Part 1 It would have been so much easier just to keep telling myself the worst parts of my past were all in my head, and assure myself it wasn’t healthy for me to think too much about it. What took place in this story occurred a long time ago, and until recently, it was something I pushed back to the deepest, darkest part of my mind. I attempted to convince myself, almost, that it didn’t really happen at all, that all the chaos in my life and the psychological issues I was dealing with merged together into a horrible messed up delusion I used to process everything. I almost succeeded. So many years went by and I managed to…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

What is more loyal than a friend but also as sticky as chewing gum? At first glance, the question may seem strange. Well! OK! It’s strange. It was asked of me by a drunk friend in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party. Let’s just say it quickly left my mind. And yet, as short and abstract as it is, it has the merit of resonating with my situation. Before getting to the heart of the matter, let me tell you more about it. I am a director of shadow plays, also known as “shadow puppetry.” These are those famous silhouettes that you create using your body or objects. For my part, I have chosen to prioritize the use…

The village of Driftwood Cove sat at the edge of the world—or so it felt. Waves crashed endlessly against jagged cliffs, their spray licking the stones like hungry tongues. The cries of gulls mingled with the low whispers of old sailors’ tales, carried on the wind like secrets best left unspoken. Here, the sea ruled everything, its storms a reminder of its unrelenting power, its rare moments of calm a fleeting grace. At the heart of the village, an ancient inn leaned against the wind, its timbers groaning with age. Inside, villagers gathered in uneasy silence by the hearth, their words low and deliberate. They spoke of a thing—a presence—they called the Lantern Man. “Don’t follow the light.”, muttered old…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

The Visit Henry had always been a bit different. As a child, he was quiet, more interested in books and toys than in other children. He grew up alone, but he never seemed to mind. His mother, Grace, worried that her son wasn’t making any friends, but Henry always reassured her that he was fine just the way he was. One day, after returning from work, I received an unusual phone call from Henry. “Mom, you need to come over. I want to introduce you to someone.” Henry’s tone was different than usual—more excited, which made me feel a sense of relief. Maybe he had finally found a girlfriend? There was a reason to think so—my son had unexpectedly gone…

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 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 dozed 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…

I tended to hate Halloween. Don’t get me wrong; the candy was always something I would look forward to. Hershey bars were especially my favorite. No, what I disliked about Halloween was dressing up. I’m certain you would find it odd as to why that is. My family had been through some hard times and as such, we often recycled cloths to create Halloween costumes. I was always made fun of because of my raggedy costumes. One time I went as a ghost and the costume was a mix match of fabrics that were different sizes. It was grotesque in appearance. It was badly stitched with different colors of yarn. I could barely leave home without someone laughing it off…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

Part 1 It would have been so much easier just to keep telling myself the worst parts of my past were all in my head, and assure myself it wasn’t healthy for me to think too much about it. What took place in this story occurred a long time ago, and until recently, it was something I pushed back to the deepest, darkest part of my mind. I attempted to convince myself, almost, that it didn’t really happen at all, that all the chaos in my life and the psychological issues I was dealing with merged together into a horrible messed up delusion I used to process everything. I almost succeeded. So many years went by and I managed to…

The village of Driftwood Cove sat at the edge of the world—or so it felt. Waves crashed endlessly against jagged cliffs, their spray licking the stones like hungry tongues. The cries of gulls mingled with the low whispers of old sailors’ tales, carried on the wind like secrets best left unspoken. Here, the sea ruled everything, its storms a reminder of its unrelenting power, its rare moments of calm a fleeting grace. At the heart of the village, an ancient inn leaned against the wind, its timbers groaning with age. Inside, villagers gathered in uneasy silence by the hearth, their words low and deliberate. They spoke of a thing—a presence—they called the Lantern Man. “Don’t follow the light.”, muttered old…

I tended to hate Halloween. Don’t get me wrong; the candy was always something I would look forward to. Hershey bars were especially my favorite. No, what I disliked about Halloween was dressing up. I’m certain you would find it odd as to why that is. My family had been through some hard times and as such, we often recycled cloths to create Halloween costumes. I was always made fun of because of my raggedy costumes. One time I went as a ghost and the costume was a mix match of fabrics that were different sizes. It was grotesque in appearance. It was badly stitched with different colors of yarn. I could barely leave home without someone laughing it off…

What is more loyal than a friend but also as sticky as chewing gum? At first glance, the question may seem strange. Well! OK! It’s strange. It was asked of me by a drunk friend in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party. Let’s just say it quickly left my mind. And yet, as short and abstract as it is, it has the merit of resonating with my situation. Before getting to the heart of the matter, let me tell you more about it. I am a director of shadow plays, also known as “shadow puppetry.” These are those famous silhouettes that you create using your body or objects. For my part, I have chosen to prioritize the use…

The Visit Henry had always been a bit different. As a child, he was quiet, more interested in books and toys than in other children. He grew up alone, but he never seemed to mind. His mother, Grace, worried that her son wasn’t making any friends, but Henry always reassured her that he was fine just the way he was. One day, after returning from work, I received an unusual phone call from Henry. “Mom, you need to come over. I want to introduce you to someone.” Henry’s tone was different than usual—more excited, which made me feel a sense of relief. Maybe he had finally found a girlfriend? There was a reason to think so—my son had unexpectedly gone…

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 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 dozed 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…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

The Visit Henry had always been a bit different. As a child, he was quiet, more interested in books and toys than in other children. He grew up alone, but he never seemed to mind. His mother, Grace, worried that her son wasn’t making any friends, but Henry always reassured her that he was fine just the way he was. One day, after returning from work, I received an unusual phone call from Henry. “Mom, you need to come over. I want to introduce you to someone.” Henry’s tone was different than usual—more excited, which made me feel a sense of relief. Maybe he had finally found a girlfriend? There was a reason to think so—my son had unexpectedly gone…

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 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 dozed 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…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

The village of Driftwood Cove sat at the edge of the world—or so it felt. Waves crashed endlessly against jagged cliffs, their spray licking the stones like hungry tongues. The cries of gulls mingled with the low whispers of old sailors’ tales, carried on the wind like secrets best left unspoken. Here, the sea ruled everything, its storms a reminder of its unrelenting power, its rare moments of calm a fleeting grace. At the heart of the village, an ancient inn leaned against the wind, its timbers groaning with age. Inside, villagers gathered in uneasy silence by the hearth, their words low and deliberate. They spoke of a thing—a presence—they called the Lantern Man. “Don’t follow the light.”, muttered old…

I tended to hate Halloween. Don’t get me wrong; the candy was always something I would look forward to. Hershey bars were especially my favorite. No, what I disliked about Halloween was dressing up. I’m certain you would find it odd as to why that is. My family had been through some hard times and as such, we often recycled cloths to create Halloween costumes. I was always made fun of because of my raggedy costumes. One time I went as a ghost and the costume was a mix match of fabrics that were different sizes. It was grotesque in appearance. It was badly stitched with different colors of yarn. I could barely leave home without someone laughing it off…

What is more loyal than a friend but also as sticky as chewing gum? At first glance, the question may seem strange. Well! OK! It’s strange. It was asked of me by a drunk friend in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party. Let’s just say it quickly left my mind. And yet, as short and abstract as it is, it has the merit of resonating with my situation. Before getting to the heart of the matter, let me tell you more about it. I am a director of shadow plays, also known as “shadow puppetry.” These are those famous silhouettes that you create using your body or objects. For my part, I have chosen to prioritize the use…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

Part 1 It would have been so much easier just to keep telling myself the worst parts of my past were all in my head, and assure myself it wasn’t healthy for me to think too much about it. What took place in this story occurred a long time ago, and until recently, it was something I pushed back to the deepest, darkest part of my mind. I attempted to convince myself, almost, that it didn’t really happen at all, that all the chaos in my life and the psychological issues I was dealing with merged together into a horrible messed up delusion I used to process everything. I almost succeeded. So many years went by and I managed to…