winter-of-hearts

Mu-onna (無女)

 

    Felicia was startled by sudden howls of pain and distress. Her eyes shifted in the direction of the surgical bed, where a woman’s body lay beneath clot-stained fabric. Heavy breathing and peculiar whispers rose from beneath the sheets, merging together as the wobbly overhead fan cooled the intense tropical heat. Why did the screams remind her of Felix? She poured a glass of wine and returned to the laptop, and to her murky thoughts.

    Trapped inside her head were the words Mayer and Rokitansky, bouncing mutely off the walls of her subconscious. She was only fourteen when the doctors told her about the syndrome. Felicia knew that she would never have a child to call her own, but none of this mattered any more. Even on the rare occasion that her mind drifted to the beating black hole in her chest, Felicia had no regrets. She blamed fate, not herself, for everything. For everything...

    Another hour passed and with it another glass. There was no sign of Felix, no call from Jimmy and nothing on the computer. Frustration and intoxication were building up, but she was not afraid. Her nerves were made of steel, and her emotions were just as impenetrable.

    The voices returned, only this time they were louder and much clearer. It was definitely not the wine, or the heat, and it wasn't Felix either. The woman on the surgical bed whispered something about frolics and children, war, famine and plagues. "If you want to talk say something useful," yelled Felicia. Her voice echoed through the concrete walls and in response came silence. "Warmth, sympathy and understanding," she scorned as she scratched the desk with a scalpel. "They call it the 'oath of Hippocrates'. What a joke, eh? They don’t outweigh the knife and the drug, you know. Nothing does. 'Oath of hypocrisy' I’d say." She filled up the glass with more wine.

        Ring… ring… ring… Felicia answered the phone.

    "Jimmy!" she squealed. "What a pleasant surprise… Why, do I sound tipsy?" She laughed out loud.
    "It, Jimmy. It. And by the way, it won’t be fresh for long…
    You can have the whole lump if you want. I don’t care what you do with it…
    Research or not, it makes no difference to me. You can eat it for all I care, but the price is the price. You know how we work..."
    Her eyes grazed over the computer. An unidentified user had left an encrypted message on the Dark Web.

    "Shit!" she uttered. "That’s enough, you’re out of time. Transfer the funds." She hanged up the phone and removed the SIM card, slicing it into several pieces. "Prick. I wasn’t born yesterday," she smirked. Felicia threw the pieces into a disposable sharps bin labelled 'hazardous waste - incinerate'. Used syringes, needles and broken ampoules were piled on top and the container shut. A new SIM card was unpacked and the numbers from the decrypted message dialled. "… Zero… Nine… Three…" She paused momentarily to look at the calendar. "Fourth day… third week… la-di-da…"

        Ring… ring… ring… ring… Felicia hung up and redialled the number.
        Ring… ring… ring… She hung up again and waited. Seconds later, an unidentified caller was on the line.

    "We have a match."
    "Are you positive?" he thrilled. The speech scrambler disguised his voice, but not his accent.
    "Positive. I tested it myself - twice." She lit a cigarette, sat back and stretched her legs over the desk.
    "What are you waiting for?"
    "There’s a problem. This isn’t one of the villagers. It's a patient, from the Hospital."
    "How many months?"
    "Eight."
    "Healthy?"
    "Um-hum. Real shame isn’t it?" Felicia waited for him to speak.
    "Name the price."
    "Mister Hu!" she mocked, almost melodically. "Are you suggesting that-"
    "I don’t have time for this. Just name your price."
    "Another 'zero' at the end would do."
    "What?! Have you lost your mind?"
    Felicia exhaled, blowing smoke in the direction of the overhead fan. She waited for the smoke to disappear and for the dust to settle.
    "Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?" he warned.
    "I do. And I know you can afford this."
    A conversation exploded at the other end of the call. She waited for his anger to turn into acceptance. Eventually he conceded.
    "And what will you do with all that money, doctor?"
    "Retire," she declared, just as the intercom buzzed. Felix was at the door. Mr Hu was still laughing.
    "Transfer the funds. My associate will contact you."
    "Very well then. But you cannot escape this, doctor. It will haunt you to the grave."
    "Pleasure doing business with you." She hanged up.

    Muffled cries filled the air as the hooded man, led by Felix, walked through the corridor and past metal crates. The cries intensified no sooner than Felicia spoke. "Over here," she declared, stabbing the scalpel into the desk and pointing at the floor by her feet. Felix forced the man on his knees.

    "Did you find anything?"
    "Nothing. Nobody’s seen her; nobody knows her."
    "What about this piece of crap?" The man in front of her trembled like a leaf.
    "Same."
    "Very well. We’ll do it the hard way." At her signal Felix lifted the hood and removed the handcuffs and the duct tape. The man’s face was freshly bruised and swollen.

    "Bobby. Have I not been kind to you? Tell me - am I not kind?"
    "Yes, doctor. You are," he whimpered.
    "Am I not paying you enough? Is that it?"
    "No... Doctor, please..."
    "Then why Bobby? Why? Why?"
    "I swear, I don’t know anything… Please…"
    "Nothing? Didn’t Felix explain?"
    Bobby and Felix made eye contact; Felix smiled, waving his hand. Bobby seemed astonished, almost dumbfounded.
    "Is that… is that Felix?" he asked.

    Felicia burst out laughing. Felix joined in, and eventually Bobby laughed too.
    "How hard did you smack that empty head of his, little brother?" she joked, wiping the tears from her eyes. As she turned around to pour a glass of wine, Bobby covered his head and his face, shielding his most sensitive bits from Felix's fists. Tasting the wine she signalled Felix to stop.
    "Over here Bobby. I wanna show you something."
    Felix dragged him like a wounded beast and dropped him on the floor, next to the surgical bed.
    "Go on, get up. Remove those sheets."
    He hesitated. Maybe it was the smell of iron and other bodily fluids. Something shaped like a human lay beneath the fabric.
    "Come oooon… it won’t bite you," she teased. Felix smiled.
    With trembling hands Bobby lifted the sheets. He dropped them on the floor and then he threw himself to his knees and emptied his stomach.

    "Christ almighty!" he screamed. "What have you done?"
    "At first I wanted to scare her," she admitted. "But she wouldn’t talk. She wouldn’t even scream - I tried everything. In the end I got carried away." She could feel Bobby’s heart thumping and his lungs gasping for air.
    "Enough games. Tell me who she is."
    "... She? Is that… a woman?" His voice was fragile and shaky. Felicia stood over the old woman’s body - it was maimed beyond recognition. She opened the bin liner and emptied the freshly dismembered body-parts right in front of Bobby.

    "I’m asking you again, and for the last time. Who is she?" Bobby seemed entirely bewildered. Her eyes turned to Felix. "Did you tell him?"
    "I did, I did," nodded Felix.
    "This crazy old hag appeared out of nowhere, knocking on our door. You hear me Bobby?" She grabbed his face with both hands and screamed. "On. Our. Door." Bobby was trembling and sweating beyond control.
    "How did she get here Bobby? There’s no footage, no footprints. Nothing. Did she drop from the sky?"
    "I… I swear…" he sobbed.
    "And what did she tell us?"
    "That she had an abortion," continued Felix. "Right here. Two years ago."
    "Two years ago Bobby! And then?"
    "She said it was twins, and that the boy is still inside her. He is too afraid to come out."
    "That’s crazy!" protested Bobby. "Doctor, you know me, I’d never-"
    "Do you think I’m stupid?" she roared, smashing the empty bottle on the floor. "She named you Bobby. You! She said you sent her here. 'Like the villagers' she said. Like the bloody villagers."
    "Why would I do that? Come on Feli… Doctor, think about it! It’s a set-up!"
    "Set-up or not, we’re compromised. And I’m gonna get the truth out of you. Felix, come here!"
    "But… he's not Felix," whispered Bobby, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
    "Take him downstairs."
    "No wait, wait-" begged Bobby. "There is something…"
    "I’m listening," she said. Felix waited.

    "There was a call… Yesterday."
    "What call?"
    "From a woman."
    "That woman?"
    "I don’t know… she said the same thing. I thought it was a prank, I swear to God…"
    "Who is she?"
    "I don’t know… I said nothing, I swear it on my children!"
    "Why didn’t you call us?"
    "I tried…"
    "You tried?" she screeched, waving her hands in the air as if signalling for help.
    "I destroyed the SIM card… When the new one came on I received the same call. I didn’t know what to do. It’s crazy!"
    "You think that’s crazy? I’ll show you crazy."

    With a sweeping motion she removed one of Bobby’s ears and threw it on the floor. The screaming was at its most unbearable when he realised that it was far from over.
    "Take him downstairs and tie him up. Let the rats lick the wound. We'll continue this conversation when I’m done with the woman. And give that thing to his family - if they want the rest of him in one piece, they better tell us everything."
    "No!" cried Bobby. "Leave them out of this! Leave them alone!" The screams disappeared into the basement.

    "Just you and me now. You don’t have to suffer like this, you know." Felicia looked at the woman more closely and tried to read her pulse. "Fuck!" she yelled, throwing the scalpel across the room. "Unbelievable." She sat on the chair, stretching her legs over the table and plotting her next move.

    "Felix. We got the job."
    "Which one?"
    "Hu’s order. He wants the heart."
    "How’re we doing it?"
    "Kidnap."
    "The infant?"
    "No, the mother. She is eight months."
    "There’s gonna be heat. A lot of it."
    "It’s worth it. Get rid of everything - we are closing shop. Burn the phones, the gear, the clothes, the lot of it."
    "What about her?"
    "Leave her and Bobby to me." Felicia dropped her clothes and headed for the only other functional room in the compound.

    The corridors were pitch black, somehow more eerie than usual. A cold, thin air blew from the open ceiling and whistled past her ears, almost like a scream. She could not shake off the feeling that she was being watched. A hot shower and a change of clothes later, she was back to the surgery.

    "Unbelievable… Felix! Your damn phone…" He had taken everything else, presumably to burn, but his telephone had been left behind. She was about to collect it when her ears were assaulted by a raucous and sharp weeping. It sounded like a baby, except that the crying was partly muted - as if it came from the inside of a box. With senses overloaded she followed the noise - it led her to the surgical bed. Its source was inside the body of the dead woman.

   It must be a joke… Somebody, somewhere, knew about the operation. They planted a device in her body - a radio, or maybe a telephone. It could be a disgruntled client or a victim seeking revenge. Felicia picked up the scalpel and performed a caesarean section on the corpse. The crying became louder as she lifted the patient’s skin, placing her hand in the area between the abdomen and the uterus. She searched for a mechanical device when her arm was sucked in by a mysterious force. She was scratched and viciously bitten; pulling back her hand, Felicia dropped on the floor and was paralysed by fear.

    She became light-headed and dizzy, unable to stand on her feet. Something crawled out of the woman’s body, but Felicia could not tell what it was. Then came the feeling that she was falling down a spiral. Losing consciousness, the baby’s wailing was the last thing that she heard.

~~~

    She woke up, on her bed, to a persistent door-knock. Felicia could not remember how she got home. The wounds in her arm were still fresh.
    "Who’s there?"
    "Detective Howard, homicide. Please open up."
    "Show me your ID." A card was slipped under the door; it seemed genuine. She took a snapshot and opened the door.
    "Doctor Blythe?"
    "Felicia."
    "It’s about Felix."
    "My brother?"
    "The male 'midwife' at your ward, isn’t he? Have you seen him lately?"
    She cleared her throat and folded her arms. "No, I didn’t. Well yes, I did, at the Hospital... Did something happen?"
    "He was reported missing by his wife, two days ago."
    "Two? Two days?" she exclaimed.
    "Are you on holiday?"
    "No… I, umm… I don’t feel well."
    "I need you to come to the station."
    "Why?"
    "To answer some questions."
    "What kind of questions?"
    "About Felix. We found his body."
    "What do you mean 'found'?"
    "In a warehouse, outside the City. Strapped to a bed. Tortured and murdered."
    Felicia’s eyes widened and her face turned white. She tightened her arms and shook her head.
    "Impossible. It can’t be."
    "He has been identified by his wife. The coroner says a C-section was carried out on his body while he was still alive. We believe a gang is involved. You need to come with us."
    "Am I under arrest?"
    "Not if you choose to come."
    "Give me ten minutes."

    Felicia was emotionally swamped. She could not remember whether the body on the surgical bed belonged to her brother or the mysterious woman which came knocking on the door that night. Everything was a dizzying swirl of logic. No, it couldn’t be Felix - this had to be a well-rehearsed trick. But for now she had no choice but to play along.

    "Is everything alright in there?"
    "I’ll be with you in a moment…"
    She stopped by the bathroom to wash her face. The world suddenly ground to a halt.

    Jumping backwards, skin crawling, she looked at the mirror. Her reflection was not an ordinary reflection - it was facing backwards. Turning around, slowly, she almost forced the image to reveal its face. But with her back against the mirror, Felicia sensed a pair of hands stretching out towards her shoulders. With a jerking motion she turned forward, facing once again the mirror and her reverse image. Immediately her eyes focused on the reflection of a child hiding by the laundry basket. His eyes were abnormally large, as were his fingers and fingernails. The sighting forced her to turn around, and the feeling of arms stretching out from the mirror returned. Confused she turned yet again, facing the mirror for the last time. The child now stood by her side.

    With a loud scream she run out and pushed the Detective down the stairs. A surge of electricity sent her body into spasms - it was the only way for them to calm her down.

~~~

    "Heeeeelp! Please help me!" she begged.
    "Shhh" whispered the nurse by her bedside.
    "You! It’s you!" Felicia shook violently but her body was restrained.
    "If you don’t keep quiet, you won’t get better now will you?"
    "What do you want from me? Who are you? Why are you here?"
    "To make your dream come true."
    "Please... let me go!"
    "You always wanted a child. Now you can have mine." The skinny child with the long fingers and sharp claws crawled on her bed. He made an incision just beneath her belly-button.
    "Please! I’m sorry! Let me go!"
    The baby crawled inside Felicia’s body, pushing her internal organs aside to make room. The pain was as real as anything she had ever felt.

~~~

    "Doctor Blythe. Focus."
    Her lips were numb and saliva dripped from her mouth. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. He folded his glasses and placed them firmly, on the desk, in front of Felicia.
    "You are facing trial. For your brother’s murder; hundreds of illegal abortions; selling organs and aborted embryos; plotting kidnap and murder. Mr Lawrence - Bobby - is testifying against you. Do you want my help Doctor Blythe? You have to help me first."
    "OK…"
    "From the beginning. Look at the inkblot. Tell me what you see."
    The first image was a cranium sliced in half. The nerve endings were spread open and the soft tissues were fresh.
    "It’s a… cloud. A fluffy cloud" she giggled.
    The second image was a rat. Its chest was thrust open and the insides had been emptied out.
    "I see a pretty bird…"
    The psychologist sighed loudly.

    "Do you recognise this man?" It was a photograph of Felix. Her eyes watered.
    "And how about her?" He held up a mirror. Felicia jumped up and screamed. With her thumbs she squeezed her eyeballs deep into her skull. Everything turned dark. They held her down and injected her with something. A surge of peace and serenity flowed through her veins - they said it would calm her down.

~~~

    "I’m gonna need a few minutes," said Howard. The prison staff nodded.
    "Is this where you found her?"
    "Right there. On the floor."
    Howard walked into the cell. It was flooded with three inches of water.
    "Where did the water come from?"
    "A burst pipe. Over there."
    "How many cells have been affected?"
    "Just this one."
    "How did she drown in three inches of water?"
    "Beats me. Suicide?"

    Howard looked at the surface of the water; his reflection starred back at him.

Jinmenken (人面犬)

 


    The sitting room floor was littered with takeaway boxes. Piled up cartons provided ample accommodation for greenish and blackish mould, and possibly Worms in Residence. Bedrooms were like the aftermath of a burglary; and the "living" space could just as well be a sarcophagus - with views over the sea.

       Cuckoo, sounded the old grandfather clock. It was 1:00 am.

    Bill sat in silence for hours on end. Images and worries jumped from one picture to another like a reel in his head, playing and re-playing scenes from the story of his life. So many things should be different, but hindsight is a wonderful thing.

    Frustrating dead-end job at the upmarket Quay? Check. Selling life insurance, no less - to the poor bastards who didn’t need any. How ironic is that, he'd muse: life insurance.

    And how about that on-and-off girlfriend, impossible to please at the best of times? Check too. At least the make-up sex was good, though not as thrilling as Overwatch.

    Then there’s the extraordinary case of the embarrassing mother and the home-made food. Spawning at the wrong time and place, like the front door when he is that close to a new record. Or, to the amusement of scumbags and colleagues, the office. Still, he regrets telling the poor woman to sod off his life forever.

    But regret is no remedy. Some mistakes can never be undone, and the reel in his head reminded him that all had been buried - six feet under to be precise.

        Cuckoo, cuckoo.

    “Damn clock,” he snapped. Last Christmas he nearly knocked it over. What would grandpa think if he could see the shoe-marks on its frame?

    Then the thought-train moved on, to a safari park. To the hyenas, the vultures and the wolves which bled the old man dry, in life as well as in death. Bill excluded himself from the inheritance but grandpa insisted that he should keep the oaken clock - to the dismay of Aunt Mira.

    In twenty-five years he had been to grandpa’s cottage twice, including the one time he had hoisted the clock. He will never forget the priceless look on Aunt Mira’s face; Bill too was surprised to see her - alive. He did not expect it, what with all the pills and miracle cures she had been stuffing down her throat.

        Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo.

    The sound was a cruel reminder that he had not slept in a year. Maybe it was time for some fresh air and a change of scenery.

    Pete’s continental bakery was only twenty minutes on foot. He could drive, but the mere thought was the beginning of another panic attack. Anxiety kicked in, and he panicked even more as the door slammed behind him.

    The staircase was pitch black, somehow more eerie than usual. A cold, thin air whistled in his ears, almost like a howl, blowing from the open windows through the corridor and down the stairs. With his senses heightened he made his way to the lobby.

    “Hey Bill,” said the doorkeeper. “Late night or early morning?”
“Early start, Joe. Big day ahead mate.”
Hopefully he did not notice the beard, the scruffy shoes and the odour.

    He slowed down as he made his way past the Range Rover. “Good as new,” he sighed, tracing his fingers over thick layers of dust. Never mind, he could probably walk instead. He needed the fresh air anyway.

        Pat pat pat pat pat.

    The sound of tiny feet caught up with him. He turned around but saw nothing.

        Pat pat pat pat pat.

    The pattering paws were getting louder and seemed to be everywhere at the same time.

        Pat pat pat.

    Through the fog he could see the figure of an animal crossing the road. The Labrador froze as he laid his eyes on it; with spasmodic twists it turned its body to face him. Ice cold fingers gripped his spine and froze the blood inside his veins.

    A human head sat on a dog’s body; its jolted face turned to anger no sooner than their eyes had met. Bill was smothered by terror, his legs glued to the concrete floor, as the Hellhound sprinted towards him. It sank its teeth in his flesh, sending shock-waves of fear and electricity throughout his body and his mind.

    He violently twitched and woke up on the sofa covered in sweat. Bill nervously jumped on his feet and shook off the goosebumps crawling under his skin. Worryingly he looked around the room and behind the furniture. There was nothing unusual - except that he was wearing his coat and scruffy shoes.

    The gruesome dream was freshly etched in his subconscious, but a letter and a note distracted him. They were probably slipped under the door while he was sleeping.

    ‘This one seems important - Joe’


    “Bill, did you receive our letter?”
    “No I didn’t...”
    “We tried to contact you but you did not pick up the phone or respond to our emails. So we sent you a letter.”
    “Oh.”
    “Bill…”
    “Norman, Sir… I want to come back to work. You know how much I need this. But I’ve been sick, you’ve got to give me some time.”
    “Bill, you need more than just time.” He stomped his cigarette and unwrapped a gum stick. “For Christ’s sake. We went to your mother’s funeral. Even Carlie showed up - where were you mate? Nobody’s seen you in a year. You are sick, you need help.”
    Bill maintained eye contact, but couldn’t say a thing.
    “How much weight did you lose? Are you getting enough sleep? You look shattered for Lord’s sake.”
    Norman picked up a cheque and handed it to Bill.
    “I didn’t give you this. You are not dismissed, you are quitting for personal reasons. When you feel better, call me - maybe I can get you back in or help you move on. But for God’s sake Bill, get some help.”


    ~~
    First the Bank and then shopping. Real, fresh food - that oughta help. Clean out the flat, take a shower. Small changes, little steps. This could mean driving too…
    ~~

    He walked past the Range Rover and took a deep breath. Restlessly he opened the door, the pain in his stomach intensifying as he sat on the driver’s seat. Both of his hands were shaking beyond control. He looked at the broken digital radio - cracked in several places. The movie played in his head reminded him how his knuckles were bruised for a week.

    Eventually the pain in his stomach eased, though the panic attack was far from over. His heart was beating so hard and so fast it could explode.

    ~~
    Focus. Relax. Switch off the phone - no distractions, no diversions. Lower the window, turn on the engine and drive - slowly - to the nearest market. Drive like you’re pushing the damn thing.
    ~~

    He filled two shopping bags in a hurry, choosing only the bare necessities and avoiding all eye contact. He nearly opened the boot, but instead he threw the shopping bags on the seat next to him. Sitting alone in the car, he checked the rear view mirror several times and struggled to control his emotions. He was not looking forward to the way back.

    The anxiety was more severe than usual. Bill waited for his pulse to return to human-like status. Prolonged silence and deep breaths later, he was finally able to hold it together. Placing both hands firmly on the steering wheel the car moved even slower than before.

    Bill parked at the usual spot and breathed a sigh of relief. Wiping tears from his eyes he could almost convince himself that the road to recovery had began. He took both shopping bags in one hand and stepped out of the vehicle. In an instant and with no premonition, human teeth were once again sinking in his flesh. The Hellhound pulled him a couple of metres down the filthy pavement - dragging him by the foot like a rag-doll.

    The human head looked into his eyes, but Bill could not believe what he was seeing. The balding old man’s face was angry and stunned at the same time, with stubble and big, round eyes. Bloodshot, terrible eyes. Bill tried to scream but the words could not escape the vacuum in his throat. Gnashing its teeth it lunged forward and tore a piece off his abdomen.

    He could feel the flesh separating from his body - a slice of meat pulled from his ribs and blood gushing like water from a tap. Suddenly he was awake, in the car park, with the shopping bags on the seat next to him. It was dark and all the other cars had gone.

    This time he could not shake off the goosebumps. What was left of his sanity remained in the car as he threw himself out and run. He run and he run, as fast as he could, and out of breath he arrived.

    “Bill? Are you OK?”
    “Joe… I… Please…”

    ~~
    Is he real? Is anything real? Up the stairs, run inside, lock the door. Move the sofa, block the way. Switch on the light, all lights, and never leave. Who’s knocking on the door?
    ~~

    “Police. Open up.”
    He did not reply.
    “Bill… My name is Maria. Howard and I would like to speak with you. Are you feeling OK? Can you let us in?”
    He could hear whispers behind the door.
    “Bill, we just want to talk. Please open the door.”
    “I’m sorry. Please go. I’m OK, I don’t want to talk. Please go.”
    More whispers, and then a card was pushed under the door.
    “Bill, this is my card. Please call me if you want to talk.”
    “Thank you. Please go.”

    Moments later, a familiar voice was at the door.

    “’Ey Bill, it’s me Joe. Listen Bill, I’m sorry. For calling the police. I was worried. I thought maybe you are sick, and I was like, I wanted to help. You know what I’m saying? If you want come down, I’m doing the night-shift. I will order a pizza.”
    “OK Joe, if I can’t get any sleep I will come. Thanks mate.”

    ~~
    The night-shift… it’s dark. Can’t sleep. Or is this dream? Please don’t let me sleep, I beg you…
    ~~

    He run to the kitchen and returned with a jar of coffee and a spoon. The taste of instant coffee made him sick but he wouldn’t stop eating it.

    The sun disappeared as quickly as it came. He couldn’t stay awake any longer. To avoid sleeping he stabbed his arm with a kitchen knife; the pain reassured him that it’s real. He covered the wound with a cloth. Hours later he doused it in vinegar - to prevent infection and to make sure that he was still awake. He broke down in tears and then made himself sicker with coffee.

        Scratch, scratch, scratch.

    A familiar chill run up and down his spine.

        Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.

    “Joe? Is that you mate? At the door?”

    The visitor answered with a terrible whine. It sounded like a dog, nagging and whining and begging to be let in.

        Scratch, scratch, whine, whine, scratch, scratch, whine, whine.

    He knew it was a dream but he couldn’t escape it.

    ~~
    Open the shutters, scream for help. Shutter can’t open; voice won’t come out. But it’s a dream, it’s only a dream… Come on Bill, fight back. Grab a tool. Find a hammer. Come here doggy. Come here doggy.
    ~~

    He opened the door and struck the old man’s head with the hammer. The animal stumbled on the living room floor. He shut the door and faced his demon, striking it repeatedly on its human head and all over its canine body. He continued to hammer it long after it was dead - until every bone had been broken and the soft tissues were pulverised.

    Bill dropped the hammer and watched in disbelief as the messy, bloody lump was swelling and rising uncontrollably. He reached for the door but it wouldn’t open; he grabbed the telephone but there was no dial-tone.

    The cadaverous mixture cultivated and grew until a new Hellhound rose from the bloody mass. It was larger and more savage than the first one. This time it went for his neck - he could feel it snapping like a twig.

    Bill woke up on the living room floor, on his knees, with the door open and the sofa pushed to the side. Coffee, vinegar and his own blood had gathered into a disgusting pool. He stood up and immediately run down the stairs. Joe saw him as he rushed out of the building with the bloody knife in his hand.

    ~~
    No more. Enough. Get to the car and drive. Go where it all began, on the mountain, at the cottage. Open the boot - the shovel is still there. Come face to face with the real demon...
    ~~

    He pulled an old man’s body from an unmarked grave. It was a nameless old man who had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. His face was rotten but Bill knew precisely what it looked like. Their eyes had met just once, for a fraction of a second, but Bill will never forget that look. That stunned and scared, and paralysed look on the old man's face.

    ~~
    I’m sorry, it was an accident. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. Leave me alone… Please… I’m so sorry…
    ~~

    The corpse’s ribs were exposed; they were broken in several places - the impact must have hurt. He blamed his favourite song, the deal he was trying to nail on the smart-phone and even the gaming marathons which had deprived him of his sleep.

    For the first time since the nameless man and Bill's humanity were buried in the same hole, he agreed to blame himself. He held the knife in one hand and the telephone in the other.

    “Maria speaking.”
    “…”
    “Hello?”
    “It’s Bill.”
    “Bill, where are you?”

    At last he can fall asleep. At last.

 

"από φως, ζωή... από σκοτάδι, ειρήνη" (from the light comes life, and from the darkness peace)

You. That's right, you. Take a good look around you and tell me what you see. If your world is anything like mine, you must be starring at a whole lot of biology right now. For example you could be bumming around in town with family, friends and strangers; or you may be hiding in your special place among trees, birds and beasts.

Yes, yes - I know what you're thinking. "What about physics?" Sure, you are surrounded by that too. Your computer screen, smart-phones, artificial lighting... and let's not forget the empty cans of drink which you can't be bothered to take to the recycling bin.

You and I are very different though. When I look around me I see something more fundamental than science; I see numbers, equations and arithmetics. Life is just a manifestation of the equations governing our universe. Mathematics are expressed everywhere - from the rustling of autumn leaves to the star-eating power of a black hole.

I suppose the main difference between my world, Earith, and yours is the magic. Do not be alarmed though - magic is easy to understand. If you apply the quantum theory of gravity to... What do you mean it has not been invented? Are you telling me that that no-one in your world can explain why the speed of light is constant? Geez, alright; let's keep it simple...

Stop imagining fireballs, water tunnels and gusts of wind. Forget about thunderbolts, landslides, snowstorms and love potions. Those things are not magic and there won't be any wand waving in this house, young 'uns! The universe is made up of four primordial elements. Light (from the stars), darkness (as in dark matter), gravity and time. These combine to afford the so-called flux - a stream of energy that can be tapped into, unravelled and used to deliver a spell.


The Light

Light is the giver of life. It is powerful, bright and consistent - yet its greatest strengths are also its most terrible weaknesses. It lacks flexibility and cannot see beyond its pre-determined path. It is intrusive, penetrative and judgemental. It can only understand the passages and the corridors which itself has lit up.

Light is associated with some of the most aggressive entities in the universe. Evil does not lurk in the dark - it is hiding in plain sight. Yet it is also associated with healing, confidence and self-reflection.

Common spells include lucid barriers, lucent beams and mage-lights. The light, however, can be wielded by fewer than 0.001% of the Adenydd. Most of them cannot unravel it from the flux, and those who can choose not to - because light diminishes the caster's own life, leading to a premature death.


Darkness

Dark matter is a mysterious force hidden deep within the flux. It is older than light, its existence gives meaning to light and it delivers peace unto the world. Its soothing cover is associated with rest, wisdom, mind manipulation and the answer to many riddles - if one has the ability to unlock its secrets...

Common spells include mind tricks, camouflage and gates. Around 1% of the Adenydd can use the darkness effectively.


Gravity

Gravity is the core of all magic; it is the easiest element to unravel and can be used to manipulate matter including wind, fire, water and earth. You won't be hurling any fireballs from your fingertips, but there are certain things which you can and can't do. It all depends on your physical and mental strength, surroundings, experience and education. Of course education has a lot to do with it - you can choose to be a jack of all trades or a powerful wizard specialising in a niche.

All Adenydd can extract gravity from free-flowing flux - the question is what can be done with it. With no training you could raise a cool breeze or extinguish a candle. An expert wizard, on the other hand, can command whirlwinds, absorb energy from heat and manipulate golems.


Time

Time existed before the universe and will continue to exist long after. It is the one entity that gives meaning to all - including life. But it is far more complex than any of us can imagine. It may seem linear, for example, but it combines with space into a single interwoven continuum.

Unravelling time from flux is suicide - nobody can wield it. Time represents the inevitable decay, a cycle that cannot be broken. All things come to an end, no matter how difficult it may be to accept it. There is evidence in some disturbed flux streams that somebody, somewhere, may have manipulated a time stream...


That's it for now! Oh, except one thing. The Adenydd can use magic, but most of the other races cannot. There is a reason for this - it isn't just about training and education. There is a secret buried in the genes... What's more, magic is more powerful during the night than it is in broad daylight. But I won't tell you why - not yet at least!

Watch me (DeviantART), spy on me (Tumblr) and stalk me (Twitter) to find out more.

Once upon a time, a farmer planted a magical seed of apple. The young seedling was destined to grow into a beautiful tree and produce the finest apples. The farmer watered the seedling daily, fertilised its soil and shaped its branches season after season.

Many years passed and the tree finally blossomed. The flowers were beautiful and bright, attracting all birds, butterflies and bees. No other tree in the farm could equal the beauty of the farmer's beloved apple tree.

One day, a blue butterfly with a golden tail-tip saw the apple tree and said "you are so beautiful and sweet, just like me - we should be friends." And so on each day, as the sun disappeared behind the hills of gold, the butterfly would visit the apple tree and share stories about the world and its many wonders. The apple tree was seduced by these stories and began to resent her life in the farm.

As the harvest season drew to an end it was time for the butterfly to leave, but the apple tree could not bear the thought of being alone. The butterfly said "why don't you come with me so we can see the world together?" Feeling desperate, the apple tree begged the farmer to cut her down so that she could fly away with the butterfly.

"Trees cannot fly," said the farmer. "You must bear fruit. Stay in the farm and carry out your purpose. This is the reason I have given you life and looked after you."

The tree believed that the only way for her to break free is to sabotage her own apples, leaving the farmer with no choice but to cut her down and release her. And so, as the harvest season drew to an end, the most beautiful tree in the farm did not bear any fruit.

One morning, before the winter arrived, the farmer cut down the apple tree. The wood was set on fire in the farmer's smoke house, while the butterfly disappeared, just like the sun, behind the hills of gold. Her ashes were spread by the wind to the four corners of the world.

And so her wish came true - she travelled the world, and a little piece of her is alive in each of us today.