Why does conflict happen most often with those we’re the closest with? You would think that because we love our family, friends, and colleagues so much that we’d understand each other enough that conflict wouldn’t be necessary. But now I realize that because we show each other our vulnerabilities and flaws is why most major conflict occurs. With strangers, people are reluctant to open up to them and try to actively avoid conflict constantly, unlike with those we know all too well. When I was younger, I learned these lessons the hard way in many horrifying events that happened around that time… My name is Aurelia, and I’m a young woman who recently graduated from college. I’m writing this memoir…

I know you’re probably wondering why the hell I’m telling you this. I should have kept my mouth shut, should’ve stayed quiet like everyone else does when they’ve seen something they shouldn’t have. People do it for all sorts of reasons. Some are too scared to talk, afraid that speaking out might invite whatever it is they saw back into their lives. Others stay silent because they can’t put the pieces together, can’t explain what happened, and the fear of not being believed is worse than carrying the memory alone. Then there are those who simply think it’s better to leave the past buried, as if ignoring it will make it go away. The problem is, once you’ve seen something…

A hallway that never ends. Picture this. Life is great. Ten years old. Ten years of your life have been on earth. Ten years. On my tenth birthday, I got the worst birthday gift. I fell asleep that night, the night of my tenth birthday. I had gotten great gifts, and I was exhausted. The moment I woke up, however, I was in a completely different place. Laying on the ground, I slowly gained consciousness. The room was gray with dim light, and by me was a crumpled sheet of paper. I opened it, and there were the rules. The list of rules that have kept me alive this long. Currently, I’m fourteen. Four years I have relied on these…

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…

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…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

That night, the words of my father lingered on… “Son, never allow wrongdoing without vengeance. Each time someone crosses you, don’t simply double-down, but make them pay threefold – they crossed you even if they didn’t have to!” …that night, after I finally found him…for so many years he’s kept himself hidden under a fake identity, a different address, with his wife and kids. Who would’ve even thought this man could live a life so familial, so ordinary, so fake? That night I entered a house; no one had heard me, nor suspected what I would do in the moments that would follow – he was upstairs, fucking his wife. Unnoticed, I entered the room and observed their act. He…

I should have listened to my brother all those times he told me about the mirrors. I should have believed him when he said mirrors were like a different dimension; a portal into a bad, horrible alternative reality. But, I did not believe him. I thought he was just being a pesky teasing older brother. That’s the way Brandon usually was anyway. Why would I have thought he was really telling the truth? It was just mere days from my fourteenth birthday. Mom said I could begin wearing makeup when I turned fourteen. All my friends were already doing so. My best friends Jimma, Rue, Adaline, and Daria had been using cosmetics for months. So, I was always looking in…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

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…

That night, the words of my father lingered on… “Son, never allow wrongdoing without vengeance. Each time someone crosses you, don’t simply double-down, but make them pay threefold – they crossed you even if they didn’t have to!” …that night, after I finally found him…for so many years he’s kept himself hidden under a fake identity, a different address, with his wife and kids. Who would’ve even thought this man could live a life so familial, so ordinary, so fake? That night I entered a house; no one had heard me, nor suspected what I would do in the moments that would follow – he was upstairs, fucking his wife. Unnoticed, I entered the room and observed their act. He…

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 know you’re probably wondering why the hell I’m telling you this. I should have kept my mouth shut, should’ve stayed quiet like everyone else does when they’ve seen something they shouldn’t have. People do it for all sorts of reasons. Some are too scared to talk, afraid that speaking out might invite whatever it is they saw back into their lives. Others stay silent because they can’t put the pieces together, can’t explain what happened, and the fear of not being believed is worse than carrying the memory alone. Then there are those who simply think it’s better to leave the past buried, as if ignoring it will make it go away. The problem is, once you’ve seen something…

Why does conflict happen most often with those we’re the closest with? You would think that because we love our family, friends, and colleagues so much that we’d understand each other enough that conflict wouldn’t be necessary. But now I realize that because we show each other our vulnerabilities and flaws is why most major conflict occurs. With strangers, people are reluctant to open up to them and try to actively avoid conflict constantly, unlike with those we know all too well. When I was younger, I learned these lessons the hard way in many horrifying events that happened around that time… My name is Aurelia, and I’m a young woman who recently graduated from college. I’m writing this memoir…

A hallway that never ends. Picture this. Life is great. Ten years old. Ten years of your life have been on earth. Ten years. On my tenth birthday, I got the worst birthday gift. I fell asleep that night, the night of my tenth birthday. I had gotten great gifts, and I was exhausted. The moment I woke up, however, I was in a completely different place. Laying on the ground, I slowly gained consciousness. The room was gray with dim light, and by me was a crumpled sheet of paper. I opened it, and there were the rules. The list of rules that have kept me alive this long. Currently, I’m fourteen. Four years I have relied on these…

I should have listened to my brother all those times he told me about the mirrors. I should have believed him when he said mirrors were like a different dimension; a portal into a bad, horrible alternative reality. But, I did not believe him. I thought he was just being a pesky teasing older brother. That’s the way Brandon usually was anyway. Why would I have thought he was really telling the truth? It was just mere days from my fourteenth birthday. Mom said I could begin wearing makeup when I turned fourteen. All my friends were already doing so. My best friends Jimma, Rue, Adaline, and Daria had been using cosmetics for months. So, I was always looking in…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

That night, the words of my father lingered on… “Son, never allow wrongdoing without vengeance. Each time someone crosses you, don’t simply double-down, but make them pay threefold – they crossed you even if they didn’t have to!” …that night, after I finally found him…for so many years he’s kept himself hidden under a fake identity, a different address, with his wife and kids. Who would’ve even thought this man could live a life so familial, so ordinary, so fake? That night I entered a house; no one had heard me, nor suspected what I would do in the moments that would follow – he was upstairs, fucking his wife. Unnoticed, I entered the room and observed their act. He…

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 should have listened to my brother all those times he told me about the mirrors. I should have believed him when he said mirrors were like a different dimension; a portal into a bad, horrible alternative reality. But, I did not believe him. I thought he was just being a pesky teasing older brother. That’s the way Brandon usually was anyway. Why would I have thought he was really telling the truth? It was just mere days from my fourteenth birthday. Mom said I could begin wearing makeup when I turned fourteen. All my friends were already doing so. My best friends Jimma, Rue, Adaline, and Daria had been using cosmetics for months. So, I was always looking in…

I know you’re probably wondering why the hell I’m telling you this. I should have kept my mouth shut, should’ve stayed quiet like everyone else does when they’ve seen something they shouldn’t have. People do it for all sorts of reasons. Some are too scared to talk, afraid that speaking out might invite whatever it is they saw back into their lives. Others stay silent because they can’t put the pieces together, can’t explain what happened, and the fear of not being believed is worse than carrying the memory alone. Then there are those who simply think it’s better to leave the past buried, as if ignoring it will make it go away. The problem is, once you’ve seen something…

A hallway that never ends. Picture this. Life is great. Ten years old. Ten years of your life have been on earth. Ten years. On my tenth birthday, I got the worst birthday gift. I fell asleep that night, the night of my tenth birthday. I had gotten great gifts, and I was exhausted. The moment I woke up, however, I was in a completely different place. Laying on the ground, I slowly gained consciousness. The room was gray with dim light, and by me was a crumpled sheet of paper. I opened it, and there were the rules. The list of rules that have kept me alive this long. Currently, I’m fourteen. Four years I have relied on these…

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…

Why does conflict happen most often with those we’re the closest with? You would think that because we love our family, friends, and colleagues so much that we’d understand each other enough that conflict wouldn’t be necessary. But now I realize that because we show each other our vulnerabilities and flaws is why most major conflict occurs. With strangers, people are reluctant to open up to them and try to actively avoid conflict constantly, unlike with those we know all too well. When I was younger, I learned these lessons the hard way in many horrifying events that happened around that time… My name is Aurelia, and I’m a young woman who recently graduated from college. I’m writing this memoir…