, the newly assembled Kobe-Shaq Lakers, Rasheed Wallace's Trailblazers, and the Patrick Ewing-less 8-seed Knicks on his way to being named the second youngest Finals MVP ever. His 2002 campaign was incredibly underrated, as he carried one of the worst teams of his career to 60 wins and outplayed Shaq before being beat by the two-time champs. His 2003 season was his best season, and we'll get to that in a second. Just know that his running mate, David Robinson, averaged 8.5 PTS and 8 REB in the regular season and that Duncan's 5.9 win shares in that playoff run remain the most of anybody in a single postseason.
In the mid-to-late 2000s, Duncan's Spurs remained a fixture in the playoffs against competition like Dirk's Mavs, Nash's Suns, and Kobe's Lakers. He repaid them with two more titles in '05 and '07. He also gave us one of the clutch shots of his career in Game 1 against the Suns in 2008 with this 3 point game-tying three pointer in OT.
Like I said earlier, in Game 6 of the 2013 Finals, at age 36, playing against Wade, Bosh, and apex LeBron on the road, Duncan put up 25 points in the first half. It would have gone down as an all-time series clinching performance had it not been for Ray Allen's iconic game-tying 3-pointer. Looking for revenge in the 2014 Finals, Duncan set the tone in Game 1 with the classic 21/10 game, while shooting 9/10 from the field. As his final playoff hurrah in 2015, trying to defend the title at the ripe age of 38 in Game 7 of a first round series against the Clippers, Duncan reached all the way back and put up 27/11, sinking crucial free throws to tie it, before Chris Paul hit a clutch, game-winning shot near the buzzer.
The same Tim Duncan giving the business to a 22-year-old Kevin Garnett, was the same Tim Duncan taking a 26-year-old DeAndre Jordan to school. Duncan was ready to win championships from the day he entered the league to the day he left. And I think that is why his peak is used against him as an argument for GOAT status. The fact that his championship window lasted his entire 19-year NBA career and that his teams were always somewhere between 50 and 60 wins meant that it's hard for any one of his seasons to stand out from the rest. And for some unfathomable reason, being consistently great is less of an accomplishment than being great for short stints.
Like I said, his 2003 season was his best, after leading his team to 60 wins and his 2nd consecutive MVP, Duncan eviscerated everything in his path as he tore through the playoffs. He upended the Suns, ended the Lakers 3-year reign as champions, and outdueled Dirk before absolutely torching the Nets in the finals. By the time he was holding the trophy, it was clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that Duncan was the league's best, most complete player.
Now, I'd be lying if I said that Duncan's peak was higher than Shaq's. But I also wouldn't feel comfortable saying that the difference between the two is great enough for me to lose sleep over. To me, the truth is that Shaq was so much more of a spectacle. To watch peak Shaq was an experience unlike anything else. To see someone of his size and stature move so powerfully and fluidly is still something of a miracle. To see Duncan at the peak of his powers was a lot like seeing him seven or eight years later. He was just a little faster, a bit stronger, and a touch quicker in his prime. But do aesthetics denote superiority? I'd say, no. And though Shaq in his prime was certainly a more dominant offensive player, there was never a time where he could match Duncan's abilities as a defender, leader, or teammate. The two are the antithesis of each other. Shaq loves fame; Duncan loathes it. Shaq would sometimes show up to training camp out of shape, often battle with his co-stars and finished his career having played for six different teams. Duncan took great care of his body, cemented himself as the cornerstone of his franchise, and is one of the most celebrated teammates in NBA history. Shaq left a little on the table. You can never say the same thing about Duncan. Shaq cared a little too much about what everyone thought of him, while Duncan couldn't have cared less.
Let's tackle the third criticism: that he always had Pop. To me, Pop is the greatest coach of all time, but he would be the first one to tell you that he wouldn't be here without Tim Duncan.
For one, Duncan can play any style of basketball, in any era. You want to go slow school, old-pace, dump it off to the big man down low, let him bang and be solid on defense? Titles. Remove the hand-checking and illegal defenses, increase scoring and start moving toward the perimeter? Titles. The league goes small ball, the pace explodes and shooting and ball movement is more important than anything? The largest margin of victory in NBA finals history.
Secondly, he can play with any team. Honestly, has any superstar done more with less? Jordan had Pippen his entire run and Rodman for the last half. Bird had McHale and Parish. Wilt had West and Hal Grier. Russell had Cousy, Jones, and Havlicek. Magic had Kareem and vice-versa. Kobe had Shaq and vice-versa. And LeBron has had Wade, Kyrie, and AD. Duncan's best teammates? Old David Robinson, Tony Parker, and Manu Ginobili, who combined for 5 Third Team All NBA appearances and 4 Second Team appearances during their time with Duncan. Parker and Ginobili are long shots for the HOF, and even though Robinson's in the HOF, he wasn't playing at a HOF level alongside Duncan.
Third, and most importantly, Duncan forged the culture of the Spurs. Pop was essential in acquiring players and reinforcing the culture that Tim wanted, but Duncan was truly the most vital component. The NBA is a star-driven league and finding a great player who hasn't gotten a coach fired is like finding a good Star Wars movie: they're few and far between. Not only did Duncan not get Pop fired, he let Pop coach him harder than any superstar ever. If Tim had ever thought to himself, "you know what I don't feel like getting my chops roasted in front of the whole team today because I didn't box out well in practice" he could have gone right to RC Buford, and Pop would have been gone - end of story. But Tim understood what Pop was about, and trusted him enough to be mentored in an unprecedented way. He set the example for his teammates, that no one is immune to criticism and that it's expected of everyone to leave their egos at the door.
In 2017, the Spurs SB Nation blog, Pounding the Rock, spoke to Sam Walker, author of "The Captain Class," a book which examines winning culture in team sports, from field hockey to rugby. In an exchange, Walker said this:
"[T]he book's main conclusion is that the only one factor that must be present in order to maintain greatness over a long period of time is the presence of a particular kind of selfless, relentless, independent-minded, publicity-averse, emotionally composed captain with strong communication skills. And that's Tim Duncan. Duncan was a pure example of the species."
I love Pop, but I have to believe that Duncan was the catalyst that powered Pop to be what he is now. This isn't Belichick-Brady where you wonder who made who. Pop is the greatest coach of all time, because of Tim Duncan. If you want to take credit away from Duncan by saying he played for the best teams, you might be right, but only because he made them the best team. He gave up touches, let other guys hold the torch, put everyone around him in the best position to succeed, and he enjoyed it when they did.
When I said earlier that the thing that hurt Duncan's stats more than anything was a lack of defensive numbers, I lied. The thing that hurt Duncan's stats more than anything was the fact that he never gave a shit about stats or awards. Ever. He wanted his teams to succeed and he wanted to win. That's it. Just read about how his teammates talk about him:
"The best PF ever! Thanks for the memories old man. A great player and teammate."
- Lamarcus Aldridge
"Sometimes all you NEED to say is THANK YOU....To the BEST EXAMPLE of a Leader, Brother, Friend."
- Bruce Brown
"Even tho I knew it was coming, I'm still moved by the news. What a HUGE honor to have played with [Duncan] for 14 seasons!
- Manu Ginobili
I don't think there is a more beloved teammate than Tim Duncan. In the words of NBA commissioner Adam Silver, "...his understated selflessness made him the ultimate teammate." Duncan was always the big brother. Correcting his teammates when they made mistakes and throwing his arms around their shoulders when things didn't go their way. He led in the most effective way possible, not with tweeting, bombastic words, or showy halftime speeches, but by example.
Of all the end-of-career farewell wishes, the one from his former teammate, Brent "Bones" Barry stuck out to me the most. He quoted Mark Twain, saying "'To be good is noble, but to show others how to be good is nobler and no trouble'; for your brilliance TD, I am grateful. For your skills as a player I am in awe. And for your friendship I am honored."
Milwaukee Bucks coach and former Spurs Assistant, Mike Budenholzer said to ESPN's Kevin Arnovitz in 2016: "The magnitude of that, the number of people in this league who have enjoyed opportunity or found fortunate spots in the league, you can trace it back to this one guy -- to the way Timmy played ball and the way he conducted himself. The 'culture' is Timmy."
The NBA is a league of superstars and dynasties - from Russell to Jordan, from Wilt to LeBron. We'll remember its history through its champions, and in the history of North American sports, no team has been as good for as long as the Spurs. San Antonio's success is completely unprecedented in the world of basketball. Aside from his lockout shortened sophomore season, Duncan won 50 or more games and qualified for the playoffs in every season of his NBA career. He finished his career with a win percentage of 71%, the highest of anyone, in any sport, ever. The Spurs run of success started in 1997, the year they drafted Duncan. Since then, he was the cornerstone, the engine of the franchise that has perpetually defined what winning culture looks like - in and outside of basketball.
And so I say again, if you could pick any NBA player from any era of basketball and your goal was to win, you would pick Tim Duncan. His abilities as a basketball player are what made him a superstar. But his consistency, willingness to be coached, love and support of his teammates, and humility are the things that make him transcendent.
I'll let Pop have the last word. This is what he said to the press after Duncan announced his retirement:
"Everybody always talks about who they'd like to eat dinner with, if you had one night and you could go to dinner or lunch with someone. Some people say Mother Teresa, Jesus, the Dalai Lama...I could honestly tell you, my dinner would be with Timmy. He is the most real, consistent, true person I've ever met in my life."

My boyfriend and I have a very good relationship and he treats me well and respects me, but I notice that he often makes very generalized, negative statements about women.
Sometimes he'll talk to his mother or sister then come to me and say "NO OFFENSE, but women are WAY too sensitive;" "THIS ISN'T YOU, but you can't even breathe a certain way around women without them losing it;" or "WOMEN PAY ATTENTION TO 'TONE' TOO MUCH. My mom said she didn't like my 'tone' but if I spoke to a dude that way, he wouldn't even notice."
It makes me feel like I have to put on a stoic facade so as to not be "just another woman" in his eyes. I brought up how uncomfortable his statements are, and he said that I say some "crazy" things about men.
The only thing about men I've said is that many of them are way more emotional than women than they'd like to admit, and that they're scarier because they're biologically stronger and quicker to turn to physicality.
My boyfriend took this as me generalizing grouping him into that group of emotional, physically abusive men. The thing is, I don't mind when men show emotions. I only mind when they express it physically because it poses a danger. THAT'S NOT TO SAY WOMEN DON'T DO THAT TOO, I JUST THINK IT'S MORE COMMON IN MEN. He made it sound like women simply EXPRESSING emotions and nothing more is annoying and unnecessary. He also speaks as if he believes that men are inherently more levelheaded and rational than women, but that's not true either.
He did say that he doesn't think that way about me, but I don't know. I feel like it's a matter of time before he starts talking about me that way.
He's a nice guy and I'm trying hard not to get the ick from this, but I'm struggling.
tl;dr: boyfriend complains when women in his life get "emotional," generalizes entire female population based on his personal experiences. Things are good now but I'm afraid he'll start projecting his negative view of women on me eventually.

I quit because of the anxiety and panic. Now at 18 days I'm barely functioning it's so bad. I went through a phase of being extremely short tempered.. now I'm a ball of anxiety. Worried 24/7 about every little thing. Work, drama with my neighbors,finances... I paid rent 5 days late this month and I'm such a wreck about it I can't even breathe. I'm in bed not functioning. I can't do this. I'm telling myself I might as well just smoke.. there's no difference at this point.